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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4398-h.zip b/4398-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e19e05 --- /dev/null +++ b/4398-h.zip diff --git a/4398-h/4398-h.htm b/4398-h/4398-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..56316d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/4398-h/4398-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15140 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Tides of Barnegat, by F. Hopkinson Smith +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tides of Barnegat, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +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: The Tides of Barnegat + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Posting Date: August 1, 2009 [EBook #4398] +Release Date: August, 2003 +First Posted: January 26, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT *** + + + + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +The Tides Of Barnegat +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +F. Hopkinson Smith +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">THE DOCTOR'S GIG</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">SPRING BLOSSOMS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">LITTLE TOD FOGARTY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CAPTAIN NAT'S DECISION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">A GAME OF CARDS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">AN ARRIVAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE SPREAD OF FIRE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">A LATE VISITOR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">MORTON COBDEN'S DAUGHTER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">A LETTER FROM PARIS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">SCOOTSY'S EPITHET</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">A PACKAGE OF LETTERS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">THE BEGINNING OF THE EBB</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">BREAKERS AHEAD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE SWEDE'S STORY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">THE UNDERTOW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">THE CLAW OF THE SEA-PUSS</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DOCTOR'S GIG +</H3> + +<P> +One lovely spring morning—and this story begins on a spring morning +some fifty years or more ago—a joy of a morning that made one glad to +be alive, when the radiant sunshine had turned the ribbon of a road +that ran from Warehold village to Barnegat Light and the sea to satin, +the wide marshes to velvet, and the belts of stunted pines to bands of +purple—on this spring morning, then, Martha Sands, the Cobdens' nurse, +was out with her dog Meg. She had taken the little beast to the inner +beach for a bath—a custom of hers when the weather was fine and the +water not too cold—and was returning to Warehold by way of the road, +when, calling the dog to her side, she stopped to feast her eyes on the +picture unrolled at her feet. +</P> + +<P> +To the left of where she stood curved the coast, glistening like a +scimitar, and the strip of yellow beach which divided the narrow bay +from the open sea; to the right, thrust out into the sheen of silver, +lay the spit of sand narrowing the inlet, its edges scalloped with lace +foam, its extreme point dominated by the grim tower of Barnegat Light; +aloft, high into the blue, soared the gulls, flashing like jewels as +they lifted their breasts to the sun, while away and beyond the sails +of the fishing-boats, gray or silver in their shifting tacks, crawled +over the wrinkled sea. +</P> + +<P> +The glory of the landscape fixed in her mind, Martha gathered her shawl +about her shoulders, tightened the strings of her white cap, smoothed +out her apron, and with the remark to Meg that he'd "never see nothin' +so beautiful nor so restful," resumed her walk. +</P> + +<P> +They were inseparable, these two, and had been ever since the day she +had picked him up outside the tavern, half starved and with a sore +patch on his back where some kitchen-maid had scalded him. Somehow the +poor outcast brought home to her a sad page in her own history, when +she herself was homeless and miserable, and no hand was stretched out +to her. So she had coddled and fondled him, gaining his confidence day +by day and talking to him by the hour of whatever was uppermost in her +mind. +</P> + +<P> +Few friendships presented stronger contrasts: She stout and +motherly-looking—too stout for any waistline—with kindly blue eyes, +smooth gray hair—gray, not white—her round, rosy face, framed in a +cotton cap, aglow with the freshness of the morning—a comforting, +coddling-up kind of woman of fifty, with a low, crooning voice, gentle +fingers, and soft, restful hollows about her shoulders and bosom for +the heads of tired babies; Meg thin, rickety, and sneak-eyed, with a +broken tail that hung at an angle, and but one ear (a black-and-tan had +ruined the other)—a sandy-colored, rough-haired, good-for-nothing cur +of multifarious lineage, who was either crouching at her feet or in +full cry for some hole in a fence or rift in a wood-pile where he could +flatten out and sulk in safety. +</P> + +<P> +Martha continued her talk to Meg. While she had been studying the +landscape he had taken the opportunity to wallow in whatever came +first, and his wet hair was bristling with sand and matted with burrs. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here, Meg—you measly rascal!" she cried, stamping her foot. +"Come here, I tell ye!" +</P> + +<P> +The dog crouched close to the ground, waited until Martha was near +enough to lay her hand upon him, and then, with a backward spring, +darted under a bush in full blossom. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at ye now!" she shouted in a commanding tone. "'Tain't no use o' +my washin' ye. Ye're full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when I +throwed ye in the water. Come out o' that, I tell ye! Now, Meg, +darlin'"—this came in a coaxing tone—"come out like a good dog—sure +I'm not goin' in them brambles to hunt ye!" +</P> + +<P> +A clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air. A two-wheeled gig drawn +by a well-groomed sorrel horse and followed by a brown-haired Irish +setter was approaching. In it sat a man of thirty, dressed in a long, +mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape falling to the shoulders. On his +head was a soft gray hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above +the lapels of his coat. He had thin, shapely legs, a flat waist, and +square shoulders, above which rose a clean-shaven face of singular +sweetness and refinement. +</P> + +<P> +At the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked his head from between +the blossoms, twisted his one ear to catch the sound, and with a +side-spring bounded up the road toward the setter. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I declare, if it ain't Dr. John Cavendish and Rex!" Martha +exclaimed, raising both hands in welcome as the horse stopped beside +her. "Good-mornin' to ye, Doctor John. I thought it was you, but the +sun blinded me, and I couldn't see. And ye never saw a better nor a +brighter mornin'. These spring days is all blossoms, and they ought to +be. Where ye goin', anyway, that ye're in such a hurry? Ain't nobody +sick up to Cap'n Holt's, be there?" she added, a shade of anxiety +crossing her face. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Martha; it's the dressmaker," answered the doctor, tightening the +reins on the restless sorrel as he spoke. The voice was low and kindly +and had a ring of sincerity through it. +</P> + +<P> +"What dressmaker?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Miss Gossaway!" His hand was extended now—that fine, delicately +wrought, sympathetic hand that had soothed so many aching heads. +</P> + +<P> +"You've said it," laughed Martha, leaning over the wheel so as to press +his fingers in her warm palm. "There ain't no doubt 'bout that skinny +fright being 'Miss,' and there ain't no doubt 'bout her stayin' so. Ann +Gossaway she is, and Ann Gossaway she'll die. Is she took bad?" she +continued, a merry, questioning look lighting up her kindly face, her +lips pursed knowingly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, only a sore throat" the doctor replied, loosening his coat. +</P> + +<P> +"Throat!" she rejoined, with a wry look on her face. "Too bad 'twarn't +her tongue. If ye could snip off a bit o' that some day it would help +folks considerable 'round here." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor laughed in answer, dropped the lines over the dashboard and +leaned forward in his seat, the sun lighting up his clean-cut face. +Busy as he was—and there were few busier men in town, as every +hitching-post along the main street of Warehold village from Billy +Tatham's, the driver of the country stage, to Captain Holt's, could +prove—he always had time for a word with the old nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"And where have YOU been, Mistress Martha?" he asked, with a smile, +dropping his whip into the socket, a sure sign that he had a few more +minutes to give her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, down to the beach to git some o' the dirt off Meg. Look at +him—did ye ever see such a rapscallion! Every time I throw him in he's +into the sand ag'in wallowin' before I kin git to him." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor bent his head, and for an instant watched the two dogs: Meg +circling about Rex, all four legs taut, his head jerking from side to +side in his eagerness to be agreeable to his roadside acquaintance; the +agate-eyed setter returning Meg's attentions with the stony gaze of a +club swell ignoring a shabby relative. The doctor smiled thoughtfully. +There was nothing he loved to study so much as dogs—they had a +peculiar humor of their own, he often said, more enjoyable sometimes +than that of men—then he turned to Martha again. +</P> + +<P> +"And why are you away from home this morning of all others?" he asked. +"I thought Miss Lucy was expected from school to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"And so she is, God bless her! And that's why I'm here. I was that +restless I couldn't keep still, and so I says to Miss Jane, 'I'm goin' +to the beach with Meg and watch the ships go by; that's the only thing +that'll quiet my nerves. They're never in a hurry with everybody +punchin' and haulin' them.' Not that there's anybody doin' that to me, +'cept like it is to-day when I'm waitin' for my blessed baby to come +back to me. Two years, doctor—two whole years since I had my arms +round her. Wouldn't ye think I'd be nigh crazy?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's too big for your arms now, Martha," laughed the doctor, +gathering up his reins. "She's a woman—seventeen, isn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seventeen and three months, come the fourteenth of next July. But +she's not a woman to me, and she never will be. She's my wee bairn that +I took from her mother's dyin' arms and nursed at my own breast, and +she'll be that wee bairn to me as long as I live. Ye'll be up to see +her, won't ye, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, to-night. How's Miss Jane?" As he made the inquiry his eyes +kindled and a slight color suffused his cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"She'll be better for seein' ye," the nurse answered with a knowing +look. Then in a louder and more positive tone, "Oh, ye needn't stare so +with them big brown eyes o' yourn. Ye can't fool old Martha, none o' +you young people kin. Ye think I go round with my eyelids sewed up. +Miss Jane knows what she wants—she's proud, and so are you; I never +knew a Cobden nor a Cavendish that warn't. I haven't a word to +say—it'll be a good match when it comes off. Where's that Meg? +Good-by, doctor. I won't keep ye a minute longer from MISS Gossaway. +I'm sorry it ain't her tongue, but if it's only her throat she may get +over it. Go 'long, Meg!" +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Cavendish laughed one of his quiet laughs—a laugh that wrinkled +the lines about his eyes, with only a low gurgle in his throat for +accompaniment, picked up his whip, lifted his hat in mock courtesy to +the old nurse, and calling to Rex, who, bored by Meg's attentions, had +at last retreated under the gig, chirruped to his horse, and drove on. +</P> + +<P> +Martha watched the doctor and Rex until they were out of sight, walked +on to the top of the low hill, and finding a seat by the roadside—her +breath came short these warm spring days—sat down to rest, the dog +stretched out in her lap. The little outcast had come to her the day +Lucy left Warehold for school, and the old nurse had always regarded +him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading herself that +nothing would happen to her bairn as long as this miserable dog was +well cared for. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye heard what Doctor John said about her bein' a woman, Meg?" she +crooned, when she had caught her breath. "And she with her petticoats +up to her knees! That's all he knows about her. Ye'd know better than +that, Meg, wouldn't ye—if ye'd seen her grow up like he's done? But +grown up or not, Meg"—here she lifted the dog's nose to get a clearer +view of his sleepy eyes—"she's my blessed baby and she's comin' home +this very day, Meg, darlin'; d'ye hear that, ye little ruffian? And +she's not goin' away ag'in, never, never. There'll be nobody drivin' +round in a gig lookin' after her—nor nobody else as long as I kin help +it. Now git up and come along; I'm that restless I can't sit still," +and sliding the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk toward +Warehold. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the village loomed in sight, and later on the open gateway of +"Yardley," the old Cobden Manor, with its two high brick posts topped +with white balls and shaded by two tall hemlocks, through which could +be seen a level path leading to an old colonial house with portico, +white pillars supporting a balcony, and a sloping roof with huge +chimneys and dormer windows. +</P> + +<P> +Martha quickened her steps, and halting at the gate-posts, paused for a +moment with her eyes up the road. It was yet an hour of the time of her +bairn's arrival by the country stage, but her impatience was such that +she could not enter the path without this backward glance. Meg, who had +followed behind his mistress at a snail's pace, also came to a halt +and, as was his custom, picked out a soft spot in the road and sat down +on his haunches. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the dog sprang up with a quick yelp and darted inside the +gate. The next instant a young girl in white, with a wide hat shading +her joyous face, jumped from behind one of the big hemlocks and with a +cry pinioned Martha's arms to her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you dear old thing, you! where have you been? Didn't you know I +was coming by the early stage?" she exclaimed in a half-querulous tone. +</P> + +<P> +The old nurse disengaged one of her arms from the tight clasp of the +girl, reached up her hand until she found the soft cheek, patted it +gently for an instant as a blind person might have done, and then +reassured, hid her face on Lucy's shoulder and burst into tears. The +joy of the surprise had almost stopped her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"No, baby, no," she murmured. "No, darlin', I didn't. I was on the +beach with Meg. No, no—Oh, let me cry, darlin'. To think I've got you +at last. I wouldn't have gone away, darlin', but they told me you +wouldn't be here till dinner-time. Oh, darlin', is it you? And it's all +true, isn't it? and ye've come back to me for good? Hug me close. Oh, +my baby bairn, my little one! Oh, you precious!" and she nestled the +girl's head on her bosom, smoothing her cheek as she crooned on, the +tears running down her cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Before the girl could reply there came a voice calling from the house: +"Isn't she fine, Martha?" A woman above the middle height, young and of +slender figure, dressed in a simple gray gown and without her hat, was +stepping from the front porch to meet them. +</P> + +<P> +"Too fine, Miss Jane, for her old Martha," the nurse called back. "I've +got to love her all over again. Oh, but I'm that happy I could burst +meself with joy! Give me hold of your hand, darlin'—I'm afraid I'll +lose ye ag'in if ye get out of reach of me." +</P> + +<P> +The two strolled slowly up the path to meet Jane, Martha patting the +girl's arm and laying her cheek against it as she walked. Meg had +ceased barking and was now sniffing at Lucy's skirts, his bent tail +wagging slowly, his sneaky eyes looking up into Lucy's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Will he bite, Martha?" she asked, shrinking to one side. She had an +aversion to anything physically imperfect, no matter how lovable it +might be to others. This tattered example struck her as particularly +objectionable. +</P> + +<P> +"No, darlin'—nothin' 'cept his food," and Martha laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"What a horrid little beast!" Lucy said half aloud to herself, clinging +all the closer to the nurse. "This isn't the dog sister Jane wrote me +about, is it? She said you loved him dearly—you don't, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's the same dog. You don't like him, do you, darlin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I think he's awful," retorted Lucy in a positive tone. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all I had to pet since you went away," Martha answered +apologetically. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, now I'm home, give him away, please. Go away, you dreadful dog!" +she cried, stamping her foot as Meg, now reassured, tried to jump upon +her. +</P> + +<P> +The dog fell back, and crouching close to Martha's side raised his eyes +appealingly, his ear and tail dragging. +</P> + +<P> +Jane now joined them. She had stopped to pick some blossoms for the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Lucy, what's poor Meg done?" she asked, as she stooped over and +stroked the crestfallen beast's head. "Poor old doggie—we all love +you, don't we?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, just please love him all to yourselves, then," retorted Lucy +with a toss of her head. "I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. I +never saw anything so ugly. Get away, you little brute!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lucy, dear, don't talk so," replied the older sister in a pitying +tone. "He was half starved when Martha found him and brought him +home—and look at his poor back—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, thank you; I don't want to look at his poor back, nor his poor +tail, nor anything else poor about him. And you will send him away, +won't you, like a dear good old Martha?" she added, patting Martha's +shoulder in a coaxing way. Then encircling Jane's waist with her arm, +the two sisters sauntered slowly back to the house. +</P> + +<P> +Martha followed behind with Meg. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow, and for the first time where Lucy was concerned, she felt a +tightening of her heart-strings, all the more painful because it had +followed so closely upon the joy of their meeting. What had come over +her bairn, she said to herself with a sigh, that she should talk so to +Meg—to anything that her old nurse loved, for that matter? Jane +interrupted her reveries. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you give Meg a bath, Martha?" she asked over her shoulder. She had +seen the look of disappointment in the old nurse's face and, knowing +the cause, tried to lighten the effect. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—half water and half sand. Doctor John came along with Rex shinin' +like a new muff, and I was ashamed to let him see Meg. He's comin' up +to see you to-night, Lucy, darlin'," and she bent forward and tapped +the girl's shoulder to accentuate the importance of the information. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy cut her eye in a roguish way and twisted her pretty head around +until she could look into Jane's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Who do you think he's coming to see, sister?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you, you little goose. They're all coming—Uncle Ephraim has sent +over every day to find out when you would be home, and Bart Holt was +here early this morning, and will be back to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"What does Bart Holt look like?"—she had stopped in her walk to pluck +a spray of lilac blossoms. "I haven't seen him for years; I hear he's +another one of your beaux," she added, tucking the flowers into Jane's +belt. "There, sister, that's just your color; that's what that gray +dress needs. Tell me, what's Bart like?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little like Captain Nat, his father," answered Jane, ignoring Lucy's +last inference, "not so stout and—" +</P> + +<P> +"What's he doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin', darlin', that's any good," broke in Martha from behind the +two. "He's sailin' a boat when he ain't playin' cards or scarin' +everybody down to the beach with his gun, or shyin' things at Meg." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you mind anything Martha says, Lucy," interrupted Jane in a +defensive tone. "He's got a great many very good qualities; he has no +mother and the captain has never looked after him. It's a great wonder +that he is not worse than he is." +</P> + +<P> +She knew Martha had spoken the truth, but she still hoped that her +influence might help him, and then again, she never liked to hear even +her acquaintances criticised. +</P> + +<P> +"Playing cards! That all?" exclaimed Lucy, arching her eyebrows; her +sister's excuses for the delinquent evidently made no impression on +her. "I don't think playing cards is very bad; and I don't blame him +for throwing anything he could lay his hands on at this little wretch +of Martha's. We all played cards up in our rooms at school. Miss Sarah +never knew anything about it—she thought we were in bed, and it was +just lovely to fool her. And what does the immaculate Dr. John +Cavendish look like? Has he changed any?" she added with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"No," answered Jane simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Does he come often?" She had turned her head now and was looking from +under her lids at Martha. "Just as he used to and sit around, or has +he—" Here she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, and a laugh bubbled out +from between her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's just what he does do," cried Martha in a triumphant tone; +"every minute he kin git. And he can't come too often to suit me. I +jest love him, and I'm not the only one, neither, darlin'," she added +with a nod of her head toward Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"And Barton Holt as well?" persisted Lucy. "Why, sister, I didn't +suppose there would be a man for me to look at when I came home, and +you've got two already! Which one are you going to take?" Here her rosy +face was drawn into solemn lines. +</P> + +<P> +Jane colored. "You've got to be a great tease, Lucy," she answered as +she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm not in the back of +the doctor's head, nor he in mine—he's too busy nursing the sick—and +Bart's a boy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he's twenty-five years old, isn't he?" exclaimed Lucy in some +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-five years young, dearie—there's a difference, you know. +That's why I do what I can to help him. If he'd had the right +influences in his life and could be thrown a little more with nice +women it would help make him a better man. Be very good to him, please, +even if you do find him a little rough." +</P> + +<P> +They had mounted the steps of the porch and were now entering the wide +colonial hall—a bare white hall, with a staircase protected by +spindling mahogany banisters and a handrail. Jane passed into the +library and seated herself at her desk. Lucy ran on upstairs, followed +by Martha to help unpack her boxes and trunks. +</P> + +<P> +When they reached the room in which Martha had nursed her for so many +years—the little crib still occupied one corner—the old woman took +the wide hat from the girl's head and looked long and searchingly into +her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me look at ye, my baby," she said, as she pushed Lucy's hair back +from her forehead; "same blue eyes, darlin', same pretty mouth I kissed +so often, same little dimples ye had when ye lay in my arms, but ye've +changed—how I can't tell. Somehow, the face is different." +</P> + +<P> +Her hands now swept over the full rounded shoulders and plump arms of +the beautiful girl, and over the full hips. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor's right, child," she said with a sigh, stepping back a pace +and looking her over critically; "my baby's gone—you've filled out to +be a woman." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SPRING BLOSSOMS +</H3> + +<P> +For days the neighbors in and about the village of Warehold had been +looking forward to Lucy's home-coming as one of the important epochs in +the history of the Manor House, quite as they would have done had Lucy +been a boy and the expected function one given in honor of the youthful +heir's majority. Most of them had known the father and mother of these +girls, and all of them loved Jane, the gentle mistress of the home—a +type of woman eminently qualified to maintain its prestige. +</P> + +<P> +It had been a great house in its day. Built in early Revolutionary +times by Archibald Cobden, who had thrown up his office under the Crown +and openly espoused the cause of the colonists, it had often been the +scene of many of the festivities and social events following the +conclusion of peace and for many years thereafter: the rooms were still +pointed out in which Washington and Lafayette had slept, as well as the +small alcove where the dashing Bart de Klyn passed the night whenever +he drove over in his coach with outriders from Bow Hill to Barnegat and +the sea. +</P> + +<P> +With the death of Colonel Creighton Cobden, who held a commission in +the War of 1812, all this magnificence of living had changed, and when +Morton Cobden, the father of Jane and Lucy, inherited the estate, but +little was left except the Manor House, greatly out of repair, and some +invested property which brought in but a modest income. On his +death-bed Morton Cobden's last words were a prayer to Jane, then +eighteen, that she would watch over and protect her younger sister, a +fair-haired child of eight, taking his own and her dead mother's place, +a trust which had so dominated Jane's life that it had become the +greater part of her religion. +</P> + +<P> +Since then she had been the one strong hand in the home, looking after +its affairs, managing their income, and watching over every step of her +sister's girlhood and womanhood. Two years before she had placed Lucy +in one of the fashionable boarding-schools of Philadelphia, there to +study "music and French," and to perfect herself in that "grace of +manner and charm of conversation," which the two maiden ladies who +presided over its fortunes claimed in their modest advertisements they +were so competent to teach. Part of the curriculum was an enforced +absence from home of two years, during which time none of her own +people were to visit her except in case of emergency. +</P> + +<P> +To-night, the once famous house shone with something of its old-time +color. The candles were lighted in the big bronze candelabra—the ones +which came from Paris; the best glass and china and all the old plate +were brought out and placed on the sideboard and serving-tables; a wood +fire was started (the nights were yet cold), its cheery blaze lighting +up the brass fender and andirons before which many of Colonel Cobden's +cronies had toasted their shins as they sipped their toddies in the old +days; easy-chairs and hair-cloth sofas were drawn from the walls; the +big lamps lighted, and many minor details perfected for the comfort of +the expected guests. +</P> + +<P> +Jane entered the drawing-room in advance of Lucy and was busying +herself putting the final touches to the apartment,—arranging the +sprays of blossoms over the clock and under the portrait of Morton +Cobden, which looked calmly down on the room from its place on the +walls, when the door opened softly and Martha—the old nurse had for +years been treated as a member of the family—stepped in, bowing and +curtsying as would an old woman in a play, the skirt of her new black +silk gown that Ann Gossaway had made for her held out between her plump +fingers, her mob-cap with its long lace strings bobbing with every +gesture. With her rosy cheeks, silver-rimmed spectacles, self-satisfied +smile, and big puffy sleeves, she looked as if she might have stepped +out of one of the old frames lining the walls. +</P> + +<P> +"What do ye think of me, Miss Jane? I'm proud as a peacock—that I am!" +she cried, twisting herself about. "Do ye know, I never thought that +skinny dressmaker could do half as well. Is it long enough?" and she +craned her head in the attempt to see the edge of the skirt. +</P> + +<P> +"Fits you beautifully, Martha. You look fine," answered Jane in all +sincerity, as she made a survey of the costume. "How does Lucy like it?" +</P> + +<P> +"The darlin' don't like it at all; she says I look like a pall-bearer, +and ye ought to hear her laughin' at the cap. Is there anything the +matter with it? The pastor's wife's got one, anyhow, and she's a year +younger'n me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mind her, Martha—she laughs at everything; and how good it is +to hear her! She never saw you look so well," replied Jane, as she +moved a jar from a table and placed it on the mantel to hold the +blossoms she had picked in the garden. "What's she doing upstairs so +long?" +</P> + +<P> +"Prinkin'—and lookin' that beautiful ye wouldn't know her. But the +width and the thickness of her"—here the wrinkled fingers measured the +increase with a half circle in the air—"and the way she's plumped +out—not in one place, but all over—well, I tell ye, ye'd be +astonished! She knows it, too, bless her heart! I don't blame her. Let +her git all the comfort she kin when she's young—that's the time for +laughin'—the cryin' always comes later." +</P> + +<P> +No part of Martha's rhapsody over Lucy described Jane. Not in her best +moments could she have been called beautiful—not even to-night when +Lucy's home-coming had given a glow to her cheeks and a lustre to her +eyes that nothing else had done for months. Her slender figure, almost +angular in its contour with its closely drawn lines about the hips and +back; her spare throat and neck, straight arms, thin wrists and +hands—transparent hands, though exquisitely wrought, as were those of +all her race—all so expressive of high breeding and refinement, +carried with them none of the illusions of beauty. The mould of the +head, moreover, even when softened by her smooth chestnut hair, worn +close to her ears and caught up in a coil behind, was too severe for +accepted standards, while her features wonderfully sympathetic as they +were, lacked the finer modeling demanded in perfect types of female +loveliness, the eyebrows being almost straight, the cheeks sunken, with +little shadows under the cheek-bones, and the lips narrow and often +drawn. +</P> + +<P> +And yet with all these discrepancies and, to some minds, blemishes +there was a light in her deep gray eyes, a melody in her voice, a charm +in her manner, a sureness of her being exactly the sort of woman one +hoped she would be, a quick responsiveness to any confidence, all so +captivating and so satisfying that 'those who knew her forgot her +slight physical shortcomings and carried away only the remembrance of +one so much out of the common and of so distinguished a personality +that she became ever after the standard by which they judged all good +women. +</P> + +<P> +There were times, too—especially whenever Lucy entered the room or her +name was mentioned—that there shone through Jane's eyes a certain +instantaneous kindling of the spirit which would irradiate her whole +being as a candle does a lantern—a light betokening not only +uncontrollable tenderness but unspeakable pride, dimmed now and then +when some word or act of her charge brought her face to face with the +weight of the responsibility resting upon her—a responsibility far +outweighing that which most mothers would have felt. This so dominated +Jane's every motion that it often robbed her of the full enjoyment of +the companionship of a sister so young and so beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +If Jane, to quote Doctor John, looked like a lily swaying on a slender +stem, Lucy, when she bounded into the room to-night, was a full-blown +rose tossed by a summer breeze. She came in with throat and neck bare; +a woman all curves and dimples, her skin as pink as a shell; plump as a +baby, and as fair, and yet with the form of a wood-nymph; dressed in a +clinging, soft gown, the sleeves caught up at the shoulders revealing +her beautiful arms, a spray of blossoms on her bosom, her blue eyes +dancing with health, looking twenty rather than seventeen; glad of her +freedom, glad of her home and Jane and Martha, and of the lights and +blossoms and the glint on silver and glass, and of all that made life +breathable and livable. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but isn't it just too lovely to be at home!" she cried as she +skipped about. "No lights out at nine, no prayers, no getting up at six +o'clock and turning your mattress and washing in a sloppy little +washroom. Oh, I'm so happy! I can't realize it's all true." As she +spoke she raised herself on her toes so that she could see her face in +the mirror over the mantel. "Why, do you know, sister," she rattled on, +her eyes studying her own face, "that Miss Sarah used to make us learn +a page of dictionary if we talked after the silence bell!" +</P> + +<P> +"You must know the whole book by heart, then, dearie," replied Jane +with a smile, as she bent over a table and pushed back some books to +make room for a bowl of arbutus she held in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but she didn't catch us very often. We used to stuff up the cracks +in the doors so she couldn't hear us talk and smother our heads in the +pillows. Jonesy, the English teacher, was the worst." She was still +looking in the glass, her fingers busy with the spray of blossoms on +her bosom. "She always wore felt slippers and crept around like a cat. +She'd tell on anybody. We had a play one night in my room after lights +were out, and Maria Collins was Claude Melnotte and I was Pauline. +Maria had a mustache blackened on her lips with a piece of burnt cork +and I was all fixed up in a dressing-gown and sash. We never heard +Jonesy till she put her hand on the knob; then we blew out the candle +and popped into bed. She smelled the candle-wick and leaned over and +kissed Maria good-night, and the black all came off on her lips, and +next day we got three pages apiece—the mean old thing! How do I look, +Martha? Is my hair all right?" Here she turned her head for the old +woman's inspection. +</P> + +<P> +"Beautiful, darlin'. There won't one o' them know ye; they'll think +ye're a real livin' princess stepped out of a picture-book." Martha had +not taken her eyes from Lucy since she entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"See my little beau-catchers," she laughed, twisting her head so that +Martha could see the tiny Spanish curls she had flattened against her +temples. "They are for Bart Holt, and I'm going to cut sister out. Do +you think he'll remember me?" she prattled on, arching her neck. +</P> + +<P> +"It won't make any difference if he don't," Martha retorted in a +positive tone. "But Cap'n Nat will, and so will the doctor and Uncle +Ephraim and—who's that comin' this early?" and the old nurse paused +and listened to a heavy step on the porch. "It must be the cap'n +himself; there ain't nobody but him's got a tread like that; ye'd think +he was trampin' the deck o' one of his ships." +</P> + +<P> +The door of the drawing-room opened and a bluff, hearty, round-faced +man of fifty, his iron-gray hair standing straight up on his head like +a shoe-brush, dressed in a short pea-jacket surmounted by a low sailor +collar and loose necktie, stepped cheerily into the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Miss Jane!" Somehow all the neighbors, even the most intimate, +remembered to prefix "Miss" when speaking to Jane. "So you've got this +fly-away back again? Where are ye? By jingo! let me look at you. Why! +why! why! Did you ever! What have you been doing to yourself, lassie, +that you should shed your shell like a bug and come out with wings like +a butterfly? Why you're the prettiest thing I've seen since I got home +from my last voyage." +</P> + +<P> +He had Lucy by both bands now, and was turning her about as if she had +been one of Ann Gossaway's models. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I changed, Captain Holt?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—not a mite. You've got a new suit of flesh and blood on your +bones, that's all. And it's the best in the locker. Well! Well! WELL!" +He was still twisting her around. "She does ye proud, Martha," he +called to the old nurse, who was just leaving the room to take charge +of the pantry, now that the guests had begun to arrive. "And so ye're +home for good and all, lassie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—isn't it lovely?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lovely? That's no name for it. You'll be settin' the young fellers +crazy 'bout here before they're a week older. Here come two of 'em now." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy turned her head quickly, just as the doctor and Barton Holt +reached the door of the drawing-room. The elder of the two, Doctor +John, greeted Jane as if she had been a duchess, bowing low as he +approached her, his eyes drinking in her every movement; then, after a +few words, remembering the occasion as being one in honor of Lucy, he +walked slowly toward the young girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Lucy, it's so delightful to get you back!" he cried, shaking her +hand warmly. "And you are looking so well. Poor Martha has been on pins +and needles waiting for you. I told her just how it would be—that +she'd lose her little girl—and she has," and he glanced at her +admiringly. "What did she say when she saw you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the silly old thing began to cry, just as they all do. Have you +seen her dog?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer jarred on the doctor, although he excused her in his heart +on the ground of her youth and her desire to appear at ease in talking +to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean Meg?" he asked, scanning her face the closer. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what she calls him—but he's the ugliest little beast I +ever saw." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—but so amusing. I never get tired of watching him. What is left +of him is the funniest thing alive. He's better than he looks, though. +He and Rex have great times together." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you would take him, then. I told Martha this morning that he +mustn't poke his nose into my room, and he won't. He's a perfect +fright." +</P> + +<P> +"But the dear old woman loves him," he protested with a tender tone in +his voice, his eyes fixed on Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +He had looked into the faces of too many young girls in his +professional career not to know something of what lay at the bottom of +their natures. What he saw now came as a distinct surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care if she does," she retorted; "no, I don't," and she knit +her brow and shook her pretty head as she laughed. +</P> + +<P> +While they stood talking Bart Holt, who had lingered at the threshold, +his eyes searching for the fair arrival, was advancing toward the +centre of the room. Suddenly he stood still, his gaze fixed on the +vision of the girl in the clinging dress, with the blossoms resting on +her breast. The curve of her back, the round of the hip; the way her +moulded shoulders rose above the lace of her bodice; the bare, full +arms tapering to the wrists;—the color, the movement, the grace of it +all had taken away his breath. With only a side nod of recognition +toward Jane, he walked straight to Lucy and with an "Excuse me," +elbowed the doctor out of the way in his eagerness to reach the girl's +side. The doctor smiled at the young man's impetuosity, bent his head +to Lucy, and turned to where Jane was standing awaiting the arrival of +her other guests. +</P> + +<P> +The young man extended his hand. "I'm Bart Holt," he exclaimed; "you +haven't forgotten me, Miss Lucy, have you? We used to play together. +Mighty glad to see you—been expecting you for a week." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy colored slightly and arched her head in a coquettish way. His +frankness pleased her; so did the look of unfeigned admiration in his +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course I haven't forgotten you, Mr. Holt. It was so nice of +you to come," and she gave him the tips of her fingers—her own eyes +meanwhile, in one comprehensive glance, taking in his round head with +its closely cropped curls, searching brown eyes, wavering mouth, broad +shoulders, and shapely body, down to his small, well-turned feet. The +young fellow lacked the polish and well-bred grace of the doctor, just +as he lacked his well-cut clothes and distinguished manners, but there +was a sort of easy effrontery and familiar air about him that some of +his women admirers encouraged and others shrank from. Strange to say, +this had appealed to Lucy before he had spoken a word. +</P> + +<P> +"And you've come home for good now, haven't you?" His eyes were still +drinking in the beauty of the girl, his mind neither on his questions +nor her answers. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, forever and ever," she replied, with a laugh that showed her +white teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you like it at school?" It was her lips now that held his +attention and the little curves under her dimpled chin. He thought he +had never seen so pretty a mouth and chin. +</P> + +<P> +"Not always; but we used to have lots of fun," answered the girl, +studying him in return—the way his cravat was tied and the part of his +hair. She thought he had well-shaped ears and that his nose and +eyebrows looked like a picture she had in her room upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Come and tell me about it. Let's sit down here," he continued as he +drew her to a sofa and stood waiting until she took her seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I will for a moment, until they begin to come in," she answered, +her face all smiles. She liked the way he behaved towards her—not +asking her permission, but taking the responsibility and by his manner +compelling a sort of obedience. "But I can't stay," she added. "Sister +won't like it if I'm not with her to shake hands with everybody." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she won't mind me; I'm a great friend of Miss Jane's. Please go +on; what kind of fun did you have? I like to hear about girls' scrapes. +We had plenty of them at college, but I couldn't tell you half of +them." He had settled himself beside her now, his appropriating eyes +still taking in her beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, all kinds," she replied as she bent her head and glanced at the +blossoms on her breast to be assured of their protective covering. +</P> + +<P> +"But I shouldn't think you could have much fun with the teachers +watching you every minute," said Bart, moving nearer to her and turning +his body so he could look squarely into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but they didn't find out half that was going on." Then she added +coyly, "I don't know whether you can keep a secret—do you tell +everything you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never tell anything." +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll swear it." In proof he held up one hand and closed both eyes in +mock reverence as if he were taking an oath. He was getting more +interested now in her talk; up to this time her beauty had dazzled him. +"Never! So help me—" he mumbled impressively. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, one day we were walking out to the park—Now you're sure you +won't tell sister, she's so easily shocked?" The tone was the same, but +the inflection was shaded to closer intimacy. +</P> + +<P> +Again Bart cast up his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"And all the girls were in a string with Miss Griggs, the Latin +teacher, in front, and we all went in a cake shop and got a big piece +of gingerbread apiece. We were all eating away hard as we could when we +saw Miss Sarah coming. Every girl let her cake go, and when Miss Sarah +got to us the whole ten pieces were scattered along the sidewalk." +</P> + +<P> +Bart looked disappointed over the mild character of the scrape. From +what he had seen of her he had supposed her adventures would be +seasoned with a certain spice of deviltry. +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't have done that, I'd have hidden it in my pocket," he +replied, sliding down on the sofa until his head rested on the cushion +next her own. +</P> + +<P> +"We tried, but she was too close. Poor old Griggsey got a dreadful +scolding. She wasn't like Miss Jones—she wouldn't tell on the girls." +</P> + +<P> +"And did they let any of the fellows come to see you?" Bart asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; only brothers and cousins once in a long while. Maria Collins +tried to pass one of her beaux, Max Feilding, off as a cousin, but Miss +Sarah went down to see him and poor Maria had to stay upstairs." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd have got in," said Bart with some emphasis, rousing himself from +his position and twisting his body so he could again look squarely in +her face. This escapade was more to his liking. +</P> + +<P> +"How?" asked Lucy in a tone that showed she not only quite believed it, +but rather liked him the better for saying so. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh I don't know. I'd have cooked up some story." He was leaning over +now, toying with the lace that clung to Lucy's arms. "Did you ever have +any one of your own friends treated in that way?" +</P> + +<P> +Jane's voice cut short her answer. She had seen the two completely +absorbed in each other, to the exclusion of the other guests who were +now coming in, and wanted Lucy beside her. +</P> + +<P> +The young girl waved her fan gayly in answer, rose to her feet, turned +her head close to Bart's, pointed to the incoming guests, whispered +something in his ear that made him laugh, listened while he whispered +to her in return, and in obedience to the summons crossed the room to +meet a group of the neighbors, among them old Judge Woolworthy, in a +snuff-colored coat, high black stock, and bald head, and his bustling +little wife. Bart's last whisper to Lucy was in explanation of the +little wife's manner—who now, all bows and smiles, was shaking hands +with everybody about her. +</P> + +<P> +Then came Uncle Ephraim Tipple, and close beside him walked his spouse, +Ann, in a camel's-hair shawl and poke-bonnet, the two preceded by Uncle +Ephraim's stentorian laugh, which had been heard before their feet had +touched the porch outside. Mrs. Cromartin now bustled in, accompanied +by her two daughters—slim, awkward girls, both dressed alike in high +waists and short frocks; and after them the Bunsbys, father, mother, +and son—all smiles, the last a painfully thin young lawyer, in a low +collar and a shock of whitey-brown hair, "looking like a patent +window-mop resting against a wall," so Lucy described him afterward to +Martha when she was putting her to bed; and finally the Colfords and +Bronsons, young and old, together with Pastor Dellenbaugh, the +white-haired clergyman who preached in the only church in Warehold. +</P> + +<P> +When Lucy had performed her duty and the several greetings were over, +and Uncle Ephraim had shaken the hand of the young hostess in true +pump-handle fashion, the old man roaring with laughter all the time, as +if it were the funniest thing in the world to find her alive; and the +good clergyman in his mildest and most impressive manner had said she +grew more and more like her mother every day—which was a flight of +imagination on the part of the dear man, for she didn't resemble her in +the least; and the two thin girls had remarked that it must be so +"perfectly blissful" to get home; and the young lawyer had complimented +her on her wonderful, almost life-like resemblance to her grand-father, +whose portrait hung in the court-house—and which was nearer the +truth—to all of which the young girl replied in her most gracious +tones, thanking them for their kindness in coming to see her and for +welcoming her so cordially—the whole of Lucy's mind once more reverted +to Bart. +</P> + +<P> +Indeed, the several lobes of her brain had been working in opposition +for the past hour. While one-half of her mind was concocting polite +speeches for her guests the other was absorbed in the fear that Bart +would either get tired of waiting for her return and leave the sofa, or +that some other girl friend of his would claim him and her delightful +talk be at an end. +</P> + +<P> +To the young girl fresh from school Bart represented the only thing in +the room that was entirely alive. The others talked platitudes and +themselves. He had encouraged her to talk of HERSELF and of the things +she liked. He had, too, about him an assurance and dominating +personality which, although it made her a little afraid of him, only +added to his attractiveness. +</P> + +<P> +While she stood wondering how many times the white-haired young lawyer +would tell her it was so nice to have her back, she felt a slight +pressure on her arm and turned to face Bart. +</P> + +<P> +"You are wanted, please, Miss Lucy; may I offer you my arm? Excuse me, +Bunsby—I'll give her to you again in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy slipped her arm into Bart's, and asked simply, "What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"To finish our talk, of course. Do you suppose I'm going to let that +tow-head monopolize you?" he answered, pressing her arm closer to his +side with his own. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy laughed and tapped Bart with her fan in rebuke, and then there +followed a bit of coquetry in which the young girl declared that he was +"too mean for anything, and that she'd never seen anybody so conceited, +and if he only knew, she might really prefer the 'tow head' to his +own;" to which Bart answered that his only excuse was that he was so +lonely he was nearly dead, and that he had only come to save his +life—the whole affair culminating in his conducting her back to the +sofa with a great flourish and again seating himself beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been watching you," he began when he had made her comfortable +with a small cushion behind her shoulders and another for her pretty +feet. "You don't act a bit like Miss Jane." As he spoke he leaned +forward and flicked an imaginary something from her bare wrist with +that air which always characterized his early approaches to most women. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" Lucy asked, pleased at his attentions and thanking him with a +more direct look. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know. You're more jolly, I think. I don't like girls who +turn out to be solemn after you know them a while; I was afraid you +might. You know it's a long time since I saw you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, then, sister can't be solemn, for everybody says you and she are +great friends," she replied with a light laugh, readjusting the lace of +her bodice. +</P> + +<P> +"So we are; nobody about here I think as much of as I do of your +sister. She's been mighty good to me. But you know what I mean: I mean +those don't-touch-me kind of girls who are always thinking you mean a +lot of things when you're only trying to be nice and friendly to them. +I like to be a brother to a girl and to go sailing with her, and +fishing, and not have her bother me about her feet getting a little bit +wet, and not scream bloody murder when the boat gives a lurch. That's +the kind of girl that's worth having." +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't find them?" laughed Lucy, looking at him out of the +corners of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, not many. Do you mind little things like that?" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke his eyes wandered over her bare shoulders until they rested +on the blossoms, the sort of roaming, critical eyes that often cause a +woman to wonder whether some part of her toilet has not been carelessly +put together. Then he added, with a sudden lowering of his voice: +"That's a nice posy you've got. Who sent it?" and he bent his head as +if to smell the cluster on her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy drew back and a slight flush suffused her cheek; his audacity +frightened her. She was fond of admiration, but this way of expressing +it was new to her. The young man caught the movement and recovered +himself. He had ventured on a thin spot, as was his custom, and the +sound of the cracking ice had warned him in time. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I see, they're apple blossoms," he added carelessly as he +straightened up. "We've got a lot in our orchard. You like flowers, I +see." The even tone and perfect self-possession of the young man +reassured her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I adore them; don't you?" Lucy answered in a relieved, almost +apologetic voice. She was sorry she had misjudged him. She liked him +rather the better now for her mistake. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that depends. Apple blossoms never looked pretty to me before; +but then it makes a good deal of difference where they are," answered +Bart with a low chuckle. +</P> + +<P> +Jane had been watching the two and had noticed. Bart's position and +manner. His easy familiarity of pose offended her. Instinctively she +glanced about the room, wondering if any of her guests had seen it. +That Lucy did not resent it surprised her. She supposed her sister's +recent training would have made her a little more fastidious. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Lucy," she called gently, moving toward her, "bring Bart over +here and join the other girls." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Miss Jane, we'll be there in a minute," Bart answered in +Lucy's stead. Then he bent his head and said in a low voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you give me half those blossoms?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; it would spoil the bunch." +</P> + +<P> +"Please—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not a single one. You wouldn't care for them, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I would." Here he stretched out his hand and touched the blossoms +on her neck. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy ducked her head in merry glee, sprang up, and with a triumphant +curtsy and a "No, you don't, sir—not this time," joined her sister, +followed by art. +</P> + +<P> +The guests were now separated into big and little groups. Uncle Ephraim +and the judge were hob-nobbing around the fireplace, listening to Uncle +Ephraim's stories and joining in the laughter which every now and then +filled the room. Captain Nat was deep in a discussion with Doctor John +over some seafaring matter, and Jane and Mrs. Benson were discussing a +local charity with Pastor Dellenbaugh. +</P> + +<P> +The younger people being left to themselves soon began to pair off, the +white-haired young lawyer disappearing with the older Miss Cromartin +and Bart soon following with Lucy:—the outer porch and the long walk +down the garden path among the trees, despite the chilliness of the +night, seemed to be the only place in which they could be comfortable. +</P> + +<P> +During a lull in the discussion of Captain Nat's maritime news and +while Mrs. Benson was talking to the pastor, Doctor John seized the +opportunity to seat himself again by Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think Lucy improved?" she asked, motioning the doctor to a +place beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"She's much more beautiful than I thought she would be," he answered in +a hesitating way, looking toward Lucy, and seating himself in his +favorite attitude, hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the other and +hanging straight beside its fellow; only a man like the doctor, of more +than usual repose and of a certain elegance of form, Jane always said, +could sit this way any length of time and be comfortable and +unconscious of his posture. Then he added slowly, and as if he had +given the subject some consideration, "You won't keep her long, I'm +afraid." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't say that," Jane cried with a nervous start. "I don't know +what I would do if she should marry." +</P> + +<P> +"That don't sound like you, Miss Jane. You would be the first to deny +yourself. You are too good to do otherwise." He spoke with a slight +quiver in his voice, and yet with an emphasis that showed he believed +it. +</P> + +<P> +"No; it is you who are good to think so," she replied in a softer tone, +bending her head as she spoke, her eyes intent on her fan. "And now +tell me," she added quickly, raising her eyes to his as if to bar any +further tribute he might be on the point of paying to her—"I hear your +mother takes greatly to heart your having refused the hospital +appointment." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm afraid she does. Mother has a good many new-fashioned notions +nowadays." He laughed—a mellow, genial laugh; more in the spirit of +apology than of criticism. +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't want to go?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to go? No, why should I? There would be nobody to look after the +people here if I went away. You don't want me to leave, do you?" he +added suddenly in an anxious tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody does, doctor," she replied, parrying the question, her face +flushing with pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Here Martha entered the room hurriedly and bending over Jane's +shoulder, whispered something in her ear. The doctor straightened +himself and leaned back out of hearing. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, but I don't think she will take cold," Jane whispered in return, +looking up into Martha's face. "Has she anything around her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, your big red cloak; but the child's head is bare and there's +mighty little on her neck, and she ought to come in. The wind's begun +to blow and it's gettin' cold." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" Jane continued, her face showing her surprise at +Martha's statement. +</P> + +<P> +"Out by the gate with that dare-devil. He don't care who he gives cold. +I told her she'd get her death, but she won't mind me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Martha, how can you talk so!" Jane retorted, with a disapproving +frown. Then raising her voice so that the doctor could be brought into +the conversation, she added in her natural tone, "Whom did you say she +was with?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bart Holt," cried Martha aloud, nodding to the doctor as if to get his +assistance in saving her bairn from possible danger. +</P> + +<P> +Jane colored slightly and turned to Doctor John. +</P> + +<P> +"You go please, doctor, and bring them all in, or you may have some new +patients on your hands." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked from one to the other in doubt as to the cause of his +selection, but Jane's face showed none of the anxiety in Martha's. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, certainly," he answered simply; "but I'll get myself into a +hornet's nest. These young people don't like to be told what's good for +them," he added with a laugh, rising from his seat. "And after that +you'll permit me to slip away without telling anybody, won't you? My +last minute has come," and he glanced at his watch. +</P> + +<P> +"Going so soon? Why, I wanted you to stay for supper. It will be ready +in a few minutes." Her voice had lost its buoyancy now. She never +wanted him to go. She never let him know it, but it pained her all the +same. +</P> + +<P> +"I would like to, but I cannot." All his heart was in his eyes as he +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Someone ill?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Fogarty's child. The little fellow may develop croup before +morning. I saw him to-day, and his pulse was not right, he's a sturdy +little chap with a thick neck, and that kind always suffers most. If +he's worse Fogarty is to send word to my office," he added, holding out +his hand in parting. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I help?" Jane asked, retaining the doctor's hand in hers as if to +get the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'll watch him closely. Good-night," and with a smile he bent his +head and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +Martha followed the doctor to the outer door, and then grumbling her +satisfaction went back to the pantry to direct the servants in +arranging upon the small table in the supper-room the simple +refreshments which always characterized the Cobdens' entertainments. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the girls and their beaux came trooping in to join their elders on +the way to the supper-room. Lucy hung back until the last (she had not +liked the doctor's interference), Jane's long red cloak draped from her +shoulders, the hood hanging down her back, her cheeks radiant, her +beautiful blond hair ruffled with the night wind, an aureole of gold +framing her face. Bart followed close behind, a pleased, almost +triumphant smile playing about his lips. +</P> + +<P> +He had carried his point. The cluster of blossoms which had rested upon +Lucy's bosom was pinned to the lapel of his coat. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LITTLE TOD FOGARTY +</H3> + +<P> +With the warmth of Jane's parting grasp lingering in his own Doctor +John untied the mare, sprang into his gig, and was soon clear of the +village and speeding along the causeway that stretched across the salt +marshes leading past his own home to the inner beach beyond. As he +drove slowly through his own gate, so as to make as little noise as +possible, the cottage, blanketed under its clinging vines, seemed in +the soft light of the low-lying moon to be fast asleep. Only one eye +was open; this was the window of his office, through which streamed the +glow of a lamp, its light falling on the gravel path and lilac bushes +beyond. +</P> + +<P> +Rex gave a bark of welcome and raced beside the wheels. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep still, old dog! Down, Rex! Been lonely, old fellow?" +</P> + +<P> +The dog in answer leaped in the air as his master drew rein, and with +eager springs tried to reach his hands, barking all the while in short +and joyful yelps. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John threw the lines across the dash-board, jumped from the gig, +and pushing open the hall door—it was never locked—stepped quickly +into his office, and turning up the lamp, threw himself into a chair at +his desk. The sorrel made no attempt to go to the stable—both horse +and man were accustomed to delays—sometimes of long hours and +sometimes of whole nights. +</P> + +<P> +The appointments and fittings of the office—old-fashioned and +practical as they were—reflected in a marked degree the aims and +tastes of the occupant. While low bookcases stood against the walls +surmounted by rows of test-tubes, mortars and pestles, cases of +instruments, and a line of bottles labelled with names of various +mixtures (in those days doctors were chemists as well as physicians), +there could also be found a bust of the young Augustus; one or two +lithographs of Heidelberg, where he had studied; and some line +engravings in black frames—one a view of Oxford with the Thames +wandering by, another a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, and still +another of Nell Gwynn. Scattered about the room were easy-chairs and +small tables piled high with books, a copy of Tacitus and an early +edition of Milton being among them, while under the wide, low window +stood a narrow bench crowded with flowering plants in earthen pots, the +remnants of the winter's bloom. There were also souvenirs of his +earlier student life—a life which few of his friends in Warehold, +except Jane Cobden, knew or cared anything about—including a pair of +crossed foils and two boxing-gloves; these last hung over a portrait of +Macaulay. +</P> + +<P> +What the place lacked was the touch of a woman's hand in vase, flower, +or ornament—a touch that his mother, for reasons of her own, never +gave and which no other woman had yet dared suggest. +</P> + +<P> +For an instant the doctor sat with his elbows on the desk in deep +thought, the light illuminating his calm, finely chiselled features and +hands—those thin, sure hands which could guide a knife within a hair's +breadth of instant death—and leaning forward, with an indrawn sigh +examined some letters lying under his eye. Then, as if suddenly +remembering, he glanced at the office slate, his face lighting up as he +found it bare of any entry except the date. +</P> + +<P> +Rex had been watching his master with ears cocked, and was now on his +haunches, cuddling close, his nose resting on the doctor's knee. Doctor +John laid his hand on the dog's head and smoothing the long, silky +ears, said with a sigh of relief, as he settled himself in his chair: +</P> + +<P> +"Little Tod must be better, Rex, and we are going to have a quiet +night." +</P> + +<P> +The anxiety over his patients relieved, his thoughts reverted to Jane +and their talk. He remembered the tone of her voice and the quick way +in which she had warded off his tribute to her goodness; he recalled +her anxiety over Lucy; he looked again into the deep, trusting eyes +that gazed into his as she appealed to him for assistance; he caught +once more the poise of the head as she listened to his account of +little Tod Fogarty's illness and heard her quick offer to help, and +felt for the second time her instant tenderness and sympathy, never +withheld from the sick and suffering, and always so generous and +spontaneous. +</P> + +<P> +A certain feeling of thankfulness welled up in his heart. Perhaps she +had at last begun to depend upon him—a dependence which, with a woman +such as Jane, must, he felt sure, eventually end in love. +</P> + +<P> +With these thoughts filling his mind, he settled deeper in his chair. +These were the times in which he loved to think of her—when, with pipe +in mouth, he could sit alone by his fire and build castles in the +coals, every rosy mountain-top aglow with the love he bore her; with no +watchful mother's face trying to fathom his thoughts; only his faithful +dog stretched at his feet. +</P> + +<P> +Picking up his brierwood, lying on a pile of books on his desk, and +within reach of his hand, he started to fill the bowl, when a scrap of +paper covered with a scrawl written in pencil came into view. He turned +it to the light and sprang to his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Tod worse," he said to himself. "I wonder how long this has been here." +</P> + +<P> +The dog was now beside him looking up into the doctor's eyes. It was +not the first time that he had seen his master's face grow suddenly +serious as he had read the tell-tale slate or had opened some note +awaiting his arrival. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John lowered the lamp, stepped noiselessly to the foot of the +winding stairs that led to the sleeping rooms above—the dog close at +his heels, watching his every movement—and called gently: +</P> + +<P> +"Mother! mother, dear!" He never left his office when she was at home +and awake without telling her where he was going. +</P> + +<P> +No one answered. +</P> + +<P> +"She is asleep. I will slip out without waking her. Stay where you are, +Rex—I will be back some time before daylight," and throwing his +night-cloak about his shoulders, he started for his gig. +</P> + +<P> +The dog stopped with his paws resting on the outer edge of the top step +of the porch, the line he was not to pass, and looked wistfully after +the doctor. His loneliness was to continue, and his poor master to go +out into the night alone. His tail ceased to wag, only his eyes moved. +</P> + +<P> +Once outside Doctor John patted the mare's neck as if in apology and +loosened the reins. "Come, old girl," he said; "I'm sorry, but it can't +be helped," and springing into the gig, he walked the mare clear of the +gravel beyond the gate, so as not to rouse his mother, touched her +lightly with the whip, and sent her spinning along the road on the way +to Fogarty's. +</P> + +<P> +The route led toward the sea, branching off within the sight of the +cottage porch, past the low, conical ice-houses used by the fishermen +in which to cool their fish during the hot weather, along the +sand-dunes, and down a steep grade to the shore. The tide was making +flood, and the crawling surf spent itself in long shelving reaches of +foam. These so packed the sand that the wheels of the gig hardly made +an impression upon it. Along this smooth surface the mare trotted +briskly, her nimble feet wet with the farthest reaches of the incoming +wash. +</P> + +<P> +As he approached the old House of Refuge, black in the moonlight and +looking twice its size in the stretch of the endless beach, he noticed +for the hundredth time how like a crouching woman it appeared, with its +hipped roof hunched up like a shoulder close propped against the dune +and its overhanging eaves but a draped hood shading its thoughtful +brow; an illusion which vanished when its square form, with its wide +door and long platform pointing to the sea, came into view. +</P> + +<P> +More than once in its brief history the doctor had seen the volunteer +crew, aroused from their cabins along the shore by the boom of a gun +from some stranded vessel, throw wide its door and with a wild cheer +whirl the life-boat housed beneath its roof into the boiling surf, and +many a time had he helped to bring back to life the benumbed bodies +drawn from the merciless sea by their strong arms. +</P> + +<P> +There were other houses like it up and down the coast. Some had +remained unused for years, desolate and forlorn, no unhappy ship having +foundered or struck the breakers within their reach; others had been in +constant use. The crews were gathered from the immediate neighborhood +by the custodian, who was the only man to receive pay from the +Government. If he lived near by he kept the key; if not, the nearest +fisherman held it. Fogarty, the father of the sick child, and whose +cabin was within gunshot of this house, kept the key this year. No +other protection was given these isolated houses and none was needed. +These black-hooded Sisters of the Coast, keeping their lonely vigils, +were as safe from beach-combers and sea-prowlers as their white-capped +namesakes would have been threading the lonely suburbs of some city. +</P> + +<P> +The sound of the mare's feet on the oyster-shell path outside his cabin +brought Fogarty, a tall, thin, weather-beaten fisherman, to the door. +He was still wearing his hip-boots and sou'wester—he was just in from +the surf—and stood outside the low doorway with a lantern. Its light +streamed over the sand and made wavering patterns about the mare's feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought ye'd never come, Doc," he whispered, as he threw the blanket +over the mare. "Wife's nigh crazy. Tod's fightin' for all he's worth, +but there ain't much breath left in him. I was off the inlet when it +come on." +</P> + +<P> +The wife, a thick-set woman in a close-fitting cap, her arms bared to +the elbow, her petticoats above the tops of her shoes, met him inside +the door. She had been crying and her eyelids were still wet and her +cheeks swollen. The light of the ship's lantern fastened to the wall +fell upon a crib in the corner, on which lay the child, his short +curls, tangled with much tossing, smoothed back from his face. The +doctor's ears had caught the sound of the child's breathing before he +entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"When did this come on?" Doctor John asked, settling down beside the +crib upon a stool that the wife had brushed off with her apron. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout sundown, sir," she answered, her tear-soaked eyes fixed on +little Tod's face. Her teeth chattered as she spoke and her arms were +tight pressed against her sides, her fingers opening and shutting in +her agony. Now and then in her nervousness she would wipe her forehead +with the back of her wrist as if it were wet, or press her two fingers +deep into her swollen cheek. +</P> + +<P> +Fogarty had followed close behind the doctor and now stood looking down +at the crib with fixed eyes, his thin lips close shut, his square jaw +sunk in the collar of his shirt. There were no dangers that the sea +could unfold which this silent surfman had not met and conquered, and +would again. Every fisherman on the coast knew Fogarty's pluck and +skill, and many of them owed their lives to him. To-night, before this +invisible power slowly closing about his child he was as powerless as a +skiff without oars caught in the swirl of a Barnegat tide. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you let me know sooner, Fogarty? You understood my +directions?" Doctor John asked in a surprised tone. "You shouldn't have +left him without letting me know." It was only when his orders were +disobeyed and life endangered that he spoke thus. +</P> + +<P> +The fisherman turned his head and was about to reply when the wife +stepped in front of him. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband got ketched in the inlet, sir," she said in an apologetic +tone, as if to excuse his absence. "The tide set ag'in him and he had +hard pullin' makin' the p'int. It cuts in turrible there, you know, +doctor. Tod seemed to be all right when he left him this mornin'. I had +husband's mate take the note I wrote ye. Mate said nobody was at home +and he laid it under your pipe. He thought ye'd sure find it there when +ye come in." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John was not listening to her explanations; he was leaning over +the rude crib, his ear to the child's breast. Regaining his position, +he smoothed the curls tenderly from the forehead of the little fellow, +who still lay with eyes closed, one stout brown hand and arm clear of +the coverlet, and stood watching his breathing. Every now and then a +spasm of pain would cross the child's face; the chubby hand would open +convulsively and a muffled cry escape him. Doctor John watched his +breathing for some minutes, laid his hand again on the child's +forehead, and rose from the stool. +</P> + +<P> +"Start up that fire, Fogarty," he said in a crisp tone, turning up his +shirt-cuffs, slipping off his evening coat, and handing the garment to +the wife, who hung it mechanically over a chair, her eyes all the time +searching Doctor John's face for some gleam of hope. +</P> + +<P> +"Now get a pan," he continued, "fill it with water and some corn-meal, +and get me some cotton cloth—half an apron, piece of an old petticoat, +anything, but be quick about it." +</P> + +<P> +The woman, glad of something to do, hastened to obey. Somehow, the +tones of his voice had put new courage into her heart. Fogarty threw a +heap of driftwood on the smouldering fire and filled the kettle; the +dry splinters crackled into a blaze. +</P> + +<P> +The noise aroused the child. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor held up his finger for silence and again caressed the boy's +forehead. Fogarty, with a fresh look of alarm in his face, tiptoed back +of the crib and stood behind the restless sufferer. Under the doctor's +touch the child once more became quiet. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he bad off?" the wife murmured when the doctor moved to the fire +and began stirring the mush she was preparing. "The other one went this +way; we can't lose him. You won't lose him, will ye, doctor, dear? I +don't want to live if this one goes. Please, doctor—" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked into the wife's eyes, blurred with tears, and laid +his hand tenderly on her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep a good heart, wife," he said; "we'll pull him through. Tod is a +tough little chap with plenty of fight in him yet. I've seen them much +worse. It will soon be over; don't worry." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fogarty's eyes brightened and even the fisherman's grim face +relaxed. Silent men in grave crises suffer most; the habit of their +lives precludes the giving out of words that soothe and heal; when +others speak them, they sink into their thirsty souls like drops of +rain after a long drought. It was just such timely expressions as these +that helped Doctor John's patients most—often their only hope hung on +some word uttered with a buoyancy of spirit that for a moment stifled +all their anxieties. +</P> + +<P> +The effect of the treatment began to tell upon the little sufferer—his +breathing became less difficult, the spasms less frequent. The doctor +whispered the change to the wife, sitting close at his elbow, his +impassive face brightening as he spoke; there was an oven chance now +for the boy's life. +</P> + +<P> +The vigil continued. +</P> + +<P> +No one moved except Fogarty, who would now and then tiptoe quickly to +the hearth, add a fresh log to the embers, and as quickly move back to +his position behind the child's crib. The rising and falling of the +blaze, keeping rhythm, as it were, to the hopes and fears of the group, +lighted up in turn each figure in the room. First the doctor sitting +with hands resting on his knees, his aquiline nose and brow clearly +outlined against the shadowy background in the gold chalk of the +dancing flames, his black evening clothes in strong contrast to the +high white of the coverlet, framing the child's face like a nimbus. +Next the bent body of the wife, her face in half-tones, her stout +shoulders in high relief, and behind, swallowed up in the gloom, out of +reach of the fire-. gleam, the straight, motionless form of the +fisherman, standing with folded arms, grim and silent, his unseen eyes +fixed on his child. +</P> + +<P> +Far into the night, and until the gray dawn streaked the sky, this +vigil continued; the doctor, assisted by Fogarty and the wife, changing +the poultices, filling the child's lungs with hot steam by means of a +paper funnel, and encouraging the mother by his talk. At one time he +would tell her in half-whispered tones of a child who had recovered and +who had been much weaker than this one. Again he would turn to Fogarty +and talk of the sea, of the fishing outside the inlet, of the big +three-masted schooner which had been built by the men at Tom's River, +of the new light they thought of building at Barnegat to take the place +of the old one—anything to divert their minds and lessen their +anxieties, stopping only to note the sound of every cough the boy gave +or to change the treatment as the little sufferer struggled on fighting +for his life. +</P> + +<P> +When the child dozed no one moved, no word was spoken. Then in the +silence there would come to their ears above the labored breathing of +the boy the long swinging tick of the clock, dull and ominous, as if +tolling the minutes of a passing life; the ceaseless crunch of the sea, +chewing its cud on the beach outside or the low moan of the outer bar +turning restlessly on its bed of sand. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, and without warning, and out of an apparent sleep, the child +started up from his pillow with staring eyes and began beating the air +for breath. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor leaned quickly forward, listened for a moment, his ear to +the boy's chest, and said in a quiet, restrained voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Go into the other room, Mrs. Fogarty, and stay there till I call you." +The woman raised her eyes to his and obeyed mechanically. She was worn +out, mind and body, and had lost her power of resistance. +</P> + +<P> +As the door shut upon her Doctor John sprang from the stool, caught the +lamp from the wall, handed it to Fogarty, and picking the child up from +the crib, laid it flat upon his knees. +</P> + +<P> +He now slipped his hand into his pocket and took from it a leather case +filled with instruments. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold the light, Fogarty," he said in a firm, decided tone, "and keep +your nerve. I thought he'd pull through without it, but he'll strangle +if I don't." +</P> + +<P> +"What ye goin' to do—not cut him?" whispered the fisherman in a +trembling voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It's his only chance. I've seen it coming on for the last +hour—no nonsense now. Steady, old fellow. It'll be over in a minute. +... There, my boy, that'll help you. Now, Fogarty, hand me that cloth. +... All right, little man; don't cry; it's all over. Now open the door +and let your wife in," and he laid the child back on the pillow. +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor took the blanket from the sorrel tethered outside +Fogarty's cabin and turned his horse's head homeward the sails of the +fishing-boats lying in a string on the far horizon flashed silver in +the morning sun, His groom met him at the stable door, and without a +word led the mare into the barn. +</P> + +<P> +The lamp in his study was still burning in yellow mockery of the rosy +dawn. He laid his case of instruments on the desk, hung his cloak and +hat to a peg in the closet, and ascended the staircase on the way to +his bedroom. As he passed his mother's open door she heard his step. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's broad daylight, son," she called in a voice ending in a yawn. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been?" +</P> + +<P> +"To see little Tod Fogarty," he answered simply. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Croup." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he going to die?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not this time." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what did you stay out all night for?" The voice had now grown +stronger, with a petulant tone through it. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I could hardly help it. They are very simple people, and were so +badly frightened that they were helpless. It's the only child they have +left to them—the last one died of croup." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, are you going to turn nurse for half the paupers in the county? +All children have croup, and they don't all die!" The petulant voice +had now developed into one of indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"No, mother, but I couldn't take any risks. This little chap is worth +saving." +</P> + +<P> +There came a pause, during which the tired man waited patiently. +</P> + +<P> +"You were at the Cobdens'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; or I should have reached Fogarty's sooner." +</P> + +<P> +"And Miss Jane detained you, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"No, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-night, John." +</P> + +<P> +"Say rather 'Good-day,' mother," he answered with a smile and continued +on to his room. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK +</H3> + +<P> +The merrymakings at Yardley continued for weeks, a new impetus and +flavor being lent them by the arrival of two of Lucy's friends—her +schoolmate and bosom companion, Maria Collins, of Trenton, and Maria's +devoted admirer, Max Feilding, of Walnut Hill, Philadelphia. +</P> + +<P> +Jane, in her joy over Lucy's home-coming, and in her desire to meet her +sister's every wish, gladly welcomed the new arrivals, although Miss +Collins, strange to say, had not made a very good impression upon her. +Max she thought better of. He was a quiet, well-bred young fellow; +older than either Lucy or Maria, and having lived abroad a year, knew +something of the outside world. Moreover, their families had always +been intimate in the old days, his ancestral home being always open to +Jane's mother when a girl. +</P> + +<P> +The arrival of these two strangers only added to the general gayety. +Picnics were planned to the woods back of Warehold to which the young +people of the town were invited, and in which Billy Tatham with his +team took a prominent part. Sailing and fishing parties outside of +Barnegat were gotten up; dances were held in the old parlor, and even +tableaux were arranged under Max's artistic guidance. In one of these +Maria wore a Spanish costume fashioned out of a white lace shawl +belonging to Jane's grand-mother draped over her head and shoulders, +and made the more bewitching by a red japonica fixed in her hair, and +Lucy appeared as a dairy-maid decked out in one of Martha's caps, +altered to fit her shapely head. +</P> + +<P> +The village itself was greatly stirred. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen them two fly-up-the-creeks?" Billy Tatham, the +stage-driver, asked of Uncle Ephraim Tipple as he was driving him down +to the boat-landing. +</P> + +<P> +"No, what do they look like?" +</P> + +<P> +"The He-one had on a two-inch hat with a green ribbon and wore a white +bob-tail coat that 'bout reached to the top o' his pants. Looks like he +lived on water-crackers and milk, his skin's that white. The She-one +had a set o' hoops on her big as a circus tent. Much as I could do to +git her in the 'bus—as it was, she come in sideways. And her trunk! +Well, it oughter been on wheels—one o' them travellin' houses. I +thought one spell I'd take the old plug out the shafts and hook on to +it and git it up that-a-way." +</P> + +<P> +"Some of Lucy's chums, I guess," chuckled Uncle Ephraim. "Miss Jane +told me they were coming. How long are they going to stay?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dunno. Till they git fed up and fattened, maybe. If they was mine I'd +have killin' time to-day." +</P> + +<P> +Ann Gossaway and some of her cronies also gave free rein to their +tongues. +</P> + +<P> +"Learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did they?" broke out the +dressmaker. (Lucy had been the only young woman in Warehold who had +ever enjoyed that privilege.) "Wearin' each other's hats, rollin' round +in the sand, and hollerin' so you could hear 'em clear to the +lighthouse. If I had my way I'd finish 'em, And that's where they'll +git if they don't mind, and quick, too!" +</P> + +<P> +The Dellenbaughs, Cromartins, and Bunsbys, being of another class, +viewed the young couple's visit in a different light. "Mr. Feilding has +such nice hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger Miss +Cromartin said, and "Miss Collins is too sweet for anything." Prim Mr. +Bunsby, having superior notions of life and deportment, only shook his +head. He looked for more dignity, he said; but then this Byronic young +man had not been invited to any of the outings. +</P> + +<P> +In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was the central figure. Her +beauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation and +conventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and +the way she wore them, all added to her popularity. In the swing and +toss of her freedom, her true temperament developed. She was like a +summer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving the +air she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as for +the new bound it gave to her blood. Just as she loved the sunlight for +its warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. So, too, +when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in the +beauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance, +would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in great +draughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking in +the honey of their petals. +</P> + +<P> +This was also true of her voice—a rich, full, vibrating voice, that +dominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her. When +she sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own +overcharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul, +as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody—because, too, she +could not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart +and could find their only outlet through the lips. +</P> + +<P> +Bart was her constant companion. Under his instructions she had learned +to hold the tiller in sailing in and out of the inlet; to swim over +hand; to dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and to join in +all his outdoor sports. Lucy had been his constant inspiration in all +of this. She had surveyed the field that first night of their meeting +and had discovered that the young man's personality offered the only +material in Warehold available for her purpose. With him, or someone +like him—one who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick and strong +and skilful (and Bart was all of these)—the success of her summer +would be assured. Without him many of her plans could not be carried +out. +</P> + +<P> +And her victory over him had been an easy one. Held first by the spell +of her beauty and controlled later by her tact and stronger will, the +young man's effrontery—almost impudence at times—had changed to a +certain respectful subservience, which showed itself in his constant +effort to please and amuse her. When they were not sailing they were +back in the orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking together +nobody knew where. Often Bart would call for her immediately after +breakfast, and the two would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day, +Lucy arranging the details of the outing, and Bart entering into them +with a dash and an eagerness which, to a man of his temperament, +cemented the bond between them all the closer. Had they been two fabled +denizens of the wood—she a nymph and he a dryad—they could not have +been more closely linked with sky and earth. +</P> + +<P> +As for Jane, she watched the increasing intimacy with alarm. She had +suddenly become aroused to the fact that Lucy's love affair with Bart +was going far beyond the limits of prudence. The son of Captain +Nathaniel Holt, late of the Black Ball Line of packets, would always be +welcome as a visitor at the home, the captain being an old and tried +friend of her father's; but neither Bart's education nor prospects, +nor, for that matter, his social position—a point which usually had +very little weight with Jane—could possibly entitle him to ask the +hand of the granddaughter of Archibald Cobden in marriage. She began to +regret that she had thrown them together. Her own ideas of reforming +him had never contemplated any such intimacy as now existed between the +young man and her sister. The side of his nature which he had always +shown her had been one of respectful attention to her wishes; so much +so that she had been greatly encouraged in her efforts to make +something more of him than even his best friends predicted could be +done; but she had never for one instant intended that her friendly +interest should go any further, nor could she have conceived of such an +issue. +</P> + +<P> +And yet Jane did nothing to prevent the meetings and outings of the +young couple, even after Maria's and Max's departure. +</P> + +<P> +When Martha, in her own ever-increasing anxiety, spoke of the growing +intimacy she looked grave, but she gave no indication of her own +thoughts. Her pride prevented her discussing the situation with the old +nurse and her love for Lucy from intervening in her pleasures. +</P> + +<P> +"She has been cooped up at school so long, Martha, dear," she answered +in extenuation, "that I hate to interfere in anything she wants to do. +She is very happy; let her alone. I wish, though, she would return some +of the calls of these good people who have been so kind to her. Perhaps +she will if you speak to her. But don't worry about Bart; that will +wear itself out. All young girls must have their love-affairs." +</P> + +<P> +Jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity when she spoke about +"wearing itself out," and Martha had gone to her room more dissatisfied +than before. This feeling became all the more intense when, the next +day, from her window she watched Bart tying on Lucy's hat, puffing out +the big bow under her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings. +Lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward Bart's, her pretty +lips near his own. There was a knot or a twist, or a collection of +knots and twists, or perhaps Bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passed +before the hat could be fastened to suit either of them. Martha's head +had all this time been thrust out of the easement, her gaze apparently +fixed on a birdcage hung from a hook near the shutter. +</P> + +<P> +Bart caught her eye and whispered to Lucy that that "old spy-cat" was +watching them; whereupon Lucy faced about, waved her hand to the old +nurse, and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out of sight, +followed by Bart carrying a shawl for them to sit upon. +</P> + +<P> +After that Martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, kept watch, so +far as she could, upon their movements, without, as she thought, +betraying herself: making excuses to go to the village when they two +went off together in that direction; traversing the orchard, ostensibly +looking for Meg when she knew all the time that the dog was sound +asleep in the woodshed; or yielding to a sudden desire to give the +rascal a bath whenever Lucy announced that she and Bart were going to +spend the morning down by the water. +</P> + +<P> +As the weeks flew by and Lucy had shown no willingness to assume her +share of any of the responsibilities of the house,—any that interfered +with her personal enjoyment,—Jane became more and more restless and +unhappy. The older village people had shown her sister every attention, +she said to herself,—more than was her due, considering her +youth,—and yet Lucy had never crossed any one of their thresholds. She +again pleaded with the girl to remember her social duties and to pay +some regard to the neighbors who had called upon her and who had shown +her so much kindness; to which the happy-hearted sister had laughed +back in reply: +</P> + +<P> +"What for, you dear sister? These old fossils don't want to see me, and +I'm sure I don't want to see them. Some of them give me the shivers, +they are so prim." +</P> + +<P> +It was with glad surprise, therefore, that Jane heard Lucy say in +Martha's hearing one bright afternoon: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, I'm going to begin, sister, and you won't have to scold me any +more. Everyone of these old tabbies I will take in a row: Mrs. +Cavendish first, and then the Cromartins, and the balance of the bunch +when I can reach them. I am going to Rose Cottage to see Mrs. Cavendish +this very afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +The selection of Mrs. Cavendish as first on her list only increased +Jane's wonder. Rose Cottage lay some two miles from Warehold, near the +upper end of the beach, and few of their other friends lived near it. +Then again, Jane knew that Lucy had not liked the doctor's calling her +into the house the night of her arrival, and had heretofore made one +excuse after another when urged to call on his mother. Her delight, +therefore, over Lucy's sudden sense of duty was all the more keen. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go with you, darling," she answered, slipping her arm about +Lucy's waist, "and we'll take Meg for a walk." +</P> + +<P> +So they started, Lucy in her prettiest frock and hat and Jane with her +big red cloak over her arm to protect the young girl from the breeze +from the sea, which in the early autumn was often cool, especially if +they should sit out on Mrs. Cavendish's piazza. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's mother met them on the porch. She had seen them enter the +garden gate, and had left her seat by the window, and was standing on +the top step to welcome them. Rex, as usual, in the doctor's absence, +did the honors of the office. He loved Jane, and always sprang straight +at her, his big paws resting on her shoulders. These courtesies, +however, he did not extend to Meg. The high-bred setter had no other +salutation for the clay-colored remnant than a lifting of his nose, a +tightening of his legs, and a smothered growl when Meg ventured too +near his lordship. +</P> + +<P> +"Come up, my dear, and let me look at you," were Mrs. Cavendish's first +words of salutation to Lucy. "I hear you have quite turned the heads of +all the gallants in Warehold. John says you are very beautiful, and you +know the doctor is a good judge, is he not, Miss Jane?" she added, +holding out her hands to them both. "And he's quite right; you are just +like your dear mother, who was known as the Rose of Barnegat long +before you were born. Shall we sit here, or will you come into my +little salon for a cup of tea?" It was always a salon to Mrs. +Cavendish, never a "sitting-room." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, please let me sit here," Lucy answered, checking a rising smile at +the word, "the view is so lovely," and without further comment or any +reference to the compliments showered upon her, she took her seat upon +the top step and began to play with Rex, who had already offered to +make friends with her, his invariable habit with well-dressed people. +</P> + +<P> +Jane meanwhile improved the occasion to ask the doctor's mother about +the hospital they were building near Barnegat, and whether she and one +or two of the other ladies at Warehold would not be useful as visitors, +and, perhaps, in case of emergency, as nurses. +</P> + +<P> +While the talk was in progress Lucy sat smoothing Rex's silky ears, +listening to every word her hostess spoke, watching her gestures and +the expressions that crossed her face, and settling in her mind for all +time, after the manner of young girls, what sort of woman the doctor's +mother might be; any opinions she might have had two years before being +now outlawed by this advanced young woman in her present mature +judgment. +</P> + +<P> +In that comprehensive glance, with the profound wisdom of her seventeen +summers to help her, she had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Cavendish +was a high-strung, nervous, fussy little woman of fifty, with an +outward show of good-will and an inward intention to rip everybody up +the back who opposed her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of her +son, and determined, if she could manage it, to break off his +attachment for Jane, no matter at what cost. This last Lucy caught from +a peculiar look in the little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornful +curve of the lower lip as she listened to Jane's talk about the +hospital, all of which was lost on "plain Jane Cobden," as the doctor's +mother invariably called her sister behind her back. +</P> + +<P> +Then the young mind-reader turned her attention to the house and +grounds and the buildings lying above and before her, especially to the +way the matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over the roof +and dormers. Later on she listened to Mrs. Cavendish's description of +its age and ancestry: How it had come down to her from her grandfather, +whose large estate was near Trenton, where as a girl she had spent her +life; how in those days it was but a small villa to which old Nicholas +Erskine, her great-uncle, would bring his guests when the August days +made Trenton unbearable; and how in later years under the big trees +back of the house and over the lawn—"you can see them from where you +sit, my dear"—tea had been served to twenty or more of "the first +gentlemen and ladies of the land." +</P> + +<P> +Jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and so had every other +visitor at Rose Cottage, but to Lucy it was only confirmation of her +latter-day opinion of her hostess. Nothing, however, could be more +gracious than the close attention which the young girl gave Mrs. +Cavendish's every word when the talk was again directed to her, bending +her pretty head and laughing at the right time—a courtesy which so +charmed the dear lady that she insisted on giving first Lucy, and then +Jane, a bunch of roses from her "own favorite bush" before the two +girls took their leave. +</P> + +<P> +With these evidences of her delight made clear, Lucy pushed Rex from +her side—he had become presuming and had left the imprint of his dusty +paw upon her spotless frock—and with the remark that she had other +visits to pay, her only regret being that this one was so short, she +got up from her seat on the step, called Meg, and stood waiting for +Jane with some slight impatience in her manner. +</P> + +<P> +Jane immediately rose from her chair. She had been greatly pleaded at +the impression Lucy had made. Her manner, her courtesy, her respect for +the older woman, her humoring her whims, show her to be the daughter of +a Cobden. As to her own place during the visit, she had never given it +a thought. She would always be willing to act as foil to her +accomplished, brilliant sister if by so doing she could make other +people love Lucy the more. +</P> + +<P> +As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs. Cavendish preceding +them, Jane lingered for a moment and gave a hurried glance about her. +There stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown himself so +often when tired out. There, too, was the closet where he hung his coat +and hat, and the desk covered with books and papers. A certain feeling +of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession of her, as when +one enters a sanctuary in the absence of the priest. For an instant she +passed her hand gently over the leather back of the chair where his +head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then her eyes wandered over +the room, noting each appointment in detail. Suddenly a sense of +injustice rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of beauty had +ever been added to these plain surroundings; even the plants in the +boxes by the windows looked half faded. With a quick glance at the open +door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, leaned over, and +with the feeling of a devotee laying an offering on the altar, placed +the flower hurried on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs. +Cavendish. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every now and then turned to +the sea. When she and Jane had reached the cross-road that branched off +toward the beach—it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's windows—Lucy +said: +</P> + +<P> +"The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay any more visits, +sister. Suppose I go to the beach and give Meg a bath. You won't mind, +will you? Come, Meg!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how happy you will make him!" cried Jane. "But you are not dressed +warm enough, dearie. You know how cool it gets toward evening. Here, +take my cloak. Perhaps I'd better go with you—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, do you keep on home. I want to see if the little wretch will be +contented with me alone. Good-by," and without giving her sister time +to protest, she called to Meg, and with a wave of her hand, the red +cloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the beach, Meg bounding +after her. +</P> + +<P> +Jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes on the graceful figure +skipping along the road, her head and shoulders in silhouette against +the blue sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of the +sand-dune. All the mother-love in her heart welled up in her breast. +She was so proud of her, so much in love with her, so thankful for her! +All these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon be over and +Bart and the others like him out of Lucy's mind and heart. Why worry +about it? Some great strong soul would come by and by and take this +child in his arms and make a woman of her. Some strong soul— +</P> + +<P> +She stopped short in her walk and her thoughts went back to the red +rose lying on the doctor's desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Will he know?" she said to herself; "he loves flowers so, and I don't +believe anybody ever puts one on his desk. Poor fellow! how hard he +works and how good he is to everybody! Little Tod would have died but +for his tenderness." Then, with a prayer in her heart and a new light +in her eyes, she kept on her way. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, as she bounded along the edge of the bluff, Meg scurrying after +her, had never once lost sight of her sister's slender figure. When a +turn in the road shut her from view, she crouched down behind a +sand-dune, waited until she was sure Jane would not change her mind and +join her, and then folding the cloak over her arm, gathered up her +skirts and ran with all her speed along the wet sand to the House of +Refuge. As she reached its side, Bart Holt stepped out into the +afternoon light. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd never come, darling," he said, catching her in his +arms and kissing her. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't help it, sweetheart. I told sister I was going to see Mrs. +Cavendish, and she was so delighted she said she would go, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" he interrupted, turning his head and looking anxiously +up the beach. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone home. Oh, I fixed that. I was scared to death for a minute, but +you trust me when I want to get off." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you let her take that beast of a dog with her? We don't +want him," he rejoined, pointing to Meg, who had come to a sudden +standstill at the sight of Bart. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you silly! That's how I got away. She thought I was going to give +him a bath. How long have you been waiting, my precious?" Her hand was +on his shoulder now, her eyes raised to his. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, 'bout a year. It really seems like a year, Luce" (his pet name for +her), "when I'm waiting for you. I was sure something was up. Wait till +I open the door." The two turned toward the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Why! can we get in? I thought Fogarty, the fisherman, had the key," +she asked, with a tone of pleasant surprise in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"So he has," he laughed. "Got it now hanging up behind his clock. I +borrowed it yesterday and had one made just like it. I'm of age." This +came with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of triumph. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy smiled. She liked his daring; she liked, too, his resources. When +a thing was to be done, Bart always found the way to do it. She waited +until he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, her hand in +his. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, come inside," he cried, swinging wide the big doors. "Isn't it a +jolly place?" He slipped his arm about her and drew her to him. "See, +there's the stove with the kindling-wood all ready to light when +anything comes ashore, and up on that shelf are life-preservers; and +here's a table and some stools and a lantern—two of 'em; and there's +the big life-boat, all ready to push out. Good place to come Sundays +with some of the fellows, isn't it? Play all night here, and not a soul +would find you out," he chuckled as he pointed to the different things. +"You didn't think, now, I was going to have a cubby-hole like this to +hide you in where that old spot-cat Martha can't be watching us, did +you?" he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing her with a +sudden intensity. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy slipped from his arms and began examining everything with the +greatest interest. She had never seen anything but the outside of the +house before and she always wondered what it contained, and as a child +had stood up on her toes and tried to peep in through the crack of the +big door. When she had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, and +wondered whether the fire could be lighted quick enough, and pictured +in her mind the half-drowned people huddled around it in their +sea-drenched clothes, she moved to the door. Bart wanted her to sit +down inside, but she refused. +</P> + +<P> +"No, come outside and lie on the sand. Nobody comes along here," she +insisted. "Oh, see how beautiful the sea is! I love that green," and +drawing Jane's red cloak around her, she settled herself on the sand, +Bart throwing himself at her feet. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was now nearing the horizon, and its golden rays fell across +their faces. Away off on the sky-line trailed the smoke of an incoming +steamer; nearer in idled a schooner bound in to Barnegat Inlet with +every sail set. At their feet the surf rose sleepily under the gentle +pressure of the incoming tide, its wavelets spreading themselves in +widening circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant girl. +</P> + +<P> +As they sat and talked, filled with the happiness of being alone, their +eyes now on the sea and now looking into each other's, Meg, who had +amused himself by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the sand-snipe +and digging holes in the sand for imaginary muskrats, lifted his head +and gave a short yelp. Bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit of +driftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches. The +narrowness of the escape silenced the dog and sent him to the rear with +drooping tail and ears. +</P> + +<P> +Bart should have minded Meg's warning. A broad beach in the full glare +of the setting sun, even when protected by a House of Refuge, is a poor +place to be alone in. +</P> + +<P> +A woman was passing along the edge of the bluffs, carrying a basket in +one hand and a green umbrella in the other; a tall, thin, angular +woman, with the eye of a ferret. It was Ann Gossaway's day for visiting +the sick, and she had just left Fogarty's cabin, where little Tod, with +his throat tied up in red flannel, had tried on her mitts and played +with her spectacles. Miss Gossaway had heard Meg's bark and had been +accorded a full view of Lucy's back covered by Jane's red cloak, with +Bart sitting beside her, their shoulders touching. +</P> + +<P> +Lovers with their heads together interested the gossip no longer, +except as a topic to talk about. Such trifles had these many years +passed out of the dress-maker's life. +</P> + +<P> +So Miss Gossaway, busy with her own thoughts, kept on her way unnoticed +by either Lucy or Bart. +</P> + +<P> +When she reached the cross-road she met Doctor John driving in. He +tightened the reins on the sorrel and stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Lovely afternoon, Miss Gossaway. Where are you from—looking at the +sunset?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't got no time for spoonin'. I might be if I was Miss Jane +and Bart Holt. Just see 'em a spell ago squattin' down behind the House +o' Refuge. She wouldn't look at me. I been to Fogarty's; she's on my +list this week, and it's my day for visitin', fust in two weeks. That +two-year-old of hers is all right ag'in after your sewing him up; +they'll never get over tellin' how you set up all night with him. You +ought to hear Mrs. Fogarty go on—'Oh, the goodness of him!'" and she +mimicked the good woman's dialect. "'If Tod'd been his own child he +couldn't a-done more for him.' That's the way she talks. I heard, +doctor, ye never left him till daylight. You're a wonder." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor touched his hat and drove on. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Gossaway's sharp, rasping voice and incisive manner of speaking +grated upon him. He liked neither her tone nor the way in which she +spoke of the mistress of Yardley. No one else dared as much. If Jane +was really on the beach and with Bart, she had some good purpose in her +mind. It may have been her day for visiting, and Bart, perhaps, had +accompanied her. But why had Miss Gossaway not met Miss Cobden at +Fogarty's, his being the only cabin that far down the beach? Then his +face brightened. Perhaps, after all, it was Lucy whom she had seen. He +had placed that same red cloak around her shoulders the night of the +reception at Yardley—and when she was with Bart, too. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish was sitting by her window when the doctor entered his +own house. She rose, and putting down her book, advanced to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +"You should have come earlier, John," she said with a laugh; "such a +charming girl and so pretty and gracious. Why, I was quite overcome. +She is very different from her sister. What do you think Miss Jane +wants to do now? Nurse in the new hospital when it is built! Pretty +position for a lady, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Any position she would fill would gain by her presence," said the +doctor gravely. "Have they been gone long?" he asked, changing the +subject. He never discussed Jane Cobden with his mother if he could +help it. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, some time. Lucy must have kept on home, for I saw Miss Jane +going toward the beach alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure, mother?" There was a note of anxiety in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, certainly. She had that red cloak of hers with her and that +miserable little dog; that's how I know. She must be going to stay +late. You look tired, my son; have you had a hard day?" added she, +kissing him on the cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, perhaps I am a little tired, but I'll be all right. Have you +looked at the slate lately? I'll go myself," and he turned and entered +his office. +</P> + +<P> +On the slate lay the rose. He picked it up and held it to his nose in a +preoccupied way. +</P> + +<P> +"One of mother's," he said listlessly, laying it back among his papers. +"She so seldom does that sort of thing. Funny that she should have +given it to me to-day; and after Miss Jane's visit, too." Then he shut +the office door, threw himself into his chair, and buried his face in +his hands. He was still there when his mother called him to supper. +</P> + +<P> +When Lucy reached home it was nearly dark. She came alone, leaving Bart +at the entrance to the village. At her suggestion they had avoided the +main road and had crossed the marsh by the foot-path, the dog bounding +on ahead and springing at the nurse, who stood in the gate awaiting +Lucy's return. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he's as dry as a bone!" Martha cried, stroking Meg's rough hair +with her plump hand. "He didn't get much of a bath, did he?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I couldn't get him into the water. Every time I got my hand on him +he'd dart away again." +</P> + +<P> +"Anybody on the beach, darlin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a soul except Meg and the sandsnipe." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CAPTAIN NAT'S DECISION +</H3> + +<P> +When Martha, with Meg at her heels, passed Ann Gossaway's cottage the +next morning on her way to the post-office—her daily custom—the +dressmaker, who was sitting in the window, one eye on her needle and +the other on the street, craned her head clear of the calico curtain +framing the sash and beckoned to her. +</P> + +<P> +This perch of Ann Gossaway's was the eyrie from which she swept the +village street, bordered with a double row of wide-spreading elms and +fringed with sloping grassy banks spaced at short intervals by +hitching-posts and horse-blocks. Her own cottage stood somewhat nearer +the flagged street path than the others, and as the garden fences were +low and her lookout flanked by two windows, one on each end of her +corner, she could not only note what went on about the fronts of her +neighbors' houses, but much of what took place in their back yards. +From this angle, too, she could see quite easily, and without more than +twisting her attenuated neck, the whole village street from the +Cromartins' gate to the spire of the village church, as well as +everything that passed up and down the shadow-flecked road: which +child, for instance, was late for school, and how often, and what it +wore and whether its clothes were new or inherited from an elder +sister; who came to the Bronsons' next door, and how long they stayed, +and whether they brought anything with them or carried anything away; +the peddler with his pack; the gunner on his way to the marshes, his +two dogs following at his heels in a leash; Dr. John Cavendish's gig, +and whether it was about to stop at Uncle Ephraim Tipple's or keep on, +as usual, and whirl into the open gate of Cobden Manor; Billy Tatham's +passenger list, as the ricketty stage passed with the side curtains up, +and the number of trunks and bags, and the size of them, all indicative +of where they were bound and for how long; details of village life—no +one of which concerned her in the least—being matters of profound +interest to Miss Gossaway. +</P> + +<P> +These several discoveries she shared daily with a faded old mother who +sat huddled up in a rocking-chair by the stove, winter and summer, +whether it had any fire in it or not. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Ephraim Tipple, in his outspoken way, always referred to these +two gossips as the "spiders." "When the thin one has sucked the life +out of you," he would say with a laugh, "she passes you on to her old +mother, who sits doubled up inside the web, and when she gets done +munching there isn't anything left but your hide and bones." +</P> + +<P> +It was but one of Uncle Ephraim's jokes. The mother was only a forlorn, +half-alive old woman who dozed in her chair by the hour—the relict of +a fisherman who had gone to sea in his yawl some twenty years before +and who had never come back. The daughter, with the courage of youth, +had then stepped into the gap and had alone made the fight for bread. +Gradually, as the years went by the roses in her cheeks—never too +fresh at any time—had begun to fade, her face and figure to shrink, +and her brow to tighten. At last, embittered by her responsibilities +and disappointments, she had lost faith in human kind and had become a +shrew. Since then her tongue had swept on as relentlessly as a scythe, +sparing neither flower nor noxious weed, a movement which it was wise, +sometimes, to check. +</P> + +<P> +When, therefore, Martha, with Meg now bounding before her, caught sight +of Ann Gossaway's beckoning hand thrust out of the low window of her +cottage—the spider-web referred to by Uncle Ephraim—she halted in her +walk, lingered a moment as if undecided, expressed her opinion of the +dressmaker to Meg in an undertone, and swinging open the gate with its +ball and chain, made her way over the grass-plot and stood outside the +window, level with the sill. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it ain't none of my business, of course, Martha Sands," Miss +Gossaway began, "and that's just what I said to mother when I come +home, but if I was some folks I'd see my company in my parlor, long as +I had one, 'stead of hidin' down behind the House o' Refuge. I said to +mother soon's I got in, 'I'm goin' to tell Martha Sands fust minute I +see her. She ain't got no idee how them girls of hers is carryin' on or +she'd stop it.' That's what I said, didn't I, mother?" +</P> + +<P> +Martha caught an inarticulate sound escaping from a figure muffled in a +blanket shawl, but nothing else followed. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought fust it was you when I heard that draggle-tail dog of yours +barkin', but it was only Miss Jane and Bart Holt." +</P> + +<P> +"Down on the beach! When?" asked Martha. She had not understood a word +of Miss Gossaway's outburst. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yesterday afternoon, of course—didn't I tell ye so? I'd been +down to Fogarty's; it's my week. Miss Jane and Bart didn't see +me—didn't want to. Might a' been a pair of scissors, they was that +close together." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jane warn't on the beach yesterday afternoon," said Martha in a +positive tone, still in the dark. +</P> + +<P> +"She warn't, warn't she? Well, I guess I know Miss Jane Cobden. She and +Bart was hunched up that close you couldn't get a bodkin 'tween 'em. +She had that red cloak around her and the hood up ever her head. Not +know her, and she within ten feet o' me? Well, I guess I got my eyes +left, ain't I?" +</P> + +<P> +Martha stood stunned. She knew now who it was. She had taken the red +cloak from Lucy's shoulders the evening before. Then a cold chill crept +over her as she remembered the lie Lucy had told—"not a soul on the +beach but Meg and the sandsnipe." For an instant she stood without +answering. But for the window-sill on which her hand rested she would +have betrayed her emotion in the swaying of her body. She tried to +collect her thoughts. To deny Jane's identity too positively would only +make the situation worse. If either one of the sisters were to be +criticised Jane could stand it best. +</P> + +<P> +"You got sharp eyes and ears, Ann Gossaway, nobody will deny you them, +but still I don't think Miss Jane was on the beach yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think, don't you? Maybe you think I can't tell a cloak from a +bed blanket, never havin' made one, and maybe ye think I don't know my +own clo'es when I see 'em on folks. I made that red cloak for Miss Jane +two years ago, and I know every stitch in it. Don't you try and teach +Ann Gossaway how to cut and baste or you'll git worsted," and the +gossip looked over her spectacles at Martha and shook her side-curls in +a threatening way. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Gossaway had no love for the old nurse. There had been a time when +Martha "weren't no better'n she oughter be, so everybody said," when +she came to the village, and the dressmaker never let a chance slip to +humiliate the old woman. Martha's open denunciation of the dressmaker's +vinegar tongue had only increased the outspoken dislike each had for +the other. She saw now, to her delight, that the incident which had +seemed to be only a bit of flotsam that had drifted to her shore and +which but from Martha's manner would have been forgotten by her the +next day, might be a fragment detached from some floating family wreck. +Before she could press the matter to an explanation Martha turned +abruptly on her heel, called Meg, and with the single remark, "Well, I +guess Miss Jane's of age," walked quickly across the grass-plot and out +of the gate, the ball and chain closing it behind her with a clang. +</P> + +<P> +Once on the street Martha paused with her brain on fire. The lie which +Lucy had told frightened her. She knew why she had told it, and she +knew, too, what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of gossip got +abroad in the village. She was no longer the gentle, loving nurse with +the soft caressing hand, but a woman of purpose. The sudden terror +aroused in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip and bracing +her shoulders as if the better to withstand some expected shock. +</P> + +<P> +She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; forgot +everything, in fact, except the safety of the child she loved. That +Lucy had neglected and even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way +even when she was in the house, and that she had received only cool +indifference in place of loyal love, had greatly grieved her, but it +had not lessened the idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn. +Hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain trying to account for +the change which had come over the girl during two short years of +school. She had until now laid this change to her youth, her love of +admiration, and had forgiven it. Now she understood it; it was that boy +Bart. He had a way with him. He had even ingratiated himself into Miss +Jane's confidence. And now this young girl had fallen a victim to his +wiles. That Lucy should lie to her, of all persons, and in so calm and +self-possessed a manner; and about Bart, of all men—sent a shudder +through her heart, that paled her cheek and tightened her lips. Once +before she had consulted Jane and had been rebuffed. Now she would +depend upon herself. +</P> + +<P> +Retracing her steps and turning sharply to the right, she ordered Meg +home in a firm voice, watched the dog slink off and then walked +straight down a side road to Captain Nat Holt's house. That the captain +occupied a different station in life from herself did not deter her. +She felt at the moment that the honor of the Cobden name lay in her +keeping. The family had stood by her in her trouble; now she would +stand by them. +</P> + +<P> +The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper. He was in his +shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his straight hair standing straight out +like the bristles of a shoe-brush. Since the death of his wife a few +years before he had left the service, and now spent most of his days at +home, tending his garden and enjoying his savings. He was a man of +positive character and generally had his own way in everything. It was +therefore with some astonishment that he heard Martha say when she had +mounted the porch steps and pushed open the front door, her breath +almost gone in her hurried walk, "Come inside." +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt threw down his paper and rising hurriedly from his chair, +followed her into the sitting-room. The manner of the nurse surprised +him. He had known her for years, ever since his old friend, Lucy's +father, had died, and the tones of her voice, so different from her +usual deferential air, filled him with apprehension. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't nobody sick, is there, Martha?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but there will be. Are ye alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then shut that door behind ye and sit down. I've got something to say." +</P> + +<P> +The grizzled, weather-beaten man who had made twenty voyages around +Cape Horn, and who was known as a man of few words, and those always of +command, closed the door upon them, drew down the shade on the sunny +side of the room and faced her. He saw now that something of more than +usual importance absorbed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what is it?" he asked. His manner had by this time regained +something of the dictatorial tone he always showed those beneath him in +authority. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about Bart. You've got to send him away." She had not moved from +her position in the middle of the room. +</P> + +<P> +The captain changed color and his voice lost its sharpness. +</P> + +<P> +"Bart! What's he done now?" +</P> + +<P> +"He sneaks off with our Lucy every chance he gets. They were on the +beach yesterday hidin' behind the House o' Refuge with their heads +together. She had on Miss Jane's red cloak, and Ann Gossaway thought it +was Miss Jane, and I let it go at that." +</P> + +<P> +The captain looked at Martha incredulously for a moment, and then broke +into a loud laugh as the absurdity of the whole thing burst upon him. +Then dropping back a step, he stood leaning against the old-fashioned +sideboard, his elbows behind him, his large frame thrust toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what if they were—ain't she pretty enough?" he burst out. "I +told her she'd have 'em all crazy, and I hear Bart ain't done nothin' +but follow in her wake since he seen her launched." +</P> + +<P> +Martha stepped closer to the captain and held her fist in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"He's got to stop it. Do ye hear me?" she shouted. "If he don't +there'll be trouble, for you and him and everybody. It's me that's +crazy, not him." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop it!" roared the captain, straightening up, the glasses on the +sideboard ringing with his sudden lurch. "My boy keep away from the +daughter of Morton Cobden, who was the best friend I ever had and to +whom I owe more than any man who ever lived! And this is what you +traipsed up here to tell me, is it, you mollycoddle?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Martha edged nearer; her body bent forward, her eyes searching +his—so close that she could have touched his face with her knuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold your tongue and stop talkin' foolishness," she blazed out, the +courage of a tigress fighting for her young in her eyes, the same bold +ring in her voice. "I tell ye, Captain Holt, it's got to stop short +off, and NOW! I know men; have known 'em to my misery. I know when +they're honest and I know when they ain't, and so do you, if you would +open your eyes. Bart don't mean no good to my bairn. I see it in his +face. I see it in the way he touches her hand and ties on her bonnet. +I've watched him ever since the first night he laid eyes on her. He +ain't a man with a heart in him; he's a sneak with a lie in his mouth. +Why don't he come round like any of the others and say where he's goin' +and what he wants to do instead of peepin' round the gate-posts +watchin' for her and sendin' her notes on the sly, and makin' her lie +to me, her old nurse, who's done nothin' but love her? Doctor John +don't treat Miss Jane so—he loves her like a man ought to love a woman +and he ain't got nothin' to hide—and you didn't treat your wife so. +There's something here that tells me"—and she laid her hand on her +bosom—"tells me more'n I dare tell ye. I warn ye now ag'in. Send him +to sea—anywhere, before it is too late. She ain't got no mother; she +won't mind a word I say; Miss Jane is blind as a bat; out with him and +NOW!" +</P> + +<P> +The captain straightened himself up, and with his clenched fist raised +above his head like a hammer about to strike, cried: +</P> + +<P> +"If he harmed the daughter of Morton Cobden I'd kill him!" The words +jumped hot from his throat with a slight hissing sound, his eyes still +aflame. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, stop it before it gets too late. I walk the floor nights +and I'm scared to death every hour I live." Then her voice broke. +"Please, captain, please," she added in a piteous tone. "Don't mind me +if I talk wild, my heart is breakin', and I can't hold in no longer," +and she burst into a paroxysm of tears. +</P> + +<P> +The captain leaned against the sideboard again and looked down upon the +floor as if in deep thought. Martha's tears did not move him. The tears +of few women did. He was only concerned in getting hold of some +positive facts upon which he could base his judgment. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, now," he said in an authoritative voice, "let me get that chair +and set down and then I'll see what all this amounts to. Sounds like a +yarn of a horse-marine." As he spoke he crossed the room and, dragging +a rocking-chair from its place beside the wall, settled himself in it. +Martha found a seat upon the sofa and turned her tear-stained face +toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what's these young people been doin' that makes ye so almighty +narvous?" he continued, lying back in his chair and looking at her from +under his bushy eyebrows, his fingers supporting his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything. Goes out sailin' with her and goes driftin' past with his +head in her lap. Fogarty's man who brings fish to the house told me." +She had regained something of her old composure now. +</P> + +<P> +"Anything else?" The captain's voice had a relieved, almost +condescending tone in it. He had taken his thumb and forefinger from +his eyebrow now and sat drumming with his stiffened knuckles on the arm +of the rocker. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a heap more—ain't that enough along with the other things I've +told ye?" Martha's eyes were beginning to blaze again. +</P> + +<P> +"No, that's just as it ought to be. Boys and girls will be boys and +girls the world over." The tone of the captain's voice indicated the +condition of his mind. He had at last arrived at a conclusion. Martha's +head was muddled because of her inordinate and unnatural love for the +child she had nursed. She had found a spookship in a fog bank, that was +all. Jealousy might be at the bottom of it or a certain nervous +fussiness. Whatever it was it was too trivial for him to waste his time +over. +</P> + +<P> +The captain rose from his chair, crossed the sitting-room, and opened +the door leading to the porch, letting in the sunshine. Martha followed +close at his heels. +</P> + +<P> +"You're runnin' on a wrong tack, old woman, and first thing ye know +ye'll be in the breakers," he said, with his hand on the knob. "Ease +off a little and don't be too hard on 'em. They'll make harbor all +right. You're makin' more fuss than a hen over one chicken. Miss Jane +knows what she's about. She's got a level head, and when she tells me +that my Bart ain't good enough to ship alongside the daughter of Morton +Cobden, I'll sign papers for him somewhere else, and not before. I'll +have to get you to excuse me now; I'm busy. Good-day," and picking up +his paper, he re-entered the house and closed the door upon her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A GAME OF CARDS +</H3> + +<P> +Should Miss Gossaway have been sitting at her lookout some weeks after +Martha's interview with Captain Nat Holt, and should she have watched +the movements of Doctor John's gig as it rounded into the open gate of +Cobden Manor, she must have decided that something out of the common +was either happening or about to happen inside Yardley's hospitable +doors. Not only was the sorrel trotting at her best, the doctor +flapping the lines along her brown back, his body swaying from side to +side with the motion of the light vehicle, but as he passed her house +he was also consulting the contents of a small envelope which he had +taken from his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Please come early," it read. "I have something important to talk over +with you." +</P> + +<P> +A note of this character signed with so adorable a name as "Jane +Cobden" was so rare in the doctor's experience that he had at once +given up his round of morning visits and, springing into his waiting +gig, had started to answer it in person. +</P> + +<P> +He was alive with expectancy. What could she want with him except to +talk over some subject that they had left unfinished? As he hurried on +there came into his mind half a dozen matters, any one of which it +would have been a delight to revive. He knew from the way she worded +the note that nothing had occurred since he had seen her—within the +week, in fact—to cause her either annoyance or suffering. No; it was +only to continue one of their confidential talks, which were the joy of +his life. +</P> + +<P> +Jane was waiting for him in the morning-room. Her face lighted up as he +entered and took her hand, and immediately relaxed again into an +expression of anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +All his eagerness vanished. He saw with a sinking of the heart, even +before she had time to speak, that something outside of his own +affairs, or hers, had caused her to write the note. +</P> + +<P> +"I came at once," he said, keeping her hand in his. "You look troubled; +what has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing yet," she answered, leading him to the sofa, "It is about +Lucy. She wants to go away for the winter." +</P> + +<P> +"Where to?" he asked. He had placed a cushion at her back and had +settled himself beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"To Trenton, to visit her friend Miss Collins and study music. She says +Warehold bores her." +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't want her to go?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I don't fancy Miss Collins, and I am afraid she has too strong an +influence over Lucy. Her personality grates on me; she is so +boisterous, and she laughs so loud; and the views she holds are +unaccountable to me in so young a girl. She seems to have had no home +training whatever. Why Lucy likes her, and why she should have selected +her as an intimate friend, has always puzzled me." She spoke with her +usual frankness and with that directness which always characterized her +in matters of this kind. "I had no one else to talk to and am very +miserable about it all. You don't mind my sending for you, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mind! Why do you ask such a question? I am never so happy as when I am +serving you." +</P> + +<P> +That she should send for him at all was happiness. Not sickness this +time, nor some question of investment, nor the repair of the barn or +gate or out-buildings—but Lucy, who lay nearest her heart! That was +even better than he had expected. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me all about it, so I can get it right," he continued in a +straightforward tone—the tone of the physician, not the lover. She had +relied on him, and he intended to give her the best counsel of which he +was capable. The lover could wait. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she received a letter a week ago from Miss Collins, saying she +had come to Trenton for the winter and had taken some rooms in a house +belonging to her aunt, who would live with her. She wants to be within +reach of the same music-teacher who taught the girls at Miss Parkham's +school. She says if Lucy will come it will reduce the expenses and they +can both have the benefit of the tuition. At first Lucy did not want to +go at all, now she insists, and, strange to say, Martha encourages her." +</P> + +<P> +"Martha wants her to leave?" he asked in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"She says so." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's face assumed a puzzled expression. He could account for +Lucy's wanting the freedom and novelty of the change, but that Martha +should be willing to part with her bairn for the winter mystified him. +He knew nothing of the flirtation, of course, and its effect on the old +nurse, and could not, therefore, understand Martha's delight in Lucy's +and Bart's separation. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be very lonely," he said, and a certain tender tone developed +in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dreadfully so, but I would not mind if I thought it was for her +good. But I don't think so. I may be wrong, and in the uncertainty I +wanted to talk it over with you. I get so desolate sometimes. I never +seemed to miss my father so much as now. Perhaps it is because Lucy's +babyhood and childhood are over and she is entering upon womanhood with +all the dangers it brings. And she frightens me so sometimes," she +continued after a slight pause. "She is different; more self-willed, +more self-centred. Besides, her touch has altered. She doesn't seem to +love me as she did—not in the same way." +</P> + +<P> +"But she could never do anything else but love you," he interrupted +quickly, speaking for himself as well as Lucy, his voice vibrating +under his emotions. It was all he could do to keep his hands from her +own; her sending for him alone restrained him. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that, but it is not in the old way. It used to be 'Sister, +darling, don't tire yourself,' or 'Sister, dear, let me go upstairs for +you,' or 'Cuddle close here, and let us talk it all out together.' +There is no more of that. She goes her own way, and when I chide her +laughs and leaves me alone until I make some new advance. Help me, +please, and with all the wisdom you can give me; I have no one else in +whom I can trust, no one who is big enough to know what should be done. +I might have talked to Mr. Dellenbaugh about it, but he is away." +</P> + +<P> +"No; talk it all out to me," he said simply. "I so want to help +you"—his whole heart was going out to her in her distress. +</P> + +<P> +"I know you feel sorry for me." She withdrew her hand gently so as not +to hurt him; she too did not want to be misunderstood—having sent for +him. "I know how sincere your friendship is for me, but put all that +aside. Don't let your sympathy for me cloud your judgment. What shall I +do with Lucy? Answer me as if you were her father and mine," and she +looked straight into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor tightened the muscles of his throat, closed his teeth, and +summoned all his resolution. If he could only tell her what was in his +heart how much easier it would all be! For some moments he sat +perfectly still, then he answered slowly—as her man of business would +have done: +</P> + +<P> +"I should let her go." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because she will find out in that way sooner than in any other how to +appreciate you and her home. Living in two rooms and studying music +will not suit Lucy. When the novelty wears off she will long for her +home, and when she comes back it will be with a better appreciation of +its comforts. Let her go, and make her going as happy as you can." +</P> + +<P> +And so Jane gave her consent—it is doubtful whether Lucy would have +waited for it once her mind was made up—and in a week she was off, +Doctor John taking her himself as far as the Junction, and seeing her +safe on the road to Trenton. Martha was evidently delighted at the +change, for the old nurse's face was wreathed in smiles that last +morning as they all stood out by the gate while Billy Tatham loaded +Lucy's trunks and boxes. Only once did a frown cross her face, and that +was when Lucy leaned over and whispering something in Bart's ear, +slipped a small scrap of paper between his fingers. Bart crunched it +tight and slid his hand carelessly into his pocket, but the gesture did +not deceive the nurse: it haunted her for days thereafter. +</P> + +<P> +As the weeks flew by and the letters from Trenton told of the +happenings in Maria's home, it became more and more evident to Jane +that the doctor's advice had been the wisest and best. Lucy would often +devote a page or more of her letters to recalling the comforts of her +own room at Yardley, so different from what she was enduring at +Trenton, and longing for them to come again. Parts of these letters +Jane read to the doctor, and all of them to Martha, who received them +with varying comment. It became evident, too, that neither the +excitement of Bart's letters, nor the visits of the occasional school +friends who called upon them both, nor the pursuit of her new +accomplishment, had satisfied the girl. +</P> + +<P> +Jane was not surprised, therefore, remembering the doctor's almost +prophetic words, to learn of the arrival of a letter from Lucy begging +Martha to come to her at once for a day or two. The letter was enclosed +in one to Bart and was handed to the nurse by that young man in person. +As he did so he remarked meaningly that Miss Lucy wanted Martha's visit +to be kept a secret from everybody but Miss Jane, "just as a surprise," +but Martha answered in a positive tone that she had no secrets from +those who had a right to know them, and that he could write Lucy she +was coming next day, and that Jane and everybody else who might inquire +would know of it before she started. +</P> + +<P> +She rather liked Bart's receiving the letter. As long as that young man +kept away from Trenton and confined himself to Warehold, where she +could keep her eyes on him, she was content. +</P> + +<P> +To Jane Martha said: "Oh, bless the darlin'! She can't do a day longer +without her Martha. I'll go in the mornin'. It's a little pettin' she +wants—that's all." +</P> + +<P> +So the old nurse bade Meg good-by, pinned her big gray shawl about her, +tied on her bonnet, took a little basket with some delicacies and a pot +of jelly, and like a true Mother Hubbard, started off, while Jane, +having persuaded herself that perhaps "the surprise" was meant for her, +and that she might be welcoming two exiles instead of one the following +night, began to put Lucy's room in order and to lay out the many pretty +things she loved, especially the new dressing-gown she had made for +her, lined with blue silk—her favorite color. +</P> + +<P> +All that day and evening, and far into the next afternoon, Jane went +about the house with the refrain of an old song welling up into her +heart—one that had been stifled for months. The thought of the +round-about way in which Lucy had sent for Martha did not dull its +melody. That ruse, she knew, came from the foolish pride of youth, the +pride that could not meet defeat. Underneath it she detected, with a +thrill, the love of home; this, after all, was what her sister could +not do without. It was not Bart this time. That affair, as she had +predicted and had repeatedly told Martha, had worn itself out and had +been replaced by her love of music. She had simply come to herself once +more and would again be her old-time sister and her child. Then, +too—and this sent another wave of delight tingling through her—it had +all been the doctor's doing! But for his advice she would never have +let Lucy go. +</P> + +<P> +Half a dozen times, although the November afternoon was raw and chilly, +with the wind fresh from the sea and the sky dull, she was out on the +front porch without shawl or hat, looking down the path, covered now +with dead leaves, and scanning closely every team that passed the gate, +only to return again to her place by the fire, more impatient than ever. +</P> + +<P> +Meg's quick ear first caught the grating of the wheels. Jane followed +him with a cry of joyous expectation, and flew to the door to meet the +stage, which for some reason—why, she could not tell—had stopped for +a moment outside the gate, dropping only one passenger, and that one +the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"And Lucy did not come, Martha!" Jane exclaimed, with almost a sob in +her voice. She had reached her side now, followed by Meg, who was +springing straight at the nurse in the joy of his welcome. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman glanced back at the stage, as if afraid of being +overheard, and muttered under her breath: +</P> + +<P> +"No, she couldn't come." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am so disappointed! Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +Martha did not answer. She seemed to have lost her breath. Jane put her +arm about her and led her up the path. Once she stumbled, her step was +so unsteady, and she would have fallen but for Jane's assistance. +</P> + +<P> +The two had now reached the hand-railing of the porch. Here Martha's +trembling foot began to feel about for the step. Jane caught her in her +arms. +</P> + +<P> +"You're ill, Martha!" she cried in alarm. "Give me the bag. What's the +matter?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Martha did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me what it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Upstairs! Upstairs!" Martha gasped in reply. "Quick!" +</P> + +<P> +"What has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not here; upstairs." +</P> + +<P> +They climbed the staircase together, Jane half carrying the fainting +woman, her mind in a whirl. +</P> + +<P> +"Where were you taken ill? Why did you try to come home? Why didn't +Lucy come with you?" +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the door of Jane's bedroom now, Martha clinging to her +arm. +</P> + +<P> +Once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the door, put her bands +to her face as if she would shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank +slowly to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands, "not me—not—" +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can't say it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes" +</P> + +<P> +"Not ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; worse!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Martha! Not dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"O God, I wish she were!" +</P> + +<P> +An hour passed—an hour of agony, of humiliation and despair. +</P> + +<P> +Again the door opened and Jane stepped out—slowly, as if in pain, her +lips tight drawn, her face ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into +deeper hollows, the eyes burning. Only the mouth preserved its lines, +but firmer, more rigid, more severe, as if tightened by the strength of +some great resolve. In her hand she held a letter. +</P> + +<P> +Martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her head still in her +palms. She had ceased sobbing and was quite still, as if exhausted. +</P> + +<P> +Jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the servants, and +dropping the letter to the floor below, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Take that to Captain Holt's. When he comes bring him upstairs here +into my sitting-room." +</P> + +<P> +Before the servant could reply there came a knock at the front door. +Jane knew its sound—it was Doctor John's. Leaning far over, grasping +the top rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to the +servant in a low, restrained voice: +</P> + +<P> +"If that is Dr. Cavendish, please say to him that Martha is just home +from Trenton, greatly fatigued, and I beg him to excuse me. When the +doctor has driven away, you can take the letter." +</P> + +<P> +She kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she heard the tones of his +voice through the open hall door and caught the note of sorrow that +tinged them. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm so sorry! Poor Martha!" she heard him say. "She is getting too +old to go about alone. Please tell Miss Jane she must not hesitate to +send for me if I can be of the slightest service." Then she re-entered +the room where Martha lay and closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +Another and louder knock now broke the stillness of the chamber and +checked the sobs of the nurse; Captain Holt had met Jane's servant as +he was passing the gate. He stopped for an instant in the hall, slipped +off his coat, and walked straight upstairs, humming a tune as he came. +Jane heard his firm tread, opened the door of their room, and she and +Martha crossed the hall to a smaller apartment where Jane always +attended to the business affairs of the house. The captain's face was +wreathed in a broad smile as he extended his hand to Jane in welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"It's lucky ye caught me, Miss Jane. I was just goin' out, and in a +minute I'd been gone for the night. Hello, Mother Martha! I thought +you'd gone to Trenton." +</P> + +<P> +The two women made no reply to his cheery salutation, except to motion +him to a seat. Then Jane closed the door and turned the key in the lock. +</P> + +<P> +When the captain emerged from the chamber he stepped out alone. His +color was gone, his eyes flashing, his jaw tight set. About his mouth +there hovered a savage, almost brutal look, the look of a bulldog who +bares his teeth before he tears and strangles—a look his men knew when +someone of them purposely disobeyed his orders. For a moment he stood +as if dazed. All he remembered clearly was the white, drawn face of a +woman gazing at him with staring, tear-drenched eyes, the slow dropping +of words that blistered as they fell, and the figure of the nurse +wringing her hands and moaning: "Oh, I told ye so! I told ye so! Why +didn't ye listen?" With it came the pain of some sudden blow that +deadened his brain and stilled his heart. +</P> + +<P> +With a strong effort, like one throwing off a stupor, he raised his +head, braced his shoulders, and strode firmly along the corridor and +down the stairs on his way to the front door. Catching up his coat, he +threw it about him, pulled his hat on, with a jerk, slamming the front +door, plunged along through the dry leaves that covered the path, and +so on out to the main road. Once beyond the gate he hesitated, looked +up and down, turned to the right and then to the left, as if in doubt, +and lunged forward in the direction of the tavern. +</P> + +<P> +It was Sunday night, and the lounging room was full. One of the inmates +rose and offered him a chair—he was much respected in the village, +especially among the rougher class, some of whom had sailed with +him—but he only waved his hand in thanks. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to sit down; I'm looking for Bart. Has he been here?" The +sound came as if from between closed teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Not as I know of, cap'n," answered the landlord; "not since sundown, +nohow." +</P> + +<P> +"Do any of you know where he is?" The look in the captain's eyes and +the sharp, cutting tones of his voice began to be noticed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back in a chair against the +wall. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I kin tell ye where to find him," +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Down on the beach in the Refuge shanty. He and the boys have a deck +there Sunday nights. Been at it all fall—thought ye knowed it." +</P> + +<P> +Out into the night again, and without a word of thanks, down the road +and across the causeway to the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless +thrash of the rising sea. He followed no path, picked out no road. +Stumbling along in the half-gloom of the twilight, he could make out +the heads of the sand-dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat +against their cheeks. Soon he reached the prow of the old wreck with +its shattered timbers and the water-holes left by the tide. These he +avoided, but the smaller objects he trampled upon and over as he strode +on, without caring where he stepped or how often he stumbled. Outlined +against the sand-hills, bleached white under the dull light, he looked +like some evil presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful was +his unceasing, persistent stride. +</P> + +<P> +When the House of Refuge loomed up against the gray froth of the surf +he stopped and drew breath. Bending forward, he scanned the beach +ahead, shading his eyes with his hand as he would have done on his own +ship in a fog. He could make out now some streaks of yellow light +showing through the cracks one above the other along the side of the +house and a dull patch of red. He knew what it meant. Bart and his +fellows were inside, and were using one of the ship lanterns to see by. +</P> + +<P> +This settled in his mind, the captain strode on, but at a slower pace. +He had found his bearings, and would steer with caution. +</P> + +<P> +Hugging the dunes closer, he approached the house from the rear. The +big door was shut and a bit of matting had been tacked over the one +window to deaden the light. This was why the patch of red was dull. He +stood now so near the outside planking that he could hear the laughter +and talk of those within. By this time the wind had risen to half a +gale and the moan on the outer bar could be heard in the intervals of +the pounding surf. The captain crept under the eaves of the roof and +listened. He wanted to be sure of Bart's voice before he acted. +</P> + +<P> +At this instant a sudden gust of wind burst in the big door, +extinguishing the light of the lantern, and Bart's voice rang out: +</P> + +<P> +"Stay where you are, boys! Don't touch the cards. I know the door, and +can fix it; it's only the bolt that's slipped." +</P> + +<P> +As Bart passed out into the gloom the captain darted forward, seized +him with a grip of steel, dragged him clear of the door, and up the +sand-dunes out of hearing. Then he flung him loose and stood facing the +cowering boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Now stand back and keep away from me, for I'm afraid I'll kill you!" +</P> + +<P> +"What have I done?" cringed Bart, shielding his face with his elbow as +if to ward off a blow. The suddenness of the attack had stunned him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask me, you whelp, or I'll strangle you. Look at me! That's what +you been up to, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +Bart straightened himself, and made some show of resistance. His breath +was coming back to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't done anything—and if I did—" +</P> + +<P> +"You lie! Martha's back from Trenton and Lucy told her. You never +thought of me. You never thought of that sister of hers whose heart +you've broke, nor of the old woman who nursed her like a mother. You +thought of nobody but your stinkin' self. You're not a man! You're a +cur! a dog! Don't move! Keep away from me, I tell ye, or I may lose +hold of myself." +</P> + +<P> +Bart was stretching out his hands now as if in supplication. He had +never seen his father like this—the sight frightened him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, will you listen—" he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll listen to nothin'—" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you, please? It's not all my fault. She ought to have kept out of +my way—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop! Take that back! You'd blame HER, would ye—a child just out of +school, and as innocent as a baby? By God, you'll do right by her or +you'll never set foot inside my house again!" +</P> + +<P> +Bart faced his father again. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to tell you the whole story before you judge me. I want to—" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll tell me nothin'! Will you act square with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell you first. You wouldn't understand unless—" +</P> + +<P> +"You won't? That's what you mean—you mean you WON'T! Damn ye!" The +captain raised his clenched fist, quivered for an instant as if +struggling against something beyond his control, dropped it slowly to +his side and whirling suddenly, strode back up the beach. +</P> + +<P> +Bart staggered back against the planking, threw out his hand to keep +from falling, and watched his father's uncertain, stumbling figure +until he was swallowed up in the gloom. The words rang in his ears like +a knell. The realization of his position and what it meant, and might +mean, rushed over him. For an instant he leaned heavily against the +planking until he had caught his breath. Then, with quivering lips and +shaking legs, he walked slowly back into the house, shutting the big +door behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Boys," he said with a forced smile, "who do you think's been outside? +My father! Somebody told him, and he's just been giving me hell for +playing cards on Sunday." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT +</H3> + +<P> +Before another Sunday night had arrived Warehold village was alive with +two important pieces of news. +</P> + +<P> +The first was the disappearance of Bart Holt. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Nat, so the story ran, had caught him carousing in the House of +Refuge on Sunday night with some of his boon companions, and after a +stormy interview in which the boy pleaded for forgiveness, had driven +him out into the night. Bart had left town the next morning at daylight +and had shipped as a common sailor on board a British bark bound for +Brazil. No one had seen him go—not even his companions of the night +before. +</P> + +<P> +The second announcement was more startling. +</P> + +<P> +The Cobden girls were going to Paris. Lucy Cobden had developed an +extraordinary talent for music during her short stay in Trenton with +her friend Maria Collins, and Miss Jane, with her customary +unselfishness and devotion to her younger sister, had decided to go +with her. They might be gone two years or five—it depended on Lucy's +success. Martha would remain at Yardley and take care of the old home. +</P> + +<P> +Bart's banishment coming first served as a target for the fire of the +gossip some days before Jane's decision had reached the ears of the +villagers. +</P> + +<P> +"I always knew he would come to no good end," Miss Gossaway called out +to a passer-by from her eyrie; "and there's more like him if their +fathers would look after 'em. Guess sea's the best place for him." +</P> + +<P> +Billy Tatham, the stage-driver, did not altogether agree with the +extremist. +</P> + +<P> +"You hearn tell, I s'pose, of how Captain Nat handled his boy t'other +night, didn't ye?" he remarked to the passenger next to him on the +front seat. "It might be the way they did things 'board the Black Ball +Line, but 'tain't human and decent, an' I told Cap'n Nat so to-day. +Shut his door in his face an' told him he'd kill him if he tried to +come in, and all because he ketched him playin' cards on Sunday down on +the beach. Bart warn't no worse than the others he run with, but ye +can't tell what these old sea-dogs will do when they git riled. I guess +it was the rum more'n the cards. Them fellers used to drink a power o' +rum in that shanty. I've seen 'em staggerin' home many a Monday mornin' +when I got down early to open up for my team. It's the rum that riled +the cap'n, I guess. He wouldn't stand it aboard ship and used to put +his men in irons, I've hearn tell, when they come aboard drunk. What +gits me is that the cap'n didn't know them fellers met there every +night they could git away, week-days as well as Sundays. Everybody +'round here knew it 'cept him and the light-keeper, and he's so durned +lazy he never once dropped on to 'em. He'd git bounced if the Gov'ment +found out he was lettin' a gang run the House o' Refuge whenever they +felt like it. Fogarty, the fisherman's, got the key, or oughter have +it, but the light-keeper's responsible, so I hearn tell. Git-up, +Billy," and the talk drifted into other channels. +</P> + +<P> +The incident was soon forgotten. One young man more or less did not +make much difference in Warehold. As to Captain Nat, he was known to be +a scrupulously honest, exact man who knew no law outside of his duty. +He probably did it for the boy's good, although everybody agreed that +he could have accomplished his purpose in some more merciful way. +</P> + +<P> +The other sensation—the departure of the two Cobden girls, and their +possible prolonged stay abroad—did not subside so easily. Not only did +the neighbors look upon the Manor House as the show-place of the +village, but the girls themselves were greatly beloved, Jane being +especially idolized from Warehold to Barnegat and the sea. To lose +Jane's presence among them was a positive calamity entailing a sorrow +that most of her neighbors could not bring themselves to face. No one +could take her place. +</P> + +<P> +Pastor Dellenbaugh, when he heard the news, sank into his study chair +and threw up his hands as if to ward off some blow. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jane going abroad!" he cried; "and you say nobody knows when she +will come back! I can't realize it! We might as well close the school; +no one else in the village can keep it together." +</P> + +<P> +The Cromartins and the others all expressed similar opinions, the +younger ladies' sorrow being aggravated when they realized that with +Lucy away there would be no one to lead in their merrymakings. +</P> + +<P> +Martha held her peace; she would stay at home, she told Mrs. +Dellenbaugh, and wait for their return and look after the place. Her +heart was broken with the loneliness that would come, she moaned, but +what was best for her bairn she was willing to bear. It didn't make +much difference either way; she wasn't long for this world. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's mother heard the news with ill-concealed satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"A most extraordinary thing has occurred here, my dear," she said to +one of her Philadelphia friends who was visiting her—she was too +politic to talk openly to the neighbors. "You have, of course, met that +Miss Cobden who lives at Yardley—not the pretty one—the plain one. +Well, she is the most quixotic creature in the world. Only a few weeks +ago she wanted to become a nurse in the public hospital here, and now +she proposes to close her house and go abroad for nobody knows how +long, simply because her younger sister wants to study music, as if a +school-girl couldn't get all the instruction of that kind here that is +necessary. Really, I never heard of such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +To Mrs. Benson, a neighbor, she said, behind her hand and in strict +confidence: "Miss Cobden is morbidly conscientious over trifles. A fine +woman, one of the very finest we have, but a little too strait-laced, +and, if I must say it, somewhat commonplace, especially for a woman of +her birth and education." +</P> + +<P> +To herself she said: "Never while I live shall Jane Cobden marry my +John! She can never help any man's career. She has neither the worldly +knowledge, nor the personal presence, nor the money." +</P> + +<P> +Jane gave but one answer to all inquiries—and there were many. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know the move is a sudden one," she would say, "but it is for +Lucy's good, and there is no one to go with her but me." No one saw +beneath the mask that hid her breaking heart. To them the drawn face +and the weary look in her eyes only showed her grief at leaving home +and those who loved her: to Mrs. Cavendish it seemed part of Jane's +peculiar temperament. +</P> + +<P> +Nor could they watch her in the silence of the night tossing on her +bed, or closeted with Martha in her search for the initial steps that +had led to this horror. Had the Philadelphia school undermined her own +sisterly teachings or had her companions been at fault? Perhaps it was +due to the blood of some long-forgotten ancestor, which in the cycle of +years had cropped out in this generation, poisoning the fountain of her +youth. Bart, she realized, had played the villain and the ingrate, but +yet it was also true that Bart, and all his class, would have been +powerless before a woman of a different temperament. Who, then, had +undermined this citadel and given it over to plunder and disgrace? Then +with merciless exactness she searched her own heart. Had it been her +fault? What safeguard had she herself neglected? Wherein had she been +false to her trust and her promise to her dying father? What could she +have done to avert it? These ever-haunting, ever-recurring doubts +maddened her. +</P> + +<P> +One thing she was determined upon, cost what it might—to protect her +sister's name. No daughter of Morton Cobden's should be pointed at in +scorn. For generations no stain of dishonor had tarnished the family +name. This must be preserved, no matter who suffered. In this she was +sustained by Martha, her only confidante. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John heard the news from Jane's lips before it was known to the +villagers. He had come to inquire after Martha. +</P> + +<P> +She met him at the porch entrance, and led him into the drawing-room, +without a word of welcome. Then shutting the door, she motioned him to +a seat opposite her own on the sofa. The calm, determined way with +which this was done—so unusual in one so cordial—startled him. He +felt that something of momentous interest, and, judging from Jane's +face, of serious import, had happened. He invariably took his cue from +her face, and his own spirits always rose or fell as the light in her +eyes flashed or dimmed. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything the matter?" he asked nervously. "Martha worse?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not that; Martha is around again—it is about Lucy and me." The +voice did not sound like Jane's. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked at her intently, but he did not speak. Jane +continued, her face now deathly pale, her words coming slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"You advised me some time ago about Lucy's going to Trenton, and I am +glad I followed it. You thought it would strengthen her love for us all +and teach her to love me the better. It has—so much so that hereafter +we will never be separated. I hope now you will also approve of what I +have just decided upon. Lucy is going abroad to live, and I am going +with her." +</P> + +<P> +As the words fell from her lips her eyes crept up to his face, watching +the effect of her statement. It was a cold, almost brutal way of +putting it, she knew, but she dared not trust herself with anything +less formal. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment he sat perfectly still, the color gone from his cheeks, +his eyes fixed on hers, a cold chill benumbing the roots of his hair. +The suddenness of the announcement seemed to have stunned him. +</P> + +<P> +"For how long?" he asked in a halting voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Not less than two years; perhaps longer." +</P> + +<P> +"TWO YEARS? Is Lucy ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; she wants to study music, and she couldn't go alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you made up your mind to this?" he asked, in a more positive +tone. His self-control was returning now. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John rose from his chair, paced the room slowly for a moment, +and crossing to the fireplace with his back to Jane, stood under her +father's portrait, his elbows on the mantel, his head in his hand. +interwoven with the pain which the announcement had given him was the +sharper sorrow of her neglect of him. In forming her plans she had +never once thought of her lifelong friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you not tell me something of this before?" The inquiry was not +addressed to Jane, but to the smouldering coals. "How have I ever +failed you? What has my daily life been but an open book for you to +read, and here you leave me for years, and never give me a thought." +</P> + +<P> +Jane started in her seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me, my dear friend!" she answered quickly in a voice full of +tenderness. "I did not mean to hurt you. It is not that I love all my +friends here the less—and you know how truly I appreciate your own +friendship—but only that I love my sister more; and my duty is with +her. I only decided last night. Don't turn your back on me. Come and +sit by me, and talk to me," she pleaded, holding out her hand. "I need +all your strength." As she spoke the tears started to her eyes and her +voice sank almost to a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor lifted his head from his palm and walked quickly toward her. +The suffering in her voice had robbed him of all resentment. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me, I did not mean it. Tell me," he said, in a sudden burst of +tenderness—all feeling about himself had dropped away—"why must you +go so soon? Why not wait until spring?" He had taken his seat beside +her now and sat looking into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy wants to go at once," she replied, in a tone as if the matter did +not admit of any discussion. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. That's just like her. What she wants she can never wait a +minute for, but she certainly would sacrifice some pleasure of her own +to please you. If she was determined to be a musician it would be +different, but it is only for her pleasure, and as an accomplishment." +He spoke earnestly and impersonally, as he always did when she +consulted him on any of her affairs, He was trying, too, to wipe from +her mind all remembrance of his impatience. +</P> + +<P> +Jane kept her eyes on the carpet for a moment, and then said quietly, +and he thought in rather a hopeless tone: +</P> + +<P> +"It is best we go at once." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked at her searchingly—with the eye of a scientist, this +time, probing for a hidden meaning. +</P> + +<P> +"Then there is something else you have not told me; someone is annoying +her, or there is someone with whom you are afraid she will fall in +love. Who is it? You know how I could help in a matter of that kind." +</P> + +<P> +"No; there is no one." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John leaned back thoughtfully and tapped the arm of the sofa +with his fingers. He felt as if a door had been shut in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand it," he said slowly, and in a baffled tone. "I have +never known you to do a thing like this before. It is entirely unlike +you. There is some mystery you are keeping from me. Tell me, and let me +help." +</P> + +<P> +"I can tell you nothing more. Can't you trust me to do my duty in my +own way?" She stole a look at him as she spoke and again lowered her +eyelids. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are determined to go?" he asked in his former cross-examining +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Again the doctor kept silence. Despite her assumed courage and +determined air, his experienced eye caught beneath it all the shrinking +helplessness of the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I, too, have reached a sudden resolve," he said in a manner +almost professional in its precision. "You cannot and shall not go +alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but Lucy and I can get along together," she exclaimed with nervous +haste. "There is no one we could take but Martha, and she is too old. +Besides she must look after the house while we are away." +</P> + +<P> +"No; Martha will not do. No woman will do. I know Paris and its life; +it is not the place for two women to live in alone, especially so +pretty and light-hearted a woman as Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not afraid." +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I am," he answered in a softened voice, "very much afraid." It +was no longer the physician who spoke, but the friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of a dozen things you do not understand, and cannot until you +encounter them," he replied, smoothing her hand tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but it cannot be helped. There is no one to go with us." This +came with some positiveness, yet with a note of impatience in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there is," he answered gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" she asked slowly, withdrawing her hand from his caress, an +undefined fear rising in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Me. I will go with you." +</P> + +<P> +Jane looked at him with widening eyes. She knew now. She had caught his +meaning in the tones of his voice before he had expressed it, and had +tried to think of some way to ward off what she saw was coming, but she +was swept helplessly on. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go together, Jane," he burst out, drawing closer to her. All +reserve was gone. The words which had pressed so long for utterance +could no longer be held back. "I cannot live here alone without you. +You know it, and have always known it. I love you so—don't let us live +apart any more. If you must go, go as my wife." +</P> + +<P> +A thrill of joy ran through her. Her lips quivered. She wanted to cry +out, to put her arms around his neck, to tell him everything in her +heart. Then came a quick, sharp pain that stifled every other thought. +For the first time the real bitterness of the situation confronted her. +This phase of it she had not counted upon. +</P> + +<P> +She shrank back a little. "Don't ask me that!" she moaned in a tone +almost of pain. "I can stand anything now but that. Not now—not now!" +</P> + +<P> +Her hand was still under his, her fingers lying limp, all the pathos of +her suffering in her face: determination to do her duty, horror over +the situation, and above them all her overwhelming love for him. +</P> + +<P> +He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. +</P> + +<P> +"You love me, Jane, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, more than all else in the world," she answered simply. "Too +well"—and her voice broke—"to have you give up your career for me or +mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why should we live apart? I am willing to do as much for Lucy as +you would. Let me share the care and responsibility. You needn't, +perhaps, be gone more than a year, and then we will all come back +together, and I take up my work again. I need you, my beloved. Nothing +that I do seems of any use without you. You are my great, strong light, +and have always been since the first day I loved you. Let me help bear +these burdens. You have carried them so long alone." +</P> + +<P> +His face lay against hers now, her hand still clasped tight in his. For +an instant she did not answer or move; then she straightened a little +and lifted her cheek from his. +</P> + +<P> +"John," she said—it was the first time in all her life she had called +him thus—"you wouldn't love me if I should consent. You have work to +do here and I now have work to do on the other side. We cannot work +together; we must work apart. Your heart is speaking, and I love you +for it, but we must not think of it now. It may come right some +time—God only knows! My duty is plain—I must go with Lucy. Neither +you nor my dead father would love me if I did differently." +</P> + +<P> +"I only know that I love you and that you love me and nothing else +should count," he pleaded impatiently. "Nothing else shall count. There +is nothing you could do would make me love you less. You are practical +and wise about all your plans. Why has this whim of Lucy's taken hold +of you as it has? And it is only a whim; Lucy will want something else +in six months. Oh, I cannot—cannot let you go. I'm so desolate without +you—my whole life is yours—everything I do is for you. O Jane, my +beloved, don't shut me out of your life! I will not let you go without +me!" His voice vibrated with a certain indignation, as if he had been +unjustly treated. She raised one hand and laid it on his forehead, +smoothing his brow as a mother would that of a child. The other still +lay in his. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, John," she moaned, in a half-piteous tone. "Don't! Don't talk +so! I can only bear comforting words to-day. I am too wretched—too +utterly broken and miserable. Please! please, John!" +</P> + +<P> +He dropped her hand and leaning forward put both of his own to his +head. He knew how strong was her will and how futile would be his +efforts to change her mind unless her conscience agreed. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't," he answered, as a strong man answers who is baffled. "I did +not mean to be impatient or exacting." Then he raised his head and +looked steadily into her eyes. "What would you have me do, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait." +</P> + +<P> +"But you give me no promise." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I cannot—not now. I am like one staggering along, following a dim +light that leads hither and thither, and which may any moment go out +and leave me in utter darkness." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there is something you have not told me?" +</P> + +<P> +"O John! Can't you trust me?" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet you love me?" +</P> + +<P> +"As my life, John." +</P> + +<P> +When he had gone and she had closed the door upon him, she went back to +the sofa where the two had sat together, and with her hands clasped +tight above her head, sank down upon its cushions. The tears came like +rain now, bitter, blinding tears that she could not check. +</P> + +<P> +"I have hurt him," she moaned. "He is so good, and strong, and helpful. +He never thinks of himself; it is always of me—me, who can do nothing. +The tears were in his eyes—I saw them. Oh, I've hurt him—hurt him! +And yet, dear God, thou knowest I could not help it." +</P> + +<P> +Maddened with the pain of it all she sprang up, determined to go to him +and tell him everything. To throw herself into his arms and beg +forgiveness for her cruelty and crave the protection of his strength. +Then her gaze fell upon her father's portrait! The cold, steadfast eyes +were looking down upon her as if they could read her very soul. "No! +No!" she sobbed, putting her hands over her eyes as if to shut out some +spectre she had not the courage to face. "It must not be—it CANNOT +be," and she sank back exhausted. +</P> + +<P> +When the paroxysm was over she rose to her feet, dried her eyes, +smoothed her hair with both hands, and then, with lips tight pressed +and faltering steps, walked upstairs to where Martha was getting Lucy's +things ready for the coming journey. Crossing the room, she stood with +her elbows on the mantel, her cheeks tight pressed between her palms, +her eyes on the embers. Martha moved from the open trunk and stood +behind her. +</P> + +<P> +"It was Doctor John, wasn't it?" she asked in a broken voice that told +of her suffering. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," moaned Jane from between her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"And ye told him about your goin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Martha." Her frame was shaking with her sobs. +</P> + +<P> +"And about Lucy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I could not." +</P> + +<P> +Martha leaned forward and laid her hand on Jane's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor lassie!" she said, patting it softly. "Poor lassie! That was the +hardest part. He's big and strong and could 'a' comforted ye. My heart +aches for ye both!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN ARRIVAL +</H3> + +<P> +With the departure of Jane and Lucy the old homestead took on that +desolate, abandoned look which comes to most homes when all the life +and joyousness have gone from them. Weeds grew in the roadway between +the lilacs, dandelions flaunted themselves over the grass-plots; the +shutters of the porch side of the house were closed, and the main gate +always thrown wide day and night in ungoverned welcome, was seldom +opened except to a few intimate friends of the old nurse. +</P> + +<P> +At first Pastor Dellenbaugh had been considerate enough to mount the +long path to inquire for news of the travelers and to see how Martha +was getting along, but after the receipt of the earlier letters from +Jane telling of their safe arrival and their sojourn in a little +village but a short distance out of Paris, convenient to the great +city, even his visits ceased. Captain Holt never darkened the door; nor +did he ever willingly stop to talk to Martha when he met her on the +road. She felt the slight, and avoided him when she could. This +resulted in their seldom speaking to each other, and then only in the +most casual way. She fancied he might think she wanted news of Bart, +and so gave him no opportunity to discuss him or his whereabouts; but +she was mistaken. The captain never mentioned his name to friend or +stranger. To him the boy was dead for all time. Nor had anyone of his +companions heard from him since that stormy night on the beach. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John's struggle had lasted for months, but he had come through +it chastened and determined. For the first few days he went about his +work as one in a dream, his mind on the woman he loved, his hand +mechanically doing its duty. Jane had so woven herself into his life +that her sudden departure had been like the upwrenching of a plant, +tearing out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all his +sustenance and strength. The inconsistencies of her conduct especially +troubled him. If she loved him—and she had told him that she did, and +with their cheeks touching—how could she leave him in order to indulge +a mere whim of her sister's? And if she loved him well enough to tell +him so, why had she refused to plight him her troth? Such a course was +unnatural, and out of his own and everyone else's experience. Women who +loved men with a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could give +her, and the love he knew she could give him, never permitted such +trifles to come between them and their life's happiness. What, he asked +himself a thousand times, had brought this change? +</P> + +<P> +As the months went by these doubts and speculations one by one passed +out of his mind, and only the image of the woman he adored, with all +her qualities—loyalty to her trust, tenderness over Lucy and +unquestioned love for himself—rose clear. No, he would believe in her +to the end! She was still all he had in life. If she would not be his +wife she should be his friend. That happiness was worth all else to him +in the world. His was not to criticise, but to help. Help as SHE wanted +it; preserving her standard of personal honor, her devotion to her +ideals, her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish had seen the change in her son's demeanor and had +watched him closely through his varying moods, but though she divined +their cause she had not sought to probe his secret. +</P> + +<P> +His greatest comfort was in his visits to Martha. He always dropped in +to see her when he made his rounds in the neighborhood; sometimes every +day, sometimes once a week, depending on his patients and their +condition—visits which were always prolonged when a letter came from +either of the girls, for at first Lucy wrote to the old nurse as often +as did Jane. Apart from this the doctor loved the patient caretaker, +both for her loyalty and for her gentleness. And she loved him in +return; clinging to him as an older woman clings to a strong man, +following his advice (he never gave orders) to the minutest detail when +something in the management or care of house or grounds exceeded her +grasp. Consulting him, too, and this at Jane's special +request—regarding any financial complications which needed prompt +attention, and which, but for his services, might have required Jane's +immediate return to disentangle. She loved, too, to talk of Lucy and of +Miss Jane's goodness to her bairn, saying she had been both a sister +and a mother to her, to which the doctor would invariably add some +tribute of his own which only bound the friendship the closer. +</P> + +<P> +His main relief, however, lay in his work, and in this he became each +day more engrossed. He seemed never to be out of his gig unless at the +bedside of some patient. So long and wearing had the routes +become—often beyond Barnegat and as far as Westfield—that the sorrel +gave out, and he was obliged to add another horse to his stable. His +patients saw the weary look in his eyes—as of one who had often looked +on sorrow—and thought it was the hard work and anxiety over them that +had caused it. But the old nurse knew better. +</P> + +<P> +"His heart's breakin' for love of her," she would say to Meg, looking +down into his sleepy eyes—she cuddled him more than ever these +days—"and I don't wonder. God knows how it'll all end." +</P> + +<P> +Jane wrote to him but seldom; only half a dozen letters in all during +the first year of her absence among them one to tell him of their safe +arrival, another to thank him for his kindness to Martha, and a third +to acknowledge the receipt of a letter of introduction to a student +friend of his who was now a prominent physician in Paris, and who might +be useful in case either of them fell ill. He had written to his friend +at the same time, giving the address of the two girls, but the +physician had answered that he had called at the street and number, but +no one knew of them. The doctor reported this to Jane in his next +letter, asking her to write to his friend so that he might know of +their whereabouts should they need his services, for which Jane, in a +subsequent letter, thanked him, but made no mention of sending to his +friend should occasion require. These subsequent letters said very +little about their plans and carefully avoided all reference to their +daily life or to Lucy's advancement in her studies, and never once set +any time for their coming home. He wondered at her neglect of him, and +when no answer came to his continued letters, except at long intervals, +he could contain himself no longer, and laid the whole matter before +Martha. +</P> + +<P> +"She means nothing, doctor, dear," she had answered, taking his hand +and looking up into his troubled face. "Her heart is all right; she's +goin' through deep waters, bein' away from everybody she loves—you +most of all. Don't worry; keep on lovin' her, ye'll never have cause to +repent it." +</P> + +<P> +That same night Martha wrote to Jane, giving her every detail of the +interview, and in due course of time handed the doctor a letter in +which Jane wrote: "He MUST NOT stop writing to me; his letters are all +the comfort I have"—a line not intended for the doctor's eyes, but +which the good soul could not keep from him, so eager was she to +relieve his pain. +</P> + +<P> +Jane's letter to him in answer to his own expressing his unhappiness +over her neglect was less direct, but none the less comforting to him. +"I am constantly moving about," the letter ran, "and have much to do +and cannot always answer your letters, so please do not expect them too +often. But I am always thinking of you and your kindness to dear +Martha. You do for me when you do for her." +</P> + +<P> +After this it became a settled habit between them, he writing by the +weekly steamer, telling her every thought of his life, and she replying +at long intervals. In these no word of love was spoken on her side; nor +was any reference made to their last interview. But this fact did not +cool the warmth of his affection nor weaken his faith. She had told him +she loved him, and with her own lips. That was enough—enough from a +woman like Jane. He would lose faith when she denied it in the same +way. In the meantime she was his very breath and being. +</P> + +<P> +One morning two years after Jane's departure, while the doctor and his +mother sat at breakfast, Mrs. Cavendish filling the tea-cups, the +spring sunshine lighting up the snow-white cloth and polished silver, +the mail arrived and two letters were laid at their respective plates, +one for the doctor and the other for his mother. +</P> + +<P> +As Doctor John glanced at the handwriting his face flushed, and his +eyes danced with pleasure. With eager, trembling fingers he broke the +seal and ran his eyes hungrily over the contents. It had been his habit +to turn to the bottom of the last page before he read the preceding +ones, so that he might see the signature and note the final words of +affection or friendship, such as "Ever your friend," or "Affectionately +yours," or simply "Your friend," written above Jane's name. These were +to him the thermometric readings of the warmth of her heart. +</P> + +<P> +Half way down the first page—before he had time to turn the leaf—he +caught his breath in an effort to smother a sudden outburst of joy. +Then with a supreme effort he regained his self-control and read the +letter to the end. (He rarely mentioned Jane's name to his mother, and +he did not want his delight over the contents of the letter to be made +the basis of comment.) +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish's outburst over the contents of her own envelope broke +the silence and relieved his tension. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how fortunate!" she exclaimed. "Listen, John; now I really have +good news for you. You remember I told you that I met old Dr. Pencoyd +the last time I was in Philadelphia, and had a long talk with him. I +told him how you were buried here and how hard you worked and how +anxious I was that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to write +to me, and he has. Here's his letter. He says he is getting too old to +continue his practice alone, that his assistant has fallen ill, and +that if you will come to him at once he will take you into partnership +and give you half his practice. I always knew something good would come +out of my last visit to Philadelphia. Aren't you delighted, my son?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor, laughing. He was more +than delighted—brimming over with happiness, in fact—but not over his +mother's news; it was the letter held tight in his grasp that was +sending electric thrills through him. "A fine old fellow is Dr. +Pencoyd—known him for years," he continued; "I attended his lectures +before I went abroad. Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut Street, +stuffed full of family portraits and old mahogany furniture, and not a +comfortable chair or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeen +waist-coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. Oh, yes, same old fellow. +Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't you rather have the sunlight +dance in upon you as it does here and catch a glimpse of the sea +through the window than to look across at your neighbors' back walls +and white marble steps?" It was across that same sea that Jane was +coming, and the sunshine would come with her! +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse this without +looking into it?" she argued, eyeing him through her gold-rimmed +glasses. "Go and see him, and then you can judge. It's his practice you +want, not his house." +</P> + +<P> +"No; that's just what I don't want. I've got too much practice now. +Somehow I can't keep my people well. No, mother, dear, don't bother +your dear head over the old doctor and his wants. Write him that I am +most grateful, but that the fact is I need an assistant myself, and if +he will be good enough to send someone down here, I'll keep him busy +every hour of the day and night. Then, again," he continued, a more +serious tone in his voice, "I couldn't possibly leave here now, even if +I wished to, which I do not." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish eyed him intently. She had expected just such a refusal +Nothing that she ever planned for his advancement did he agree to. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" she asked, with some impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"The new hospital is about finished, and I am going to take charge of +it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do they pay you for it?" she continued, in an incisive tone. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't think they will, nor can. It's not, that kind of a +hospital," answered the doctor gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"And you will look after these people just as you do after Fogarty and +the Branscombs, and everybody else up and down the shore, and never +take a penny in pay!" she retorted with some indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I will, mother. A disappointing son, am I not? But there's +no one to blame but yourself, old lady," and with a laugh he rose from +his seat, Jane's letter in his hand, and kissed his mother on the cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"But, John, dear," she exclaimed in a pleading petulance as she looked +into his face, still holding on to the sleeve of his coat to detain him +the longer, "just think of this letter of Pencoyd's; nothing has ever +been offered you better than this. He has the very best people in +Philadelphia on his list, and you would get—" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor slipped his hand under his mother's chin, as he would have +done to a child, and said with a twinkle in his eye—he was very happy +this morning: +</P> + +<P> +"That's precisely my case—I've got the very best people in three +counties on my list. That's much better than the old doctor." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are they, pray?" She was softening under her son's caress. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let me think. There's the distinguished Mr. Tatham, who attends +to the transportation of the cities of Warehold and Barnegat; and the +Right Honorable Mr. Tipple, and Mrs. and Miss Gossaway, renowned for +their toilets—" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish bit her lip. When her son was in one of these moods it +was all she could do to keep her temper. +</P> + +<P> +"And the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley, and—" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish looked up. The name had an aristocratic sound, but it +was unknown to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, don't you know the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley?" inquired the doctor, +with a quizzical smile. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I never heard of her." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she's just moved into Warehold. Poor woman, she hasn't been out +of bed for years! She's the wife of the new butcher, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"The butcher's wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"The butcher's wife, my dear mother, a most delightful old person, who +has brought up three sons, and each one a credit to her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish let go her hold on the doctor's sleeve and settled back +in her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"And you won't even write to Dr. Pencoyd?" she asked in a disheartened +way, as if she knew he would refuse. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, with pleasure, and thank him most kindly, but I couldn't leave +Barnegat; not now. Not at any time, so far as I can see." +</P> + +<P> +"And I suppose when Jane Cobden comes home in a year or so she will +work with you in the hospital. She wanted to turn nurse the last time I +talked to her." This special arrow in her maternal quiver, poisoned +with her jealousy, was always ready. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so," he replied, with a smile that lighted up his whole face; +"only it will not be a year. Miss Jane will be here on the next +steamer." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish put down her tea-cup and looked at her son in +astonishment. The doctor still kept his eyes on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Be here by the next steamer! How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor held up the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy will remain," he added. "She is going to Germany to continue her +studies." +</P> + +<P> +"And Jane is coming home alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, she brings a little child with her, the son of a friend, she +writes. She asks that I arrange to have Martha meet them at the dock." +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody, I suppose, she has picked up out of the streets. She is +always doing these wild, unpractical things. Whose child is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"She doesn't say, but I quite agree with you that it was helpless, or +she wouldn't have protected it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't Lucy come with her?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"And I suppose you will go to the ship to meet her?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor drew himself up, clicked his heels together with the air of +an officer saluting his superior—really to hide his joy—and said with +mock gravity, his hand on his heart: +</P> + +<P> +"I shall, most honorable mother, be the first to take her ladyship's +hand as she walks down the gangplank." Then he added, with a tone of +mild reproof in his voice: "What a funny, queer old mother you are! +Always worrying yourself over the unimportant and the impossible," and +stooping down, he kissed her again on the cheek and passed out of the +room on the way to his office. +</P> + +<P> +"That woman always comes up at the wrong moment," Mrs. Cavendish said +to herself in a bitter tone. "I knew he had received some word from +her, I saw it in his face. He would have gone to Philadelphia but for +Jane Cobden." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SPREAD OF FIRE +</H3> + +<P> +The doctor kept his word. His hand was the first that touched Jane's +when she came down the gangplank, Martha beside him, holding out her +arms for the child, cuddling it to her bosom, wrapping her shawl about +it as if to protect it from the gaze of the inquisitive. +</P> + +<P> +"O doctor! it was so good of you!" were Jane's first words. It hurt her +to call him thus, but she wanted to establish the new relation clearly. +She had shouldered her cross and must bear its weight alone and in her +own way. "You don't know what it is to see a face from home! I am so +glad to get here. But you should not have left your people; I wrote +Martha and told her so. All I wanted you to do was to have her meet me +here. Thank you, dear friend, for coming." +</P> + +<P> +She had not let go his hand, clinging to him as a timid woman in +crossing a narrow bridge spanning an abyss clings to the strong arm of +a man. +</P> + +<P> +He helped her to the dock as tenderly as if she had been a child; +asking her if the voyage had been a rough one, whether she had been ill +in her berth, and whether she had taken care of the baby herself, and +why she had brought no nurse with her. She saw his meaning, but she did +not explain her weakness or offer any explanation of the cause of her +appearance or of the absence of a nurse. In a moment she changed the +subject, asking after his mother and his own work, and seemed +interested in what he told her about the neighbors. +</P> + +<P> +When the joy of hearing her voice and of looking into her dear face +once more had passed, his skilled eyes probed the deeper. He noted with +a sinking at the heart the dark circles under the drooping lids, the +drawn, pallid skin and telltale furrows that had cut their way deep +into her cheeks. Her eyes, too, had lost their lustre, and her step +lacked the spring and vigor of her old self. The diagnosis alarmed him. +Even the mould of her face, so distinguished, and to him so beautiful, +had undergone a change; whether through illness, or because of some +mental anguish, he could not decide. +</P> + +<P> +When he pressed his inquiries about Lucy she answered with a +half-stifled sigh that Lucy had decided to remain abroad for a year +longer; adding that it had been a great relief to her, and that at +first she had thought of remaining with her, but that their affairs, as +he knew, had become so involved at home that she feared their means of +living might be jeopardized if she did not return at once. The child, +however, would be a comfort to both Martha and herself until Lucy came. +Then she added in a constrained voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Its mother would not, or could not care for it, and so I brought it +with me." +</P> + +<P> +Once at home and the little waif safely tucked away in the crib that +had sheltered Lucy in the old days, the neighbors began to flock in; +Uncle Ephraim among the first. +</P> + +<P> +"My, but I'm glad you're back!" he burst out. "Martha's been lonelier +than a cat in a garret, and down at our house we ain't much better. And +so that Bunch of Roses is going to stay over there, is she, and set +those Frenchies crazy?" +</P> + +<P> +Pastor Dellenbaugh took both of Jane's hands into his own and looking +into her face, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but we've missed you! There has been no standard, my dear Miss +Jane, since you've been gone. I have felt it, and so has everyone in +the church. It is good to have you once more with us." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish could hardly conceal her satisfaction, although she was +careful what she said to her son. Her hope was that the care of the +child would so absorb Jane that John would regain his freedom and be no +longer subservient to Miss Cobden's whims. +</P> + +<P> +"And so Lucy is to stay in Paris?" she said, with one of her sweetest +smiles. "She is so charming and innocent, that sweet sister of yours, +my dear Miss Jane, and so sympathetic. I quite lost my heart to her. +And to study music, too? A most noble accomplishment, my dear. My +grandmother, who was an Erskine, you know, played divinely on the harp, +and many of my ancestors, especially the Dagworthys, were accomplished +musicians. Your sister will look lovely bending over a harp. My +grandmother had her portrait painted that way by Peale, and it still +hangs in the old house in Trenton. And they tell me you have brought a +little angel with you to bring up and share your loneliness? How +pathetic, and how good of you!" +</P> + +<P> +The village women—they came in groups—asked dozens of questions +before Jane had had even time to shake each one by the hand. Was Lucy +so in love with the life abroad that she would never come back? was she +just as pretty as ever? what kind of bonnets were being worn? etc., etc. +</P> + +<P> +The child in Martha's arms was, of course, the object of special +attention. They all agreed that it was a healthy, hearty, and most +beautiful baby; just the kind of a child one would want to adopt if one +had any such extraordinary desires. +</P> + +<P> +This talk continued until they had gained the highway, when they also +agreed—and this without a single dissenting voice—that in all the +village Jane Cobden was the only woman conscientious enough to want to +bring up somebody else's child, and a foreigner at that, when there +were any quantity of babies up and down the shore that could be had for +the asking. The little creature was, no doubt, helpless, and appealed +to Miss Jane's sympathies, but why bring it home at all? Were there not +places enough in France where it could be brought up? etc., etc. This +sort of gossip went on for days after Jane's return, each dropper-in at +tea-table or village gathering having some view of her own to express, +the women doing most of the talking. +</P> + +<P> +The discussion thus begun by friends was soon taken up by the sewing +societies and church gatherings, one member in good standing remarking +loud enough to be heard by everybody: +</P> + +<P> +"As for me, I ain't never surprised at nothin' Jane Cobden does. She's +queerer than Dick's hat-band, and allus was, and I've knowed her ever +since she used to toddle up to my house and I baked cookies for her. +I've seen her many a time feed the dog with what I give her, just +because she said he looked hungry, which there warn't a mite o' truth +in, for there ain't nothin' goes hungry round my place, and never was. +She's queer, I tell ye." +</P> + +<P> +"Quite true, dear Mrs. Pokeberry," remarked Pastor Dellenbaugh in his +gentlest tone—he had heard the discussion as he was passing through +the room and had stopped to listen—"especially when mercy and kindness +is to be shown. Some poor little outcast, no doubt, with no one to take +care of it, and so this grand woman brings it home to nurse and +educate. I wish there were more Jane Cobdens in my parish. Many of you +talk good deeds, and justice, and Christian spirit; here is a woman who +puts them into practice." +</P> + +<P> +This statement having been made during the dispersal of a Wednesday +night meeting, and in the hearing of half the congregation, furnished +the key to the mystery, and so for a time the child and its new-found +mother ceased to be an active subject of discussion. +</P> + +<P> +Ann Gossaway, however, was not satisfied. The more she thought of the +pastor's explanation the more she resented it as an affront to her +intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +"If folks wants to pick up stray babies," she shouted to her old mother +on her return home one night, "and bring 'em home to nuss, they oughter +label 'em with some sort o' pedigree, and not keep the village +a-guessin' as to who they is and where they come from. I don't believe +a word of this outcast yarn. Guess Miss Lucy is all right, and she +knows enough to stay away when all this tomfoolery's goin' on. She +doesn't want to come back to a child's nussery." To all of which her +mother nodded her head, keeping it going like a toy mandarin long after +the subject of discussion had been changed. +</P> + +<P> +Little by little the scandal spread: by innuendoes; by the wise +shakings of empty heads; by nods and winks; by the piecing out of +incomplete tattle. For the spread of gossip is like the spread of fire: +First a smouldering heat—some friction of ill-feeling, perhaps, over a +secret sin that cannot be smothered, try as we may; next a hot, +blistering tongue of flame creeping stealthily; then a burst of +scorching candor and the roar that ends in ruin. Sometimes the victim +is saved by a dash of honest water—the outspoken word of some brave +friend. More often those who should stamp out the burning brand stand +idly by until the final collapse and then warm themselves at the blaze. +</P> + +<P> +Here in Warehold it began with some whispered talk: Bart Holt had +disappeared; there was a woman in the case somewhere; Bart's exile had +not been entirely caused by his love of cards and drink. Reference was +also made to the fact that Jane had gone abroad but a short time AFTER +Bart's disappearance, and that knowing how fond she was of him, and how +she had tried to reform him, the probability was that she had met him +in Paris. Doubts having been expressed that no woman of Jane Cobden's +position would go to any such lengths to oblige so young a fellow as +Bart Holt, the details of their intimacy were passed from mouth to +mouth, and when this was again scouted, reference was made to Miss +Gossaway, who was supposed to know more than she was willing to tell. +The dressmaker denied all responsibility for the story, but admitted +that she had once seen them on the beach "settin' as close together as +they could git, with the red cloak she had made for Miss Jane wound +about 'em. +</P> + +<P> +"'Twarn't none o' my business, and I told Martha so, and 'tain't none +o' my business now, but I'd rather die than tell a lie or scandalize +anybody, and so if ye ask me if I saw 'em I'll have to tell ye I did. I +don't believe, howsomever, that Miss Jane went away to oblige that +good-for-nothin' or that she's ever laid eyes on him since. Lucy is +what took her. She's one o' them flyaways. I see that when she was +home, and there warn't no peace up to the Cobdens' house till they'd +taken her somewheres where she could git all the runnin' round she +wanted. As for the baby, there ain't nobody knows where Miss Jane +picked that up, but there ain't no doubt but what she loves it same's +if it was her own child. She's named it Archie, after her grandfather, +anyhow. That's what Martha and she calls it. So they're not ashamed of +it." +</P> + +<P> +When the fire had spent itself, only one spot remained unscorched: this +was the parentage of little Archie. That mystery still remained +unsolved. Those of her own class who knew Jane intimately admired her +kindness of heart and respected her silence; those who did not soon +forgot the boy's existence. +</P> + +<P> +The tavern loungers, however, some of whom only knew the Cobden girls +by reputation, had theories of their own; theories which were +communicated to other loungers around other tavern stoves, most of whom +would not have known either of the ladies on the street. The fact that +both women belonged to a social stratum far above them gave additional +license to their tongues; they could never be called in question by +anybody who overheard, and were therefore safe to discuss the situation +at their will. Condensed into illogical shape, the story was that Jane +had met a foreigner who had deserted her, leaving her to care for the +child alone; that Lucy had refused to come back to Warehold, had taken +what money was coming to her, and, like a sensible woman, had stayed +away. That there was not the slightest foundation for this slander did +not lessen its acceptance by a certain class; many claimed that it +offered the only plausible solution to the mystery, and must, +therefore, be true. +</P> + +<P> +It was not long before the echoes of these scandals reached Martha's +ears. The gossips dare not affront Miss Jane with their suspicions, but +Martha was different. If they could irritate her by speaking lightly of +her mistress, she might give out some information which would solve the +mystery. +</P> + +<P> +One night a servant of one of the neighbors stopped Martha on the road +and sent her flying home; not angry, but terrified. +</P> + +<P> +"They're beginnin' to talk," she broke out savagely, as she entered +Jane's room, her breath almost gone from her run to the house. "I +laughed at it and said they dare not one of 'em say it to your face or +mine, but they're beginnin' to talk." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it about Barton Holt? have they heard anything from him?" asked +Jane. The fear of his return had always haunted her. +</P> + +<P> +"No, and they won't. He'll never come back here ag'in. The captain +would kill him." +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't about Lucy, then, is it?" cried Jane, her color going. +</P> + +<P> +Martha shook her head in answer to save her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Who, then?" cried Jane, nervously. "Not Archie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Archie and you." +</P> + +<P> +"What do they say?" asked Jane, her voice fallen to a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"They say it's your child, and that ye're afraid to tell who the father +is." +</P> + +<P> +Jane caught at the chair for support and then sank slowly into her seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Who says so?" she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody that you or I know; some of the beach-combers and +hide-by-nights, I think, started it. Pokeberry's girl told me; her +brother works in the shipyard." +</P> + +<P> +Jane sat looking at Martha with staring eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"How dare they—" +</P> + +<P> +"They dare do anything, and we can't answer back. That's what's goin' +to make it hard. It's nobody's business, but that don't satisfy 'em. +I've been through it meself; I know how mean they can be." +</P> + +<P> +"They shall never know—not while I have life left in me," Jane +exclaimed firmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but that won't keep 'em from lyin'." +</P> + +<P> +The two sat still for some minutes, Martha gazing into vacancy, Jane +lying back in her chair, her eyes closed. One emotion after another +coursed through her with lightning rapidity—indignation at the charge, +horror at the thought that any of her friends might believe it, +followed by a shivering fear that her father's good name, for all her +care and suffering, might be smirched at last. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there arose the tall image of Doctor John, with his frank, +tender face. What would he think of it, and how, if he questioned her, +could she answer him? Then there came to her that day of parting in +Paris. She remembered Lucy's willingness to give up the child forever, +and so cover up all traces of her sin, and her own immediate +determination to risk everything for her sister's sake. As this last +thought welled up in her mind and she recalled her father's dying +command, her brow relaxed. Come what might, she was doing her duty. +This was her solace and her strength. +</P> + +<P> +"Cruel, cruel people!" she said to Martha, relaxing her hands. "How can +they be so wicked? But I am glad it is I who must take the brunt of it +all. If they would treat me so, who am innocent, what would they do to +my poor Lucy?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A LATE VISITOR +</H3> + +<P> +These rumors never reached the doctor. No scandalmonger ever dared talk +gossip to him. When he first began to practise among the people of +Warehold, and some garrulous old dame would seek to enrich his visit by +tittle-tattle about her neighbors, she had never tried it a second +time. Doctor John of Barnegat either received the news in silence or +answered it with some pleasantry; even Ann Gossaway held her peace +whenever the doctor had to be called in to prescribe for her +oversensitive throat. +</P> + +<P> +He was aware that Jane had laid herself open to criticism in bringing +home a child about which she had made no explanation, but he never +spoke of it nor allowed anyone to say so to him. He would have been +much happier, of course, if she had given him her confidence in this as +she had in many other matters affecting her life; but he accepted her +silence as part of her whole attitude toward him. Knowing her as he +did, he was convinced that her sole incentive was one of loving +kindness, both for the child and for the poor mother whose sin or whose +poverty she was concealing. In this connection, he remembered how in +one of her letters to Martha she had told of the numberless waifs she +had seen and how her heart ached for them; especially in the hospitals +which she had visited and among the students. He recalled that he +himself had had many similar experiences in his Paris days, in which a +woman like Jane Cobden would have been a veritable angel of mercy. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cavendish's ears were more easily approached by the gossips of +Warehold and vicinity; then, again she was always curious over the +inmates of the Cobden house, and any little scraps of news, reliable or +not, about either Jane or her absent sister were eagerly listened to. +Finding it impossible to restrain herself any longer, she had seized +the opportunity one evening when she and her son were sitting together +in the salon, a rare occurrence for the doctor, and only possible when +his patients were on the mend. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry Jane Cobden was so foolish as to bring home that baby," she +began. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" said the doctor, without lifting his eyes from the book he was +reading. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she lays herself open to criticism. It is, of course, but one of +her eccentricities, but she owes something to her position and birth +and should not invite unnecessary comment." +</P> + +<P> +"Who criticises her?" asked the doctor, his eyes still on the pages. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you can't tell; everybody is talking about it. Some of the gossip +is outrageous, some I could not even repeat." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no doubt of it," answered the doctor quietly. "All small places +like Warehold and Barnegat need topics of conversation, and Miss Jane +for the moment is furnishing one of them. They utilize you, dear +mother, and me, and everybody else in the same way. But that is no +reason why we should lend our ears or our tongues to spread and +encourage it." +</P> + +<P> +"I quite agree with you, my son, and I told the person who told me how +foolish and silly it was, but they will talk, no matter what you say to +them." +</P> + +<P> +"What do they say?" asked the doctor, laying down his book and rising +from his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, all sorts of things. One rumor is that Captain Holt's son, Barton, +the one that quarrelled with his father and who went to sea, could tell +something of the child, if he could be found." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor laughed. "He can be found," he answered. "I saw his father +only last week, and he told me Bart was in Brazil. That is some +thousand of miles from Paris, but a little thing like that in geography +doesn't seem to make much difference to some of our good people. Why do +you listen to such nonsense?" he added as he kissed her tenderly and, +with a pat on her cheek, left the room for his study. His mother's talk +had made but little impression upon him. Gossip of this kind was always +current when waifs like Archie formed the topic; but it hurt nobody, he +said to himself—nobody like Jane. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting under his study lamp looking up some complicated case, his +books about him, Jane's sad face came before him. "Has she not had +trouble enough," he said to himself, "parted from Lucy and with her +unsettled money affairs, without having to face these gnats whose sting +she cannot ward off?" With this came the thought of his own +helplessness to comfort her. He had taken her at her word that night +before she left for Paris, when she had refused to give him her promise +and had told him to wait, and he was still ready to come at her call; +loving her, watching ever her, absorbed in every detail of her daily +life, and eager to grant her slightest wish, and yet he could not but +see that she had, since her return, surrounded herself with a barrier +which he could neither understand nor break down whenever he touched on +their personal relations. +</P> + +<P> +Had he loved her less he would, in justice to himself, have faced all +her opposition and demanded an answer—Yes or No—as to whether she +would yield to his wishes. But his generous nature forbade any such +stand and his reverence for her precluded any such mental attitude. +</P> + +<P> +Lifting his eyes from his books and gazing dreamily into the space +before him, he recalled, with a certain sinking of the heart, a +conversation which had taken place between Jane and himself a few days +after her arrival—an interview which had made a deep impression upon +him. The two, in the absence of Martha—she had left the room for a +moment—were standing beside the crib watching the child's breathing. +Seizing the opportunity, one he had watched for, he had told her how +much he had missed her during the two years, and how much happier his +life was now that he could touch her hand and listen to her voice. She +had evaded his meaning, making answer that his pleasure, was nothing +compared to her own when she thought how safe the baby would be in his +hands; adding quickly that she could never thank him enough for +remaining in Barnegat and not leaving her helpless and without a +"physician." The tone with which she pronounced the word had hurt him. +He thought he detected a slight inflection, as if she were making a +distinction between his skill as an expert and his love as a man, but +he was not sure. +</P> + +<P> +Still gazing into the shadows before him, his unread book in his hand, +he recalled a later occasion when she appeared rather to shrink from +him than to wish to be near him, speaking to him with downcast eyes and +without the frank look in her face which was always his welcome. On +this day she was more unstrung and more desolate than he had ever seen +her. At length, emboldened by his intense desire to help, and putting +aside every obstacle, he had taken her hand and had said with all his +heart in his voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Jane, you once told me you loved me. Is it still true?" +</P> + +<P> +He remembered how at first she had not answered, and how after a moment +she had slowly withdrawn her hand and had replied in a voice almost +inarticulate, so great was her emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, John, and always will be, but it can never go beyond that—never, +never. Don't ask many more questions. Don't talk to me about it. Not +now, John—not now! Don't hate me! Let us be as we have always +been—please, John! You would not refuse me if you knew." +</P> + +<P> +He had started forward to take her in his arms; to insist that now +every obstacle was removed she should give him at once the lawful right +to protect her, but she had shrunk back, the palms of her hands held +out as barriers, and before he could reason with her Martha had entered +with something for little Archie, and so the interview had come to an +end. +</P> + +<P> +Then, still absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes suddenly brightened and +a certain joy trembled in his heart as he remembered that with all +these misgivings and doubts there were other times—and their sum was +in the ascendency—when she showed the same confidence in his judgement +and the same readiness to take his advice; when the old light would +once more flash in her eyes as she grasped his hand and the old sadness +again shadow her face when his visits came to an end. With this he must +be for a time content. +</P> + +<P> +These and a hundred other thoughts raced through Doctor John's mind as +he sat to-night in his study chair, the lamplight falling on his open +books and thin, delicately modelled hands. +</P> + +<P> +Once he rose from his seat and began pacing his study floor, his hands +behind his back, his mind on Jane, on her curious and incomprehensible +moods, trying to solve them as he walked, trusting and leaning upon him +one day and shrinking from him the next. Baffled for the hundredth time +in this mental search, he dropped again into his chair, and adjusting +the lamp, pulled his books toward him to devote his mind to their +contents. As the light flared up he caught the sound of a step upon the +gravel outside, and then a heavy tread upon the porch. An instant later +his knocker sounded. Doctor Cavendish gave a sigh—he had hoped to have +one night at home—and rose to open the door. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Nat Holt stood outside. +</P> + +<P> +His pea-jacket was buttoned close up under his chin, his hat drawn +tight down over his forehead. His weather-beaten face, as the light +fell upon it, looked cracked and drawn, with dark hollows under the +eyes, which the shadows from the lamplight deepened. +</P> + +<P> +"It's late, I know, doctor," he said in a hoarse, strained voice; "ten +o'clock, maybe, but I got somethin' to talk to ye about," and he strode +into the room. "Alone, are ye?" he continued, as he loosened his coat +and laid his hat on the desk. "Where's the good mother? Home, is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she's inside," answered the doctor, pointing to the open door +leading to the salon and grasping the captain's brawny hand in welcome. +"Why? Do you want to see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't want to see her; don't want to see nobody but you. She +can't hear, can she? 'Scuse me—I'll close this door." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor looked at him curiously. The captain seemed to be laboring +under a nervous strain, unusual in one so stolid and self-possessed. +</P> + +<P> +The door closed, the captain moved back a cushion, dropped into a +corner of the sofa, and sat looking at the doctor, with legs apart, his +open palms resting on his knees. +</P> + +<P> +"I got bad news, doctor—awful bad news for everybody," as he spoke he +reached into his pocket and produced a letter with a foreign postmark. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember my son Bart, of course, don't ye, who left home some two +years ago?" he went on. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Your son Bart dead!" cried the doctor, repeating his name in the +surprise of the announcement. "How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"This letter came by to-day's mail. It's from the consul at Rio. Bart +come in to see him dead broke and he helped him out. He'd run away from +the ship and was goin' up into the mines to work, so the consul wrote +me. He was in once after that and got a little money, and then he got +down with yellow fever and they took him to the hospital, and he died +in three days. There ain't no doubt about it. Here's a list of the dead +in the paper; you kin read his name plain as print." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John reached for the letter and newspaper clipping and turned +them toward the lamp. The envelope was stamped "Rio Janeiro" and the +letter bore the official heading of the consulate. +</P> + +<P> +"That's dreadful, dreadful news, captain," said the doctor in +sympathetic tones. "Poor boy! it's too bad. Perhaps, however, there may +be some mistake, after all. Foreign hospital registers are not always +reliable," added the doctor in a hopeful tone. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's all true, or Benham wouldn't write me what he has. I've known +him for years. He knows me, too, and he don't go off half-cocked. I +wrote him to look after Bart and sent him some money and give him the +name of the ship, and he watched for her and sent for him all right. I +was pretty nigh crazy that night he left, and handled him, maybe, +rougher'n I ou'ter, but I couldn't help it. There's some things I can't +stand, and what he done was one of 'em. It all comes back to me now, +but I'd do it ag'in." As he spoke the rough, hard sailor leaned forward +and rested his chin on his hand. The news had evidently been a great +shock to him. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor reached over and laid his hand on the captain's knee. "I'm +very, very sorry, captain, for you and for Bart; and the only son you +have, is it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and the only child we ever had. That makes it worse. Thank God, +his mother's dead! All this would have broken her heart." For a moment +the two men were silent, then the captain continued in a tone as if he +were talking to himself, his eyes on the lamp: +</P> + +<P> +"But I couldn't have lived with him after that, and I told him so—not +till he acted fair and square, like a man. I hoped he would some day, +but that's over now." +</P> + +<P> +"We're none of us bad all the way through, captain," reasoned the +doctor, "and don't you think of him in that way. He would have come to +himself some day and been a comfort to you. I didn't know him as well +as I might, and only as I met him at Yardley, but he must have had a +great many fine qualities or the Cobdens wouldn't have liked him. Miss +Jane used often to talk to me about him. She always believed in him. +She will be greatly distressed over this news." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what brings me here. I want you to tell her, and not me. I'm +afraid it'll git out and she'll hear it, and then she'll be worse off +than she is now. Maybe it's best to say nothin' 'bout it to nobody and +let it go. There ain't no one but me to grieve for him, and they don't +send no bodies home, not from Rio, nor nowheres along that coast. +Maybe, too, it ain't the time to say it to her. I was up there last +week to see the baby, and she looked thinner and paler than I ever see +her. I didn't know what to do, so I says to myself, 'There's Doctor +John, he's at her house reg'lar and knows the ins and outs of her, and +I'll go and tell him 'bout it and ask his advice.' I'd rather cut my +hand off than hurt her, for if there's an angel on earth she's one. She +shakes so when I mention Bart's name and gits so flustered, that's why +I dar'n't tell her. Now he's dead there won't be nobody to do right by +Archie. I can't; I'm all muzzled up tight. She made me take an oath, +same as she has you, and I ain't goin' to break it any more'n you +would. The little feller'll have to git 'long best way he kin now." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John bent forward in his chair and looked at the captain +curiously. His words convey no meaning to him. For an instant he +thought that the shock of his son's death had unsettled the man's mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Take an oath! What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout Archie and herself." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've taken no oath!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, perhaps it isn't your habit; it ain't some men's. I did." +</P> + +<P> +"What about?" +</P> + +<P> +It was the captain's turn now to look searchingly into his companion's +face. The doctor's back was toward the lamp, throwing his face into +shadow, but the captain could read its expression plainly. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to tell me, doctor, you don't know what's goin' on up at +Yardley? You do, of course, but you won't say—that's like you doctors!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, everything. But what has your son Bart got to do with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Got to do with it! Ain't Jane Cobden motherin' his child?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor lunged forward in his seat, his eyes staring straight at the +captain. Had the old sailor struck him in the face he could not have +been more astounded. +</P> + +<P> +"His child!" he cried savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly! Whose else is it? You knew, didn't ye?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor settled back in his chair with the movement of an ox felled +by a sudden blow. With the appalling news there rang in his ears the +tones of his mother's voice retailing the gossip of the village. This, +then, was what she could not repeat. +</P> + +<P> +After a moment he raised his head and asked in a low, firm voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Did Bart go to Paris after he left here?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not! Went 'board the Corsair bound for Rio, and has been +there ever since. I told you that before. There weren't no necessity +for her to meet him in Paris." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor sprang from his chair and with eyes biasing and fists +tightly clenched, stood over the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"And you dare to sit there and tell me that Miss Jane Cobden is that +child's mother?" +</P> + +<P> +The captain struggled to his feet, his open hands held up to the doctor +as if to ward off a blow. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jane! No, by God! No! Are you crazy? Sit down, sit down, I tell +ye!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who, then? Speak!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy! That's what I drove Bart out for. Mort Cobden's daughter—Mort, +mind ye, that was a brother to me since I was a boy! Jane that that +child's mother! Yes, all the mother poor Archie's got! Ask Miss Jane, +she'll tell ye. Tell ye how she sits and eats her heart out to save her +sister that's too scared to come home. I want to cut my tongue out for +tellin' ye, but I thought ye knew. Martha told me you loved her and +that she loved you, and I thought she'd told ye. Jane Cobden crooked! +No more'n the angels are. Now, will you tell her Bart's dead, or shall +I?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell her," answered the doctor firmly, "and to-night." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MORTON COBDEN'S DAUGHTER +</H3> + +<P> +The cold wind from the sea freighted with the raw mist churned by the +breakers cut sharply against Doctor John's cheeks as he sprang into his +gig and dashed out of his gate toward Yardley. Under the shadow of the +sombre pines, along the ribbon of a road, dull gray in the light of the +stars, and out on the broader highway leading to Warehold, the sharp +click of the mare's hoofs striking the hard road echoed through the +night. The neighbors recognized the tread and the speed, and Uncle +Ephraim threw up a window to know whether it was a case of life or +death, an accident, or both; but the doctor only nodded and sped on. It +WAS life and death—life for the woman he loved, death for all who +traduced her. The strange news that had dropped from the captain's lips +did not affect him except as would the ending of any young life; +neither was there any bitterness in his heart against the dead boy who +had wrecked Lucy's career and brought Jane humiliation and despair. All +he thought of was the injustice of Jane's sufferings. Added to this was +an overpowering desire to reach her side before her misery should +continue another moment; to fold her in his arms, stand between her and +the world; help her to grapple with the horror which was slowly +crushing out her life. That it was past her hour for retiring, and that +there might be no one to answer his summons, made no difference to him. +He must see her at all hazards before he closed his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +As he whirled into the open gates of Yardley and peered from under the +hood of the gig at the outlines of the old house, looming dimly through +the avenue of bushes, he saw that the occupants were asleep; no lights +shone from the upper windows and none burned in the hall below. This +discovery checked to some extent the impetus with which he had flung +himself into the night, his whole being absorbed and dominated by one +idea. The cool wind, too, had begun to tell upon his nerves. He drew +rein on the mare and stopped. For the first time since the captain's +story had reached his ears his reason began to work. He was never an +impetuous man; always a thoughtful and methodical one, and always +overparticular in respecting the courtesies of life. He began suddenly +to realize that this midnight visit was at variance with every act of +his life. Then his better judgment became aroused. Was it right for him +to wake Jane and disturb the house at this hour, causing her, perhaps, +a sleepless night, or should he wait until the morning, when he could +break the news to her in a more gentle and less sensational way? +</P> + +<P> +While he sat thus wondering, undetermined whether to drive lightly out +of the gate again or to push forward in the hope that someone would be +awake, his mind unconsciously reverted to the figure of Jane making her +way with weary steps down the gangplank of the steamer, the two years +of her suffering deep cut into every line of her face. He recalled the +shock her appearance had given him, and his perplexity over the cause. +He remembered her refusal to give him her promise, her begging him to +wait, her unaccountable moods since her return. +</P> + +<P> +Then Lucy's face came before him, her whole career, in fact (in a +flash, as a drowning man's life is pictured), from the first night +after her return from school until he had bade her good-by to take the +train for Trenton. Little scraps of talk sounded in his ears, and +certain expressions about the corners of her eyes revealed themselves +to his memory. He thought of her selfishness, of her love of pleasure, +of her disregard of Jane's wishes, of her recklessness. +</P> + +<P> +Everything was clear now. +</P> + +<P> +"What a fool I have been!" he said to himself. "What a fool—FOOL! I +ought to have known!" +</P> + +<P> +Next the magnitude of the atonement, and the cruelty and cowardice of +the woman who had put her sister into so false a position swept over +him. Then there arose, like the dawning of a light, the grand figure of +the woman he loved, standing clear of all entanglements, a Madonna +among the saints, more precious than ever in the radiance of her own +sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +With this last vision his mind was made up. No, he would not wait a +moment. Once this terrible secret out of the way, Jane would regain her +old self and they two fight the world together. +</P> + +<P> +As he loosened the reins over the sorrel a light suddenly flashed from +one of the upper windows disappeared for a moment, and reappeared again +at one of the smaller openings near the front steps. He drew rein +again. Someone was moving about—who he did not know; perhaps Jane, +perhaps one of the servants. Tying the lines to the dashboard, he +sprang from the gig, tethered the mare to one of the lilac bushes, and +walked briskly toward the house. As he neared the steps the door was +opened and Martha's voice rang clear: +</P> + +<P> +"Meg, you rascal, come in, or shall I let ye stay out and freeze?" +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John stepped upon the porch, the light of Martha's candle +falling on his face and figure. +</P> + +<P> +"It's I, Martha, don't be frightened; it's late, I know, but I hoped +Miss Jane would be up. Has she gone to bed?" +</P> + +<P> +The old nurse started back. "Lord, how ye skeered me! I don't know +whether she's asleep or not. She's upstairs with Archie, anyhow. I come +out after this rapscallion that makes me look him up every night. I've +talked to him till I'm sore, and he's promised me a dozen times, and +here he is out ag'in. Here! Where are ye? In with ye, ye little beast!" +The dog shrank past her and darted into the hall. "Now, then, doctor, +come in out of the cold." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John stepped softly inside and stood in the flare of the +candle-light. He felt that he must give some reason for his appearance +at this late hour, even if he did not see Jane. It would be just as +well, therefore, to tell Martha of Bart's death at once, and not let +her hear it, as she was sure to do, from someone on the street. Then +again, he had kept few secrets from her where Jane was concerned; she +had helped him many times before, and her advice was always good. He +knew that she was familiar with every detail of the captain's story, +but he did not propose to discuss Lucy's share in it with the old +nurse. That he would reserve for Jane's ears alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring your candle into the sitting-room, Martha; I have something to +tell you," he said gravely, loosening the cape of his overcoat and +laying his hat on the hall table. +</P> + +<P> +The nurse followed. The measured tones of the doctor's voice, so unlike +his cheery greetings, especially to her, unnerved her. This, in +connection with the suppressed excitement under which he seemed to +labor and the late hour of his visit, at once convinced her that +something serious had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything the matter?" she asked in a trembling voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it about Lucy? There ain't nothin' gone wrong with her, doctor +dear, is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not about Lucy. It's about Barton Holt." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye don't tell me! Is he come back?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, nor never will. He's dead! +</P> + +<P> +"That villain dead! How do you know?" Her face paled and her lips +quivered, but she gave no other sign of the shock the news had been to +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain Nat, his father, has just left my office. I promised I would +tell Miss Jane to-night. He was too much broken up and too fearful of +its effect upon her to do it himself. I drove fast, but perhaps I'm too +late to see her." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, ye could see her no doubt,—she could throw somethin' around +her—but ye mustn't tell her THAT news. She's been downhearted all day +and is tired out. Bart's dead, is he?" she repeated with an effort at +indifference. "Well, that's too bad. I s'pose the captain's feelin' +putty bad over it. Where did he die?" +</P> + +<P> +"He died in Rio Janeiro of yellow fever," said the doctor slowly, +wondering at the self-control of the woman. Wondering, too, whether she +was glad or sorry over the event, her face and manner showing no index +to her feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"And will he be brought home to be buried?" she asked with a quick +glance at the doctor's face. +</P> + +<P> +"No; they never bring them home with yellow fever." +</P> + +<P> +"And is that all ye come to tell her?" She was scrutinizing Doctor +John's face, her quick, nervous glances revealing both suspicion and +fear. +</P> + +<P> +"I had some other matters to talk about, but if she has retired, +perhaps I had better come to-morrow," answered the doctor in undecided +tones, as he gazed abstractedly at the flickering candle. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman hesitated. She saw that the doctor knew more than he +intended to tell her. Her curiosity and her fear that some other +complication had arisen—one which he was holding back—got the better +of her judgment. If it was anything about her bairn, she could not wait +until the morning. She had forgotten Meg now. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, maybe if ye break it to her easy-like she can stand it. I don't +suppose she's gone to bed yet. Her door was open on a crack when I come +down, and she always shuts it 'fore she goes to sleep. I'll light a +couple o' lamps so ye can see, and then I'll send her down to ye if +she'll come. Wait here, doctor, dear." +</P> + +<P> +The lamps lighted and Martha gone, Doctor John looked about the room, +his glance resting on the sofa where he had so often sat with her; on +the portrait of Morton Cobden, the captain's friend; on the work-basket +filled with needlework that Jane had left on a small table beside her +chair, and upon the books her hands had touched. He thought he had +never loved her so much as now. No one he had ever known or heard of +had made so great a sacrifice. Not for herself this immolation, but for +a sister who had betrayed her confidence and who had repaid a life's +devotion with unforgivable humiliation and disgrace. This was the woman +whose heart he held. This was the woman he loved with every fibre of +his being. But her sufferings were over now. He was ready to face the +world and its malignity beside her. Whatever sins her sister had +committed, and however soiled were Lucy's garments, Jane's robes were +as white as snow, he was glad he had yielded to the impulse and had +come at once. The barrier between them once broken down and the +terrible secret shared, her troubles would end. +</P> + +<P> +The whispering of her skirts on the stairs announced her coming before +she entered the room. She had been sitting by Archie's crib and had not +waited to change her loose white gown, whose clinging folds accentuated +her frail, delicate form. Her hair had been caught up hastily and hung +in a dark mass, concealing her small, pale ears and making her face all +the whiter by contrast. +</P> + +<P> +"Something alarming has brought you at this hour," she said, with a +note of anxiety in her voice, walking rapidly toward him. "What can I +do? Who is ill?" +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John sprang forward, held out both hands, and holding tight to +her own, drew her close to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Has Martha told you?" he said tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"No; only that you wanted me. I came as soon as I could." +</P> + +<P> +"It's about Barton Holt. His father has just left my office. I have +very sad news for you. The poor boy—" +</P> + +<P> +Jane loosened her hands from his and drew back. The doctor paused in +his recital. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he ill?" she inquired, a slight shiver running through her. +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than ill! I'm afraid you'll never see him again." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that he is dead? Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dead, in Rio. The letter arrived this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"And you came all the way up here to tell me this?" she asked, with an +effort to hide her astonishment. Her eyes dropped for a moment and her +voice trembled. Then she went on. "What does his father say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have just left him. He is greatly shaken. He would not tell you +himself, he said; he was afraid it might shock you too much, and asked +me to come up. But it is not altogether that, Jane. I have heard +something to-night that has driven me half out of my mind. That you +should suffer this way alone is torture to me. You cannot, you shall +not live another day as you have! Let me help!" +</P> + +<P> +Instantly there flashed into her mind the story Martha had brought in +from the street. "He has heard it," she said to herself, "but he does +not believe it, and he comes to comfort me. I cannot tell the truth +without betraying Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +She drew a step farther from him. +</P> + +<P> +"You refer to what the people about us call a mystery—that poor little +child upstairs?" she said slowly, all her self-control in her voice. +"You think it is a torture for me to care for this helpless baby? It is +not a torture; it is a joy—all the joy I have now." She stood looking +at him as she spoke with searching eyes, wondering with the +ever-questioning doubt of those denied love's full expression. +</P> + +<P> +"But I know—" +</P> + +<P> +"You know nothing—nothing but what I have told you; and what I have +told you is the truth. What I have not told you is mine to keep. You +love me too well to probe it any further, I am sorry for the captain. +He has an iron will and a rough exterior, but he has a warm heart +underneath. If you see him before I do give him my deepest sympathy. +Now, my dear friend, I must go back to Archie; he is restless and needs +me. Good-night," and she held out her hand and passed out of the room. +</P> + +<P> +She was gone before he could stop her. He started forward as her hand +touched the door, but she closed it quickly behind her, as if to leave +no doubt of her meaning. He saw that she had misunderstood him. He had +intended to talk to her of Archie's father, and of Lucy, and she had +supposed he had only come to comfort her about the village gossip. +</P> + +<P> +For some minutes he stood like one dazed. Then a feeling of unspeakable +reverence stole over him. Not only was she determined to suffer alone +and in silence, but she would guard her sister's secret at the cost of +her own happiness. Inside that sacred precinct he knew he could never +enter; that wine-press she intended to tread alone. +</P> + +<P> +Then a sudden indignation, followed by a contempt of his own weakness +took possession of him. Being the older and stronger nature, he should +have compelled her to listen. The physician as well as the friend +should have asserted himself. No woman could be well balanced who would +push away the hand of a man held out to save her from ruin and misery. +He would send Martha for her again and insist upon her listening to him. +</P> + +<P> +He started for the door and stopped irresolute. A new light broke in +upon his heart. It was not against himself and her own happiness that +she had taken this stand, but to save her father's and her sister's +name. He knew how strong was her devotion to her duty, how blind her +love for Lucy, how sacred she held the trust given to her by her dead +father. No; she was neither obstinate nor quixotic. Hers was the work +of a martyr, not a fanatic. No one he had ever known or heard of had +borne so great a cross or made so noble a sacrifice. It was like the +deed of some grand old saint, the light of whose glory had shone down +the ages. He was wrong, cruelly wrong. The only thing left for him to +do was to wait. For what he could not tell. Perhaps God in his mercy +would one day find the way. +</P> + +<P> +Martha's kindly voice as she opened the door awoke him from his revery. +</P> + +<P> +"Did she take it bad?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he replied aimlessly, without thinking of what he said. "She sent +a message to the captain. I'll go now. No, please don't bring a light +to the door. The mare's only a short way down the road." +</P> + +<P> +When the old nurse had shut the front door after him she put out the +lamps and ascended the stairs. The other servants were in bed. Jane's +door was partly open. Martha pushed it gently with her hand and stepped +in. Jane had thrown herself at full length on the bed and lay with her +face buried in her hands. She was talking to herself and had not +noticed Martha's footsteps. +</P> + +<P> +"O God! what have I done that this should be sent to me?" Martha heard +her say between her sobs. "You would be big enough, my beloved, to bear +it all for my sake; to take the stain and wear it; but I cannot hurt +you—not you, not you, my great, strong, sweet soul. Your heart aches +for me and you would give me all you have, but I could not bear your +name without telling you. You would forgive me, but I could never +forgive myself. No, no, you shall stand unstained if God will give me +strength!" +</P> + +<P> +Martha walked softly to the bed and bent over Jane's prostrate body. +</P> + +<P> +"It's me, dear. What did he say to break your heart?" +</P> + +<P> +Jane slipped her arm about the old nurse's neck, drawing her closer, +and without lifting her own head from the pillow talked on. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, nothing. He came to comfort me, not to hurt me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do ye think it's all true 'bout Bart?" Martha whispered. +</P> + +<P> +Jane raised her body from the bed and rested her head on Martha's +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's all true about Bart," she answered in a stronger and more +composed tone. "I have been expecting it. Poor boy, he had nothing to +live for, and his conscience must have given him no rest." +</P> + +<P> +"Did the captain tell him about—" and Martha pointed toward the bed of +the sleeping child. She could never bring herself to mention Lucy's +name when speaking either of Bart or Archie. +</P> + +<P> +Jane sat erect, brushed the tears from her eyes, smoothed her hair back +from her temples, and said with something of her customary poise: +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't think so. The captain gave me his word, and he will not +break it. Then, again, he will never discredit his own son. The doctor +doesn't know, and there will be nobody to tell him. That's not what he +came to tell me. It was about the stories you heard last week and which +have only just reached his ears. That's all. He wanted to protect me +from their annoyance, but I would not listen to him. There is trouble +enough without bringing him into it. Now go to bed, Martha." +</P> + +<P> +As she spoke Jane regained her feet, and crossing the room, settled +into a chair by the boy's crib. Long after Martha had closed her own +door for the night Jane sat watching the sleeping child. One plump pink +hand lay outside the cover; the other little crumpled rose-leaf was +tucked under the cheek, the face half-hidden in a tangle of glossy +curls, now spun-gold in the light of the shaded lamp. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little waif," she sighed, "poor little motherless, fatherless +waif! Why didn't you stay in heaven? This world has no place for you." +</P> + +<P> +Then she rose wearily, picked up the light, carried it across the room +to her desk, propped a book in front of it so that its rays would not +fall upon the sleeping child, opened her portfolio, and sat down to +write. +</P> + +<P> +When she had finished and had sealed her letter it was long past +midnight. It was addressed to Lucy in Dresden, and contained a full +account of all the doctor had told her of Bart's death. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A LETTER FROM PARIS +</H3> + +<P> +For the first year Jane watched Archie's growth and development with +the care of a self-appointed nurse temporarily doing her duty by her +charge. Later on, as the fact became burned into her mind that Lucy +would never willingly return to Warehold, she clung to him with that +absorbing love and devotion which an unmarried woman often lavishes +upon a child not her own. In his innocent eyes she saw the fulfilment +of her promise to her father. He would grow to be a man of courage and +strength, the stain upon his birth forgotten, doing honor to himself, +to her, and to the name he bore. In him, too, she sought refuge from +that other sorrow which was often greater than she could bear—the loss +of the closer companionship of Doctor John—a companionship which only +a wife's place could gain for her. The true mother-love—the love which +she had denied herself, a love which had been poured out upon Lucy +since her father's death—found its outlet, therefore, in little Archie. +</P> + +<P> +Under Martha's watchful care the helpless infant grew to be a big, +roly-poly boy, never out of her arms when she could avoid it. At five +he had lost his golden curls and short skirts and strutted about in +knee-trousers. At seven he had begun to roam the streets, picking up +his acquaintances wherever he found them. +</P> + +<P> +Chief among them was Tod Fogarty, the son of the fisherman, now a boy +of ten, big for his age and bubbling over with health and merriment, +and whose life Doctor John had saved when he was a baby. Tod had +brought a basket of fish to Yardley, and sneaking Meg, who was then +alive—he died the year after—had helped himself to part of the +contents, and the skirmish over its recovery had resulted in a +friendship which was to last the boys all their lives. The doctor +believed in Tod, and always spoke of his pluck and of his love for his +mother, qualities which Jane admired—but then technical class +distinctions never troubled Jane—every honest body was Jane's friend, +just as every honest body was Doctor John's. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor loved Archie with the love of an older brother; not +altogether because he was Jane's ward, but for the boy's own +qualities—for his courage, for his laugh—particularly for his +buoyancy. Often, as he looked into the lad's eyes brimming with fun, he +would wish that he himself had been born with the same kind of +temperament. Then again the boy satisfied to a certain extent the +longing in his heart for home, wife, and child—a void which he knew +now would never be filled. Fate had decreed that he and the woman he +loved should live apart—with this he must be content. Not that his +disappointments had soured him; only that this ever-present sorrow had +added to the cares of his life, and in later years had taken much of +the spring and joyousness out of him. This drew him all the closer to +Archie, and the lad soon became his constant companion; sitting beside +him in his gig, waiting for him at the doors of the fishermen's huts, +or in the cabins of the poor on the outskirts of Barnegat and Warehold. +</P> + +<P> +"There goes Doctor John of Barnegat and his curly-head," the neighbors +would say; "when ye see one ye see t'other." +</P> + +<P> +Newcomers in Barnegat and Warehold thought Archie was his son, and +would talk to the doctor about him: +</P> + +<P> +"Fine lad you got, doctor—don't look a bit like you, but maybe he will +when he gets his growth." At which the doctor would laugh and pat the +boy's head. +</P> + +<P> +During all these years Lucy's letters came but seldom. When they did +arrive, most of them were filled with elaborate excuses for her +prolonged stay. The money, she wrote, which Jane had sent her from time +to time was ample for her needs; she was making many valuable friends, +and she could not see how she could return until the following +spring—a spring which never came. In no one of them had she ever +answered Jane's letter about Bart's death, except to acknowledge its +receipt. Nor, strange to say, had she ever expressed any love for +Archie. Jane's letters were always filled with the child's doings; his +illnesses and recoveries; but whenever Lucy mentioned his name, which +was seldom, she invariably referred to him as "your little ward" or +"your baby," evidently intending to wipe that part of her life +completely out. Neither did she make any comment on the child's +christening—a ceremony which took place in the church, Pastor +Dellenbaugh officiating—except to write that perhaps one name was as +good as another, and that she hoped he would not disgrace it when he +grew up. +</P> + +<P> +These things, however, made but little impression on Jane. She never +lost faith in her sister, and never gave up hope that one day they +would all three be reunited; how or where she could not tell or +foresee, but in some way by which Lucy would know and love her son for +himself alone, and the two live together ever after—his parentage +always a secret. When Lucy once looked into her boy's face she was +convinced she would love and cling to him. This was her constant prayer. +</P> + +<P> +All these hopes were dashed to the ground by the receipt of a letter +from Lucy with a Geneva postmark. She had not written for months, and +Jane broke the seal with a murmur of delight, Martha leaning forward, +eager to hear the first word from her bairn. As she read Jane's face +grew suddenly pale. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" Martha asked in a trembling voice. +</P> + +<P> +For some minutes Jane sat staring into space, her hand pressed to her +side. She looked like one who had received a death message. Then, +without a word, she handed the letter to Martha. +</P> + +<P> +The old woman adjusted her glasses, read the missive to the end without +comment, and laid it back on Jane's lap. The writing covered but part +of the page, and announced Lucy's coming marriage with a Frenchman: "A +man of distinction; some years older than myself, and of ample means. +He fell in love with me at Aix." +</P> + +<P> +There are certain crises in life with conclusions so evident that no +spoken word can add to their clearness. There is no need of comment; +neither is there room for doubt. The bare facts stand naked. No +sophistry can dull their outlines nor soften the insistence of their +high lights; nor can any reasoning explain away the results that will +follow. Both women, without the exchange of a word, knew instantly that +the consummation of this marriage meant the loss of Lucy forever. Now +she would never come back, and Archie would be motherless for life. +They foresaw, too, that all their yearning to clasp Lucy once more in +their arms would go unsatisfied. In this marriage she had found a way +to slip as easily from out the ties that bound her to Yardley as she +would from an old dress. +</P> + +<P> +Martha rose from her chair, read the letter again to the end, and +without opening her lips left the room. Jane kept her seat, her head +resting on her hand, the letter once more in her lap. The revulsion of +feeling had paralyzed her judgment, and for a time had benumbed her +emotions. All she saw was Archie's eyes looking into hers as he waited +for an answer to that question he would one day ask and which now she +knew she could never give. +</P> + +<P> +Then there rose before her, like some disembodied spirit from a +long-covered grave, the spectre of the past. An icy chill crept over +her. Would Lucy begin this new life with the same deceit with which she +had begun the old? And if she did, would this Frenchman forgive her +when he learned the facts? If he never learned them—and this was most +to be dreaded—what would Lucy's misery be all her life if she still +kept the secret close? Then with a pathos all the more intense because +of her ignorance of the true situation—she fighting on alone, +unconscious that the man she loved not only knew every pulsation of her +aching heart, but would be as willing as herself to guard its secret, +she cried: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, at any cost she must be saved from this living death! I know what +it is to sit beside the man I love, the man whose arm is ready to +sustain me, whose heart is bursting for love of me, and yet be always +held apart by a spectre which I dare not face." +</P> + +<P> +With this came the resolve to prevent the marriage at all hazards, even +to leaving Yardley and taking the first steamer to Europe, that she +might plead with Lucy in person. +</P> + +<P> +While she sat searching her brain for some way out of the threatened +calamity, the rapid rumbling of the doctor's gig was heard on the +gravel road outside her open window. She knew from the speed with which +he drove that something out of the common had happened. The gig stopped +and the doctor's voice rang out: +</P> + +<P> +"Come as quick as you can, Jane, please. I've got a bad case some miles +out of Warehold, and I need you; it's a compound fracture, and I want +you to help with the chloroform." +</P> + +<P> +All her indecision vanished and all her doubts were swept away as she +caught the tones of his voice. Who else in the wide world understood +her as he did, and who but he should guide her now? Had he ever failed +her? When was his hand withheld or his lips silent? How long would her +pride shut out his sympathy? If he could help in the smaller things of +life why not trust him in this larger sorrow?—one that threatened to +overwhelm her, she whose heart ached for tenderness and wise counsel. +Perhaps she could lean upon him without betraying her trust. After all, +the question of Archie's birth—the one secret between them—need not +come up. It was Lucy's future happiness which was at stake. This must +be made safe at any cost short of exposure. +</P> + +<P> +"Better put a few things in a bag," Doctor John continued. "It may be a +case of hours or days—I can't tell till I see him. The boy fell from +the roof of the stable and is pretty badly hurt; both legs are broken, +I hear; the right one in two places." +</P> + +<P> +She was upstairs in a moment, into her nursing dress, always hanging +ready in case the doctor called for her, and down again, standing +beside the gig, her bag in her hand, before he had time to turn his +horse and arrange the seat and robes for her comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" she asked hurriedly, resting her hand in his as he helped +her into the seat and took the one beside her, Martha and Archie +assisting with her bag and big driving cloak. +</P> + +<P> +"Burton's boy. His father was coming for me and met me on the road. I +have everything with me, so we will not lose any time. Good-by, my +boy," he called to Archie. "One day I'll make a doctor of you, and then +I won't have to take your dear mother from you so often. Good-by, +Martha. You want to take care of that cough, old lady, or I shall have +to send up some of those plasters you love so." +</P> + +<P> +They were off and rattling down the path between the lilacs before +either Archie or the old woman could answer. To hearts like Jane's and +the doctor's, a suffering body, no matter how far away, was a sinking +ship in the clutch of the breakers. Until the lifeboat reached her side +everything was forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor adjusted the robe over Jane's lap and settled himself in his +seat. They had often driven thus together, and Jane's happiest hours +had been spent close to his side, both intent on the same errand of +mercy, and BOTH WORKING TOGETHER. That was the joy of it! +</P> + +<P> +They talked of the wounded boy and of the needed treatment and what +part each should take in the operation; of some new cases in the +hospital and the remedies suggested for their comfort; of Archie's life +on the beach and how ruddy and handsome he was growing, and of his +tender, loving nature; and of the thousand and one other things that +two people who know every pulsation of each other's hearts are apt to +discuss—of everything, in fact, but the letter in her pocket. "It is a +serious case," she said to herself—"this to which we are hurrying—and +nothing must disturb the sureness of his sensitive hand." +</P> + +<P> +Now and then, as he spoke, the two would turn their heads and look into +each other's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +When a man's face lacks the lines and modellings that stand for beauty +the woman who loves him is apt to omit in her eager glance every +feature but his eyes. His eyes are the open doors to his soul; in these +she finds her ideals, and in these she revels. But with Jane every +feature was a joy—the way the smoothly cut hair was trimmed about his +white temples; the small, well-turned ears lying flat to his head; the +lines of his eyebrows; the wide, sensitive nostrils and the gleam of +the even teeth flashing from between well-drawn, mobile lips; the +white, smooth, polished skin. Not all faces could boast this beauty; +but then not all souls shone as clearly as did Doctor John's through +the thin veil of his face. +</P> + +<P> +And she was equally young and beautiful to him. Her figure was still +that of her youth; her face had not changed—he still caught the smile +of the girl he loved. Often, when they had been driving along the +coast, the salt wind in their faces, and he had looked at her suddenly, +a thrill of delight had swept through him as he noted how rosy were her +cheeks and how ruddy the wrists above the gloves, hiding the dear hands +he loved so well, the tapering fingers tipped with delicate pink nails. +He could, if he sought them, find many telltale wrinkles about the +corners of the mouth and under the eyelids (he knew and loved them +all), showing where the acid of anxiety had bitten deep into the plate +on which the record of her life was being daily etched, but her +beautiful gray eyes still shone with the same true, kindly light, and +always flashed the brighter when they looked into his own. No, she was +ever young and ever beautiful to him! +</P> + +<P> +To-day, however, there was a strange tremor in her voice and an +anxious, troubled expression in her face—one that he had not seen for +years. Nor had she once looked into his eyes in the old way. +</P> + +<P> +"Something worries you, Jane," he said, his voice echoing his thoughts. +"Tell me about it." +</P> + +<P> +"No—not now—it is nothing," she answered quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, tell me. Don't keep any troubles from me. I have nothing else to +do in life but smooth them out. Come, what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait until we get through with Burton's boy. He may be hurt worse than +you think." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor slackened the reins until they rested on the dashboard, and +with a quick movement turned half around and looked searchingly into +Jane's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It is serious, then. What has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only a letter from Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she coming home?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, she is going to be married." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor gave a low whistle. Instantly Archie's laughing eyes looked +into his; then came the thought of the nameless grave of his father. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, upon my soul! You don't say so! Who to, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"To a Frenchman." Jane's eyes were upon his, reading the effect of her +news. His tone of surprise left an uncomfortable feeling behind it. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has she known him?" he continued, tightening the reins again +and chirruping to the mare.. +</P> + +<P> +"She does not say—not long, I should think." +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of a Frenchman is he? I've known several kinds in my +life—so have you, no doubt," and a quiet smile overspread his face. +"Come, Bess! Hurry up, old girl." +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman, I should think, from what she writes. He is much older +than Lucy, and she says very well off." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you didn't meet him on the other side?" +</P> + +<P> +"And never heard of him before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not until I received this letter." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor reached for his whip and flecked off a fly that had settled +on the mare's neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy is about twenty-seven, is she not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, some eight years younger than I am. Why do you ask, John?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because it is always a restless age for a woman. She has lost the +protecting ignorance of youth and she has not yet gained enough of the +experience of age to steady her. Marriage often comes as a +balance-weight. She is coming home to be married, isn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; they are to be married in Geneva at his mother's." +</P> + +<P> +"I think that part of it is a mistake," he said in a decided tone. +"There is no reason why she should not be married here; she owes that +to you and to herself." Then he added in a gentler tone, "And this +worries you?" +</P> + +<P> +"More than I can tell you, John." There was a note in her voice that +vibrated through him. He knew now how seriously the situation affected +her. +</P> + +<P> +"But why, Jane? If Lucy is happier in it we should do what we can to +help her." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but not in this way. This will make her all the more miserable. I +don't want this marriage; I want her to come home and live with me and +Archie. She makes me promises every year to come, and now it is over +six years since I left her and she has always put me off. This marriage +means that she will never come. I want her here, John. It is not right +for her to live as she does. Please think as I do!" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor patted Jane's hand—it was the only mark of affection he +ever allowed himself—not in a caressing way, but more as a father +would pat the hand of a nervous child. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let us go over it from the beginning. Maybe I don't know all the +facts. Have you the letter with you?" +</P> + +<P> +She handed it to him. He passed the reins to her and read it carefully +to the end. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you answered it yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I wanted to talk to you about it. What do you think now?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see that it will make any difference. She is not a woman to +live alone. I have always been surprised that she waited so long. You +are wrong, Jane, about this. It is best for everybody and everything +that Lucy should be married." +</P> + +<P> +"John, dear," she said in a half-pleading tone—there were some times +when this last word slipped out—"I don't want this marriage at all. I +am so wretched about it that I feel like taking the first steamer and +bringing her home with me. She will forget all about him when she is +here; and it is only her loneliness that makes her want to marry. I +don't want her married; I want her to love me and Martha +and—Archie—and she will if she sees him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that better than loving a man who loves her?" The words dropped +from his lips before he could recall them—forced out, as it were, by +the pressure of his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Jane caught her breath and the color rose in her cheeks. She knew he +did not mean her, and yet she saw he spoke from his heart. Doctor +John's face, however, gave no sign of his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"But, John, I don't know that she does love him. She doesn't say +so—she says HE loves her. And if she did, we cannot all follow our own +hearts." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" he replied calmly, looking straight ahead of him: at the +bend in the road, at the crows flying in the air, at the leaden sky +between the rows of pines. If she wanted to give him her confidence he +was ready now with heart and arms wide open. Perhaps his hour had come +at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—because," she faltered, "our duty comes in. That is holier +than love." Then her voice rose and steadied itself—"Lucy's duty is to +come home." +</P> + +<P> +He understood. The gate was still shut; the wall still confronted him. +He could not and would not scale it. She had risked her own +happiness—even her reputation—to keep this skeleton hidden, the +secret inviolate. Only in the late years had she begun to recover from +the strain. She had stood the brunt and borne the sufferings of +another's sin without complaint, without reward, giving up everything +in life in consecration to her trust. He, of all men, could not tear +the mask away, nor could he stoop by the more subtle paths of +friendship, love, or duty to seek to look behind it—not without her +own free and willing hand to guide him. There was nothing else in all +her life that she had not told him. Every thought was his, every +resolve, every joy. She would entrust him with this if it was hers to +give. Until she did his lips would be sealed. As to Lucy, it could make +no difference. Bart lying in a foreign grave would never trouble her +again, and Archie would only be a stumbling-block in her career. She +would never love the boy, come what might. If this Frenchman filled her +ideal, it was best for her to end her days across the water—best +certainly for Jane, to whom she had only brought unhappiness. +</P> + +<P> +For some moments he busied himself with the reins, loosening them from +where they were caught in the harness; then he bent his head and said +slowly, and with the tone of the physician in consultation: +</P> + +<P> +"Your protest will do no good, Jane, and your trip abroad will only be +a waste of time and money. If Lucy has not changed, and this letter +shows that she has not, she will laugh at your objections and end by +doing as she pleases. She has always been a law unto herself, and this +new move of hers is part of her life-plan. Take my advice: stay where +you are; write her a loving, sweet letter and tell her how happy you +hope she will be, and send her your congratulations. She will not +listen to your objections, and your opposition might lose you her love." +</P> + +<P> +Before dark they were both on their way back to Yardley. Burton's boy +had not been hurt as badly as his father thought; but one leg was +broken, and this was soon in splints, and without Jane's assistance. +</P> + +<P> +Before they had reached her door her mind was made up. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's words, as they always did, had gone down deep into her +mind, and all thoughts of going abroad, or of even protesting against +Lucy's marriage, were given up. Only the spectre remained. That the +doctor knew nothing of, and that she must meet alone. +</P> + +<P> +Martha took Jane's answer to the post-office herself. She had talked +its contents over with the old nurse, and the two had put their hearts +into every line. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him everything," Jane wrote. "Don't begin a new life with an old +lie. With me it is different. I saved you, my sister, because I loved +you, and because I could not bear that your sweet girlhood should be +marred. I shall live my life out in this duty. It came to me, and I +could not put it from me, and would not now if I could, but I know the +tyranny of a secret you cannot share with the man who loves you. I +know, too, the cruelty of it all. For years I have answered kindly +meant inquiry with discourteous silence, bearing insinuations, calumny, +insults—and all because I cannot speak. Don't, I beseech you, begin +your new life in this slavery. But whatever the outcome, take him into +your confidence. Better have him leave you now than after you are +married. Remember, too, that if by this declaration you should lose his +love you will at least gain his respect. Perhaps, if his heart is +tender and he feels for the suffering and wronged, you may keep both. +Forgive me, dear, but I have only your happiness at heart, and I love +you too dearly not to warn you against any danger which would threaten +you. Martha agrees with me in the above, and knows you will do right by +him." +</P> + +<P> +When Lucy's answer arrived weeks afterward—after her marriage, in +fact—Jane read it with a clutching at her throat she had not known +since that fatal afternoon when Martha returned from Trenton. +</P> + +<P> +"You dear, foolish sister," Lucy's letter began, "what should I tell +him for? He loves me devotedly and we are very happy together, and I am +not going to cause him any pain by bringing any disagreeable thing into +his life. People don't do those wild, old-fashioned things over here. +And then, again, there is no possibility of his finding out. Maria +agrees with me thoroughly, and says in her funny way that men nowadays +know too much already." Then followed an account of her wedding. +</P> + +<P> +This letter Jane did not read to the doctor—no part of it, in fact. +She did not even mention its receipt, except to say that the wedding +had taken place in Geneva, where the Frenchman's mother lived, it being +impossible, Lucy said, for her to come home, and that Maria Collins, +who was staying with her, had been the only one of her old friends at +the ceremony. Neither did she read it all to Martha. The old nurse was +growing more feeble every year and she did not wish her blind faith in +her bairn disturbed. +</P> + +<P> +For many days she kept the letter locked in her desk, not having the +courage to take it out again and read it. Then she sent for Captain +Holt, the only one, beside Martha, with whom she could discuss the +matter. She knew his strong, honest nature, and his blunt, outspoken +way of giving vent to his mind, and she hoped that his knowledge of +life might help to comfort her. +</P> + +<P> +"Married to one o' them furriners, is she?" the captain blurted out; +"and goin' to keep right on livin' the lie she's lived ever since she +left ye? You'll excuse me, Miss Jane,—you've been a mother, and a +sister and everything to her, and you're nearer the angels than anybody +I know. That's what I think when I look at you and Archie. I say it +behind your back and I say it now to your face, for it's true. As to +Lucy, I may be mistaken, and I may not. I don't want to condemn nothin' +'less I'm on the survey and kin look the craft over; that's why I'm +partic'lar. Maybe Bart was right in sayin' it warn't all his fault, +whelp as he was to say it, and maybe he warn't. It ain't up before me +and I ain't passin' on it,—but one thing is certain, when a ship's +made as many voyages as Lucy has and ain't been home for repairs nigh +on to seven years—ain't it?" and he looked at Jane for +confirmation—"she gits foul and sometimes a little mite +worm-eaten—especially her bilge timbers, unless they're +copper-fastened or pretty good stuff. I've been thinkin' for some time +that you ain't got Lucy straight, and this last kick-up of hers makes +me sure of it. Some timber is growed right and some timber is growed +crooked; and when it's growed crooked it gits leaky, and no 'mount o' +tar and pitch kin stop it. Every twist the ship gives it opens the +seams, and the pumps is goin' all the time. When your timber is growed +right you kin all go to sleep and not a drop o' water'll git in. Your +sister Lucy ain't growed right. Maybe she kin help it and maybe she +can't, but she'll leak every time there comes a twist. See if she +don't." +</P> + +<P> +But Jane never lost faith nor wavered in her trust. With the old-time +love strong upon her she continued to make excuses for this +thoughtless, irresponsible woman, so easily influenced. "It is Maria +Collins who has written the letter, and not Lucy," she kept saying to +herself. "Maria has been her bad angel from her girlhood, and still +dominates her. The poor child's sufferings have hardened her heart and +destroyed for a time her sense of right and wrong—that is all." +</P> + +<P> +With this thought uppermost in her mind she took the letter from her +desk, and stirring the smouldering embers, laid it upon the coals. The +sheet blazed and fell into ashes. +</P> + +<P> +"No one will ever know," she said with a sigh. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCOOTSY'S EPITHET +</H3> + +<P> +Lying on Barnegat Beach, within sight of the House of Refuge and +Fogarty's cabin, was the hull of a sloop which had been whirled in one +night in a southeaster, with not a soul on board, riding the breakers +like a duck, and landing high and dry out of the hungry clutch of the +surf-dogs. She was light at the time and without ballast, and lay +stranded upright on her keel. All attempts by the beach-combers to +float her had proved futile; they had stripped her of her standing +rigging and everything else of value, and had then abandoned her. Only +the evenly balanced hull was left, its bottom timbers broken and its +bent keelson buried in the sand. This hulk little Tod Fogarty, aged +ten, had taken possession of; particularly the after-part of the hold, +over which he had placed a trusty henchman armed with a cutlass made +from the hoop of a fish barrel. The henchman—aged seven—wore +knee-trousers and a cap and answered to the name of Archie. The refuge +itself bore the title of "The Bandit's Home." +</P> + +<P> +This new hulk had taken the place of the old schooner which had served +Captain Holt as a landmark on that eventful night when he strode +Barnegat Beach in search of Bart, and which by the action of the +ever-changing tides, had gradually settled until now only a hillock +marked its grave—a fate which sooner or later would overtake this +newly landed sloop itself. +</P> + +<P> +These Barnegat tides are the sponges that wipe clean the slate of the +beach. Each day a new record is made and each day it is wiped out: +records from passing ships, an empty crate, broken spar or useless +barrel grounded now and then by the tide in its flow as it moves up and +down the sand at the will of the waters. Records, too, of many +footprints,—the lagging steps of happy lovers; the dimpled feet of +joyous children; the tread of tramp, coast-guard or fisherman—all +scoured clean when the merciful tide makes ebb. +</P> + +<P> +Other records are strewn along the beach; these the tide alone cannot +efface—the bow of some hapless schooner it may be, wrenched from its +hull, and sent whirling shoreward; the shattered mast and crosstrees of +a stranded ship beaten to death in the breakers; or some battered +capstan carried in the white teeth of the surf-dogs and dropped beyond +the froth-line. To these with the help of the south wind, the tides +extend their mercy, burying them deep with successive blankets of sand, +hiding their bruised bodies, covering their nakedness and the marks of +their sufferings. All through the restful summer and late autumn these +battered derelicts lie buried, while above their graves the children +play and watch the ships go by, or stretch themselves at length, their +eyes on the circling gulls. +</P> + +<P> +With the coming of the autumn all this is changed. The cruel north wind +now wakes, and with a loud roar joins hands with the savage easter; the +startled surf falls upon the beach like a scourge. Under their double +lash the outer bar cowers and sinks; the frightened sand flees hither +and thither. Soon the frenzied breakers throw themselves headlong, +tearing with teeth and claws, burrowing deep into the hidden graves. +Now the forgotten wrecks, like long-buried sins, rise and stand naked, +showing every scar and stain. This is the work of the sea-puss—the +revolving maniac born of close-wed wind and tide; a beast so terrible +that in a single night, with its auger-like snout, it bites huge inlets +out of farm lands—mouthfuls deep enough for ships to sail where but +yesterday the corn grew. +</P> + +<P> +In the hull of this newly stranded sloop, then—sitting high and dry, +out of the reach of the summer surf,—Tod and Archie spent every hour +of the day they could call their own; sallying forth on various +piratical excursions, coming back laden with driftwood for a bonfire, +or hugging some bottle, which was always opened with trembling, eager +fingers in the inmost recesses of the Home, in the hope that some +tidings of a lost ship might be found inside; or with their pockets +crammed with clam-shells and other sea spoils with which to decorate +the inside timbers of what was left of the former captain's cabin. +</P> + +<P> +Jane had protested at first, but the doctor had looked the hull over, +and found that there was nothing wide enough, nor deep enough, nor +sharp enough to do them harm, and so she was content. Then again, the +boys were both strong for their age, and looked it, Tod easily passing +for a lad of twelve or fourteen, and Archie for a boy of ten. The one +danger discovered by the doctor lay in its height, the only way of +boarding the stranded craft being by means of a hand-over-hand climb up +the rusty chains of the bowsprit, a difficult and trousers-tearing +operation. This was obviated by Tod's father, who made a ladder for the +boys out of a pair of old oars, which the two pirates pulled up after +them whenever an enemy hove in sight. When friends approached it was +let down with more than elaborate ceremony, the guests being escorted +by Archie and welcomed on board by Tod. +</P> + +<P> +Once Captain Holt's short, sturdy body was descried in the offing +tramping the sand-dunes on his way to Fogarty's, and a signal +flag—part of Mother Fogarty's flannel petticoat, and blood-red, as +befitted the desperate nature of the craft over which it floated, was +at once set in his honor. The captain put his helm hard down and came +up into the wind and alongside the hulk. +</P> + +<P> +"Well! well! well!" he cried in his best quarterdeck voice—"what are +you stowaways doin' here?" and he climbed the ladder and swung himself +over the battered rail. +</P> + +<P> +Archie took his hand and led him into the most sacred recesses of the +den, explaining to him his plans for defence, his armament of barrel +hoops, and his ammunition of shells and pebbles, Tod standing silently +by and a little abashed, as was natural in one of his station; at which +the captain laughed more loudly than before, catching Archie in his +arms, rubbing his curly head with his big, hard hand, and telling him +he was a chip of the old block, every inch of him—none of which did +either Archie or Tod understand. Before he climbed down the ladder he +announced with a solemn smile that he thought the craft was well +protected so far as collisions on foggy nights were concerned, but he +doubted if their arms were sufficient and that he had better leave them +his big sea knife which had been twice around Cape Horn, and which +might be useful in lopping off arms and legs whenever the cutthroats +got too impudent and aggressive; whereupon Archie threw his arms around +his grizzled neck and said he was a "bully commodore," and that if he +would come and live with them aboard the hulk they would obey his +orders to a man. +</P> + +<P> +Archie leaned over the rotten rail and saw the old salt stop a little +way from the hulk and stand looking at them for some minutes and then +wave his hand, at which the boys waved back, but the lad did not see +the tears that lingered for an instant on the captain's eyelids, and +which the sea-breeze caught away; nor did he hear the words, as the +captain resumed his walk: "He's all I've got left, and yet he don't +know it and I can't tell him. Ain't it hell?" +</P> + +<P> +Neither did they notice that he never once raised his eyes toward the +House of Refuge as he passed its side. A new door and a new roof had +been added, but in other respects it was to him the same grewsome, +lonely hut as on that last night when he had denounced his son outside +its swinging door. +</P> + +<P> +Often the boys made neighborly visits to friendly tribes and settlers. +Fogarty was one of these, and Doctor Cavendish was another. The +doctor's country was a place of buttered bread and preserves and a romp +with Rex, who was almost as feeble as Meg had been in his last days. +But Fogarty's cabin was a mine of never-ending delight. In addition to +the quaint low house of clapboards and old ship-timber, with its +sloping roof and little toy windows, so unlike his own at Yardley, and +smoked ceilings, there was a scrap heap piled up and scattered over the +yard which in itself was a veritable treasure-house. Here were rusty +chains and wooden figure-heads of broken-nosed, blind maidens and +tailless dolphins. Here were twisted iron rods, fish-baskets, broken +lobster-pots, rotting seines and tangled, useless nets—some used as +coverings for coops of restless chickens—old worn-out rope, tangled +rigging—everything that a fisherman who had spent his life on Barnegat +beach could pull from the surf or find stranded on the sand. +</P> + +<P> +Besides all these priceless treasures, there was an old boat lying +afloat in a small lagoon back of the house, one of those seepage pools +common to the coast—a boat which Fogarty had patched with a bit of +sail-cloth, and for which he had made two pairs of oars, one for each +of the "crew," as he called the lads, and which Archie learned to +handle with such dexterity that the old fisherman declared he would +make a first-class boatman when he grew up, and would "shame the whole +bunch of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +But these two valiant buccaneers were not to remain in undisturbed +possession of the Bandit's Home with its bewildering fittings and +enchanting possibilities—not for long. The secret of the uses to which +the stranded craft bad been put, and the attendant fun which Commodore +Tod and his dauntless henchman, Archibald Cobden, Esquire, were daily +getting out of its battered timbers, had already become public +property. The youth of Barnegat—the very young youth, ranging from +nine to twelve, and all boys—received the news at first with hilarious +joy. This feeling soon gave way to unsuppressed indignation, followed +by an active bitterness, when they realized in solemn conclave—the +meeting was held in an open lot on Saturday morning—that the capture +of the craft had been accomplished, not by dwellers under Barnegat +Light, to whom every piece of sea-drift from a tomato-can to a +full-rigged ship rightfully belonged, but by a couple of aliens, one of +whom wore knee-pants and a white collar,—a distinction in dress highly +obnoxious to these lords of the soil. +</P> + +<P> +All these denizens of Barnegat had at one time or another climbed up +the sloop's chains and peered down the hatchway to the sand covering +the keelson, and most of them had used it as a shelter behind which, in +swimming-time, they had put on or peeled off such mutilated rags as +covered their nakedness, but no one of them had yet conceived the idea +of turning it into a Bandit's Home. That touch of the ideal, that +gilding of the commonplace, had been reserved for the brain of the +curly-haired boy who, with dancing eyes, his sturdy little legs resting +on Tod's shoulder, had peered over the battered rail, and who, with a +burst of enthusiasm, had shouted: "Oh, cracky! isn't it nice, Tod! It's +got a place we can fix up for a robbers' den; and we'll be bandits and +have a flag. Oh, come up here! You never saw anything so fine," etc., +etc. +</P> + +<P> +When, therefore, Scootsy Mulligan, aged nine, son of a ship-caulker who +worked in Martin Farguson's ship-yard, and Sandy Plummer, eldest of +three, and their mother a widow—plain washing and ironing, two doors +from the cake-shop—heard that that French "spad," Arch Cobden what +lived up to Yardley, and that red-headed Irish cub, Tod Fogarty—Tod's +hair had turned very red—had pre-empted the Black Tub, as the wreck +was irreverently called, claiming it as their very own, "and-a-sayin' +they wuz pirates and bloody Turks and sich," these two quarrelsome town +rats organized a posse in lower Barnegat for its recapture. +</P> + +<P> +Archie was sweeping the horizon from his perch on the "poop-deck" when +his eagle eye detected a strange group of what appeared to be human +beings advancing toward the wreck from the direction of Barnegat +village. One, evidently a chief, was in the lead, the others following +bunched together. All were gesticulating wildly. The trusty henchman +immediately gave warning to Tod, who was at work in the lower hold +arranging a bundle of bean-poles which had drifted inshore the night +before—part of the deck-load, doubtless, of some passing vessel. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the henchman with a hoist of his knee-pants, as a +prelude to his announcement. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, ay, yerself!" rumbled back the reply. "What's up?" The commodore +had not read as deeply in pirate lore as had Archie, and was not, +therefore, so ready with its lingo. +</P> + +<P> +"Band of savages, sir, approaching down the beach." +</P> + +<P> +"Where away?" thundered back the commodore, his authority now asserting +itself in the tones of his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"On the starboard bow, sir—six or seven of 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Armed or peaceable?" +</P> + +<P> +"Armed, sir. Scootsy Mulligan is leadin' 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Scootsy Mulligan! Crickety! he's come to make trouble," shouted back +Tod, climbing the ladder in a hurry—it was used as a means of descent +into the shallow hold when not needed outside. "Where are they? Oh, +yes! I see 'em—lot of 'em, ain't they? Saturday, and they ain't no +school. Say, Arch, what are we goin' to do?" The terminal vowels +softening his henchman's name were omitted in grave situations; so was +the pirate lingo. +</P> + +<P> +"Do!" retorted Archie, his eyes snapping. "Why, we'll fight 'em; that's +what we are pirates for. Fight 'em to the death. Hurray! They're not +coming aboard—no sir-ee! You go down, Toddy [the same free use of +terminals], and get two of the biggest bean-poles and I'll run up the +death flag. We've got stones and shells enough. Hurry—big ones, mind +you!" +</P> + +<P> +The attacking party, their leader ahead, had now reached the low sand +heap marking the grave of the former wreck, but a dozen yards away—the +sand had entombed it the year before. +</P> + +<P> +"You fellers think yer durned smart, don't ye?" yelled Mr. William +Mulligan, surnamed "Scootsy" from his pronounced fleetness of foot. +"We're goin' to run ye out o' that Tub. 'Tain't yourn, it's ourn—ain't +it, fellers?" +</P> + +<P> +A shout went up in answer from the group on the hillock. +</P> + +<P> +"You can come as friends, but not as enemies," cried Archie +grandiloquently. "The man who sets foot on this ship without permission +dies like a dog. We sail under the blood-red flag!" and Archie struck +an attitude and pointed to the fragment of mother Fogarty's own nailed +to a lath and hanging limp over the rail. +</P> + +<P> +"Hi! hi! hi!" yelled the gang in reply. "Oh, ain't he a beauty! Look at +de cotton waddin' on his head!" (Archie's cropped curls.) "Say, sissy, +does yer mother know ye're out? Throw that ladder down; we're comin' up +there—don't make no diff'rence whether we got yer permish or not—and +we'll knock the stuffin' out o' ye if ye put up any job on us. H'ist +out that ladder!" +</P> + +<P> +"Death and no quarter!" shouted back Archie, opening the big blade of +Captain Holt's pocket knife and grasping it firmly in his wee hand. +"We'll defend this ship with the last drop of our blood!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye will, will ye!" retorted Scootsy. "Come on, fellers—go for 'em! +I'll show 'em," and he dodged under the sloop's bow and sprang for the +overhanging chains. +</P> + +<P> +Tod had now clambered up from the hold. Under his arm were two stout +hickory saplings. One he gave to Archie, the other he kept himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Give them the shells first," commanded Archie, dodging a beach pebble; +"and when their hands come up over the rail let them have this," and he +waved the sapling over his head. "Run, Tod,—they're trying to climb up +behind. I'll take the bow. Avast there, ye lubbers!" +</P> + +<P> +With this Archie dropped to his knees and crouched close to the heel of +the rotting bowsprit, out of the way of the flying missiles—each boy's +pockets were loaded—and looking cautiously over the side of the hulk, +waited until Scootsy's dirty fingers—he was climbing the chain hand +over hand, his feet resting on a boy below him—came into view. +</P> + +<P> +"Off there, or I'll crack your fingers!" +</P> + +<P> +"Crack and be—" +</P> + +<P> +Bang! went Archie's hickory and down dropped the braggart, his oath +lost in his cries. +</P> + +<P> +"He smashed me fist! He smashed me fist! Oh! Oh!" whined Scootsy, +hopping about with the pain, sucking the injured hand and shaking its +mate at Archie, who was still brandishing the sapling and yelling +himself hoarse in his excitement. +</P> + +<P> +The attacking party now drew off to the hillock for a council of war. +Only their heads could be seen—their bodies lay hidden in the long +grass of the dune. +</P> + +<P> +Archie and Tod were now dancing about the deck in a delirium of +delight—calling out in true piratical terms, "We die, but we never +surrender!" Tod now and then falling into his native vernacular to the +effect that he'd "knock the liver and lights out o' the hull gang," an +expression the meaning of which was wholly lost on Archie, he never +having cleaned a fish in his life. +</P> + +<P> +Here a boy in his shirt-sleeves straightened up in the yellow grass and +looked seaward. Then Sandy Plummer gave a yell and ran to the beach, +rolling up what was left of his trousers legs, stopping now and then to +untie first one shoe and then the other. Two of the gang followed on a +run. When the three reached the water's edge they danced about like +Crusoe's savages, waving their arms and shouting. Sandy by this time +had stripped off his clothes and had dashed into the water. A long +plank from some lumber schooner was drifting up the beach in the gentle +swell of the tide. Sandy ran abreast of it for a time, sprang into the +surf, threw himself upon it flat like a frog, and then began paddling +shoreward. The other two now rushed into the water, grasping the near +end of the derelict, the whole party pushing and paddling until it was +hauled clean of the brine and landed high on the sand. +</P> + +<P> +A triumphant yell here came from the water's edge, and the balance of +the gang—there were seven in all—rushed to the help of the dauntless +three. +</P> + +<P> +Archie heaped a pile of pebbles within reach of his hand and waited the +attack. What the savages were going to do with the plank neither he nor +Tod could divine. The derelict was now dragged over the sand to the +hulk, Tod and Archie pelting its rescuers with stones and shells as +they came within short range. +</P> + +<P> +"Up with her, fellers!" shouted Sandy, who, since Scootsy's unmanly +tears, had risen to first place. "Run it under the bowsprit—up with +her—there she goes! Altogether!" +</P> + +<P> +Archie took his stand, his long sapling in his hand, and waited. He +thought first he would unseat the end of the plank, but it was too far +below him and then again he would be exposed to their volleys of +stones, and if he was hurt he might not get back on his craft. Tod, who +had resigned command in favor of his henchman after Archie's masterly +defence in the last fight, stood behind him. Thermopylae was a narrow +place, and so was the famous Bridge of Horatius. He and his faithful +Tod would now make the fight of their lives. Both of these close shaves +for immortality were closed books to Tod, but Archie knew every line of +their records, Doctor John having spent many an hour reading to him, +the boy curled up in his lap while Jane listened. +</P> + +<P> +Sandy, emboldened by the discovery of the plank, made the first rush up +and was immediately knocked from his perch by Tod, whose pole swung +around his head like a flail. Then Scootsy tried it, crawling up, +protecting his head by ducking it under his elbows, holding meanwhile +by his hand. Tod's blows fell about his back, but the boy struggled on +until Archie reached over the gunwale, and with a twist of his wrist, +using all his strength, dropped the invader to the sand below. +</P> + +<P> +The success of this mode of attack was made apparent, provided they +could stick to the plank. Five boys now climbed up. Archie belabored +the first one with the pole and Tod grappled with the second, trying to +throw him from the rail to the sand, some ten feet below, but the rat +close behind him, in spite of their efforts, reached forward, caught +the rail, and scrambled up to his mate's assistance. In another instant +both had leaped to the sloop's deck. +</P> + +<P> +"Back! back! Run, Toddy!" screamed Archie, waving his arms. "Get on the +poop-deck; we can lick them there. Run!" +</P> + +<P> +Tod darted back, and the two defenders clearing the intervening rotten +timbers with a bound, sprang upon the roof of the old cabin—Archie's +"poop." +</P> + +<P> +With a whoop the savages followed, jumping over the holes in the +planking and avoiding the nails in the open beams. +</P> + +<P> +In the melee Archie had lost his pole, and was now standing, hat off, +his blue eves flashing, all the blood of his overheated little body +blazing in his face. The tears of defeat were trembling under his +eyelids, He had been outnumbered, but he would die game. In his hand he +carried, unconsciously to himself, the big-bladed pocket knife the +captain had given him. He would as soon have used it on his mother as +upon one of his enemies, but the Barnegat invaders were ignorant of +that fact, knives being the last resort in their environment. +</P> + +<P> +"Look out, Sandy!" yelled Scootsy to his leader, who was now sneaking +up to Archie with the movement of an Indian in ambush;—"he's drawed a +knife." +</P> + +<P> +Sandy stopped and straightened himself within three feet of Archie. His +hand still smarted from the blow Archie had given it. The "spad" had +not stopped a second in that attack, and he might not in this; the next +thing he knew the knife might be between his ribs. +</P> + +<P> +"Drawed a knife, hev ye!" he snarled. "Drawed a knife, jes' like a spad +that ye are! Ye oughter put yer hair in curl-papers!" +</P> + +<P> +Archie looked at the harmless knife in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I can fight you with my fists if you are bigger than me," he cried, +tossing the knife down the open hatchway into the sand below. "Hold my +coat, Tod," and he began stripping off his little jacket. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't fightin' no spads," sneered Sandy. He didn't want to fight +this one. "Yer can't skeer nobody. You'll draw a pistol next. Yer +better go home to yer mammy, if ye kin find her." +</P> + +<P> +"He ain't got no mammy," snarled Scootsy. "He's a pick-up—me father +says so." +</P> + +<P> +Archie sprang forward to avenge the insult, but before he could reach +Scootsy's side a yell arose from the bow of the hulk. +</P> + +<P> +"Yi! yi! Run, fellers! Here comes old man Fogarty! he's right on top o' +ye! Not that side—this way. Yi! yi!" +</P> + +<P> +The invaders turned and ran the length of the deck, scrambled over the +side and dropped one after the other to the sand below just as the +Fogarty head appeared at the bow. It was but a step and a spring for +him, and with a lurch he gained the deck of the wreck. +</P> + +<P> +"By jiminy, boys, mother thought ye was all killed! Has them rats been +botherin' ye? Ye oughter broke the heads of 'em. Where did they get +that plank? Come 'shore, did it? Here, Tod, catch hold of it; I jes' +wanted a piece o' floorin' like that. Why, ye're all het up, Archie! +Come, son, come to dinner; ye'll git cooled off, and mother's got a +mess o' clams for ye. Never mind 'bout the ladder; I'll lift it down." +</P> + +<P> +On the way over to the cabin, Fogarty and Tod carrying the plank and +Archie walking beside them, the fisherman gleaned from the boys the +details of the fight. Archie had recovered the captain's knife and it +was now in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Called ye a 'pick-up' did he, the rat, and said ye didn't have no +mother. He's a liar! If ye ain't got a mother, and a good one, I don't +know who has. That's the way with them town-crabs, allus cussin' +somebody better'n themselves." +</P> + +<P> +When Fogarty had tilted the big plank against the side of the cabin and +the boys had entered the kitchen in search of the mess of clams, the +fisherman winked to his wife, jerked his head meaningly over one +shoulder, and Mrs. Fogarty, in answer, followed him out to the woodshed. +</P> + +<P> +"Them sneaks from Barnegat, Mulligan's and Farguson's boys, and the +rest of 'em, been lettin' out on Archie: callin' him names, sayin' he +ain't got no mother and he's one o' them pass-ins ye find on yer +doorstep in a basket. I laughed it off and he 'peared to forgit it, but +I thought he might ask ye, an' so I wanted to tip ye the wink." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, ye needn't worry. I ain't goin' to tell him what I don't know," +replied the wife, surprised that he should bring her all the way out to +the woodshed to tell her a thing like that. +</P> + +<P> +"But ye DO know, don't ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"All I know is what Uncle Ephraim told me four or five years ago, and +he's so flighty half the time and talks so much ye can't believe +one-half he says—something about Miss Jane comin' across Archie's +mother in a horsepital in Paris, or some'er's and promisin' her a-dyin' +that she'd look after the boy, and she has. She'd do that here if there +was women and babies up to Doctor John's horsepital 'stead o' men. It's +jes' like her," and Mrs. Fogarty, not to lose her steps, stooped over a +pile of wood and began gathering up an armful. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she ain't his mother, ye know," rejoined Fogarty, helping his +wife with the sticks. "That's what they slammed in his face to-day, and +he'll git it ag'in as he grows up. But he don't want to hear it from +us." +</P> + +<P> +"And he won't. Miss Jane ain't no fool. She knows more about him than +anybody else, and when she gits ready to tell him she'll tell him. +Don't make no difference who his mother was—the one he's got now is +good enough for anybody. Tod would have been dead half a dozen times if +it hadn't been for her and Doctor John, and there ain't nobody knows it +better'n me. It's just like her to let Archie come here so much with +Tod; she knows I ain't goin' to let nothin' happen to him. And as for +mothers, Sam Fogarty," here Mrs. Fogarty lifted her free hand and shook +her finger in a positive way—"when Archie gits short of mothers he's +got one right here, don't make no difference what you or anybody else +says," and she tapped her broad bosom meaningly. +</P> + +<P> +Contrary, however, to Fogarty's hopes and surmises, Archie had +forgotten neither Sandy's insult nor Scootsy's epithet. "He's a +pick-up" and "he ain't got no mammy" kept ringing in his ears as he +walked back up the beach to his home. He remembered having heard the +words once before when he was some years younger, but then it had come +from a passing neighbor and was not intended for him. This time it was +flung square in his face. Every now and then as he followed the trend +of the beach on his way home he would stop and look out over the sea, +watching the long threads of smoke being unwound from the spools of the +steamers and the sails of the fishing-boats as they caught the light of +the setting sun. The epithet worried him. It was something to be +ashamed of, he knew, or they would not have used it. +</P> + +<P> +Jane, standing outside the gate-post, shading her eyes with her hand, +scanning the village road, caught sight of his sturdy little figure the +moment he turned the corner and ran to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +"I got so worried—aren't you late, my son?" she asked, putting her arm +about him and kissing him tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's awful late. I ran all the way from the church when I saw the +clock. I didn't know it was past six. Oh, but we've had a bully day, +mother! And we've had a fight. Tod and I were pirates, and Scootsy +Mulligan tried to—" +</P> + +<P> +Jane stopped the boy's joyous account with a cry of surprise. They were +now walking back to Yardley's gate, hugging the stone wall. +</P> + +<P> +"A fight! Oh, my son!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a bully fight; only there were seven of them and only two of us. +That warn't fair, but Mr. Fogarty says they always fight like that. I +could have licked 'em if they come on one at a time, but they got a +plank and crawled up—" +</P> + +<P> +"Crawled up where, my son?" asked Jane in astonishment. All this was an +unknown world to her. She had seen the wreck and had known, of course, +that the boys were making a playhouse of it, but this latter +development was news to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, on the pirate ship, where we've got our Bandit's Home. Tod is +commodore and I'm first mate. Tod and I did all we could, but they +didn't fight fair, and Scootsy called me a 'pick-up' and said I hadn't +any mother. I asked Mr. Fogarty what he meant, but he wouldn't tell me. +What's a 'pick-up,' dearie?" and he lifted his face to Jane's, his +honest blue eyes searching her own. +</P> + +<P> +Jane caught her hand to her side and leaned for a moment against the +stone wall. This was the question which for years she had expected him +to ask—one to which she had framed a hundred imaginary answers. When +as a baby he first began to talk she had determined to tell him she was +not his mother, and so get him gradually accustomed to the conditions +of his birth. But every day she loved him the more, and every day she +had put it off. To-day it was no easier. He was too young, she knew, to +take in its full meaning, even if she could muster up the courage to +tell him the half she was willing to tell him—that his mother was her +friend and on her sick-bed had entrusted her child to her care. She had +wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand, so that she +should not lose his love when he came to know the truth. There had +been, moreover, always this fear—would he love her for shielding his +mother, or would he hate Lucy when he came to know? She had once talked +it all over with Captain Holt, but she could never muster up the +courage to take his advice. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him," he had urged. "It'll save you a lot o' trouble in the end. +That'll let me out and I kin do for him as I want to. You've lived +under this cloud long enough—there ain't nobody can live a lie a whole +lifetime, Miss Jane. I'll take my share of the disgrace along of my +dead boy, and you ain't done nothin', God knows, to be ashamed of. Tell +him! It's grease to yer throat halyards and everything'll run smoother +afterward. Take my advice, Miss Jane." +</P> + +<P> +All these things rushed through her mind as she stood leaning against +the stone wall, Archie's hand in hers, his big blue eyes still fixed on +her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Who said that to you, my son?" she asked in assumed indifference, in +order to gain time in which to frame her answer and recover from the +shock. +</P> + +<P> +"Scootsy Mulligan." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he a nice boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, he's a coward, or he wouldn't fight as he does." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I wouldn't mind him, my boy," and she smoothed back the hair from +his forehead, her eyes avoiding the boy's steady gaze. It was only when +someone opened the door of the closet concealing this spectre that Jane +felt her knees give way and her heart turn sick within her. In all else +she was fearless and strong. +</P> + +<P> +"Was he the boy who said you had no mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I gave him an awful whack when he came up the first time, and he +went heels over head." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you have got a mother, haven't you, darling?" she continued, +with a sigh of relief, now that Archie was not insistent. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I have!" cried the boy, throwing his arms around her. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we won't either of us bother about those bad boys and what they +say," she answered, stooping over and kissing him. +</P> + +<P> +And so for a time the remembrance of Scootsy's epithet faded out of the +boy's mind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY +</H3> + +<P> +Ten years have passed away. +</P> + +<P> +The sturdy little fellow in knee-trousers is a lad of seventeen, big +and strong for his age; Tod is three years older, and the two are still +inseparable. The brave commander of the pirate ship is now a +full-fledged fisherman and his father's main dependence. Archie is +again his chief henchman, and the two spend many a morning in Tod's +boat when the blue-fish are running. Old Fogarty does not mind it; he +rather likes it, and Mother Fogarty is always happier when the two are +together. +</P> + +<P> +"If one of 'em gits overboard," she said one day to her husband, +"t'other kin save him." +</P> + +<P> +"Save him! Well, I guess!" he replied. "Salt water skims off Archie +same's if he was a white bellied gull; can't drown him no more'n you +kin a can buoy." +</P> + +<P> +The boy has never forgotten Scootsy's epithet, although he has never +spoken of it to his mother—no one knows her now by any other name. She +thought the episode had passed out of his mind, but she did not know +everything that lay in the boy's heart. He and Tod had discussed it +time and again, and had wondered over his own name and that of his +nameless father, as boys wonder, but they had come to no conclusion. No +one in the village could tell them, for no one ever knew. He had asked +the doctor, but had only received a curious answer. +</P> + +<P> +"What difference does it make, son, when you have such a mother? You +have brought her only honor, and the world loves her the better because +of you. Let it rest until she tells you; it will only hurt her heart if +you ask her now." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor had already planned out the boy's future; he was to be sent +to Philadelphia to study medicine when his schooling was over, and was +then to come into his office and later on succeed to his practice. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt would have none of it. +</P> + +<P> +"He don't want to saw off no legs," the bluff old man had blurted out +when he heard of it. "He wants to git ready to take a ship 'round Cape +Horn. If I had my way I'd send him some'er's where he could learn +navigation, and that's in the fo'c's'le of a merchantman. Give him a +year or two before the mast. I made that mistake with Bart—he loafed +round here too long and when he did git a chance he was too old." +</P> + +<P> +Report had it that the captain was going to leave the lad his money, +and had therefore a right to speak; but no one knew. He was +closer-mouthed than ever, though not so gruff and ugly as he used to +be; Archie had softened him, they said, taking the place of that boy of +his he "druv out to die a good many years ago." +</P> + +<P> +Jane's mind wavered. Neither profession suited her. She would sacrifice +anything she had for the boy provided they left him with her. +Philadelphia was miles away, and she would see him but seldom. The sea +she shrank from and dreaded. She had crossed it twice, and both times +with an aching heart. She feared, too, its treachery and cruelty. The +waves that curled and died on Barnegat beach—messengers from across +the sea—brought only tidings fraught with suffering. +</P> + +<P> +Archie had no preferences—none yet. His future was too far off to +trouble him much. Nor did anything else worry him. +</P> + +<P> +One warm September day Archie turned into Yardley gate, his so'wester +still on his head framing his handsome, rosy face; his loose jacket +open at the throat, the tarpaulins over his arm. He had been outside +the inlet with Tod—since daybreak, in fact—fishing for bass and +weakfish. +</P> + +<P> +Jane had been waiting for him for hours. She held an open letter in her +hand, and her face was happier, Archie thought as he approached her, +than he had seen it for months. +</P> + +<P> +There are times in all lives when suddenly and without warning, those +who have been growing quietly by our side impress their new development +upon us. We look at them in full assurance that the timid glance of the +child will be returned, and are astounded to find instead the calm gaze +of the man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering step and +touch a muscle that could lead a host. Such changes are like the +breaking of the dawn; so gradual has been their coming that the full +sun of maturity is up and away flooding the world with beauty and light +before we can recall the degrees by which it rose. +</P> + +<P> +Jane realized this—and for the first time—as she looked at Archie +swinging through the gate, waving his hat as he strode toward her. She +saw that the sailor had begun to assert itself. He walked with an easy +swing, his broad shoulders—almost as broad as the captain's and twice +as hard—thrown back, his head up, his blue eyes and white teeth +laughing out of a face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his +throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief—one of +Tod's—wound loosely about it; a man really, strong and tough, with +hard sinews and capable thighs, back, and wrists—the kind of sailorman +that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure and never lose +place in either station. +</P> + +<P> +In this rude awakening Jane's heart-strings tightened. She became +suddenly conscious that the Cobden look had faded out of him; Lucy's +eyes and hair were his, and so was her rounded chin, with its dimple, +but there was nothing else about him that recalled either her own +father or any other Cobden she remembered. As he came near enough for +her to look into his eyes she began to wonder how he would impress +Lucy, what side of his nature would she love best—his courage and +strength or his tenderness? +</P> + +<P> +The sound of his voice shouting her name recalled her to herself, and a +thrill of pride illumined her happy face like a burst of sunlight as he +tossed his tarpaulins on the grass and put his strong arms about her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, dear! forty black bass, eleven weakfish, and half a barrel of +small fry—what do you think of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Splendid, Archie. Tod must be proud as a peacock. But look at this!" +and she held up the letter. "Who do you think it's from? Guess now," +and she locked one arm through his, and the two strolled back to the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess now!" she repeated, holding the letter behind her back. The two +were often like lovers together. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see," he coaxed. "What kind of a stamp has it got?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never you mind about the stamp." +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle John—and it's about my going to Philadelphia." +</P> + +<P> +Jane laughed. "Uncle John never saw it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's from—Oh, you tell me, mother!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—guess. Think of everybody you ever heard of. Those you have seen +and those you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know—Aunt Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and she's coming home. Home, Archie, think of it, after all these +years!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's bully! She won't know me, will she? I never saw her, did +I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, when you were a little fellow." It was difficult to keep the +tremor out of her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Will she bring any dukes and high daddies with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," laughed Jane, "only her little daughter Ellen, the sweetest +little girl you ever saw, she writes." +</P> + +<P> +"How old is she?" +</P> + +<P> +He had slipped his arm around his mother's waist now and the two were +"toeing it" up the path, he stopping every few feet to root a pebble +from its bed. The coming of the aunt was not a great event in his life. +</P> + +<P> +"Just seven her last birthday." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, she's big enough. We'll take her out and teach her to fish. +Hello, granny!" and the boy loosened his arm as he darted up the steps +toward Martha. "Got the finest mess of fish coming up here in a little +while you ever laid your eyes on," he shouted, catching the old nurse's +cap from her head and clapping it upon his own, roaring with laughter, +as he fled in the direction of the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +Jane joined in the merriment and, moving a chair from the hall, took +her seat on the porch to await the boy's return. She was too happy to +busy herself about the house or to think of any of her outside duties. +Doctor John would not be in until the afternoon, and so she would +occupy herself in thinking out plans to make her sister's home-coming a +joyous one. +</P> + +<P> +As she looked down over the garden as far as the two big gate-posts +standing like grim sentinels beneath the wide branches of the hemlocks, +and saw how few changes had taken place in the old home since her girl +sister had left it, her heart thrilled with joy. Nothing really was +different; the same mass of tangled rose-vines climbed over the +porch—now quite to the top of the big roof, but still the same dear +old vines that Lucy had loved in her childhood; the same honeysuckle +hid the posts; the same box bordered the paths. The house was just as +she left it; her bedroom had really never been touched. What few +changes had taken place she would not miss. Meg would not run out to +meet her, and Rex was under a stone that the doctor had placed over his +grave; nor would Ann Gossaway peer out of her eyrie of a window and +follow her with her eyes as she drove by; her tongue was quiet at last, +and she and her old mother lay side by side in the graveyard. Doctor +John had exhausted his skill upon them both, and Martha, who had +forgiven her enemy, had sat by her bedside until the end, but nothing +had availed. Mrs. Cavendish was dead, of course, but she did not think +Lucy would care very much. She and Doctor John had nursed her for +months until the end came, and had then laid her away near the +apple-trees she was so fond of. But most of the faithful hearts who had +loved her were still beating, and all were ready with a hearty welcome. +</P> + +<P> +Archie was the one thing new—new to Lucy. And yet she had no fear +either for him or for Lucy. When she saw him she would love him, and +when she had known him a week she would never be separated from him +again. The long absence could not have wiped out all remembrance of the +boy, nor would the new child crowd him from her heart. +</P> + +<P> +When Doctor John sprang from his gig (the custom of his daily visits +had never been broken) she could hardly wait until he tied his +horse—poor Bess had long since given out—to tell him the joyful news. +</P> + +<P> +He listened gravely, his face lighting up at her happiness. He was glad +for Jane and said so frankly, but the situation did not please him. He +at heart really dreaded the effect of Lucy's companionship on the woman +he loved. Although it had been years since he had seen her, he had +followed her career, especially since her marriage, with the greatest +interest and with the closest attention. He had never forgotten, nor +had he forgiven her long silence of two years after her marriage, +during which time she had never written Jane a line, nor had he ever +ceased to remember Jane's unhappiness over it. Jane had explained it +all to him on the ground that Lucy was offended because she had opposed +the marriage, but the doctor knew differently. Nor had he ceased to +remember the other letters which followed, and how true a story they +told of Lucy's daily life and ambitions. He could almost recall the +wording of one of them. "My husband is too ill," it had said, "to go +south with me, and so I will run down to Rome for a month or so, for I +really need the change." And a later one, written since his death, in +which she wrote of her winter in Paris and at Monte Carlo, and "how +good my mother-in-law is to take care of Ellen." This last letter to +her sister, just received—the one he then held in his hand, and which +gave Jane such joy, and which he was then reading as carefully as if it +had been a prescription—was to his analytical mind like all the rest +of its predecessors. One sentence sent a slight curl to his lips. "I +cannot stay away any longer from my precious sister," it said, "and am +coming back to the home I adore. I have no one to love me, now that my +dear husband is dead, but you and my darling Ellen." +</P> + +<P> +The news of Lucy's expected return spread rapidly. Old Martha in her +joy was the mouthpiece. She gave the details out at church the Sunday +morning following the arrival of Lucy's letter. She was almost too ill +to venture out, but she made the effort, stopping the worshippers as +they came down the board walk; telling each one of the good news, the +tears streaming down her face. To the children and the younger +generation the announcement made but little difference; some of them +had never heard that Miss Jane had a sister, and others only that she +lived abroad. Their mothers knew, of course, and so did the older men, +and all were pleased over the news. Those of them who remembered the +happy, joyous girl with her merry eyes and ringing laugh were ready to +give her a hearty welcome; they felt complimented that the +distinguished lady—fifteen years' residence abroad and a rich husband +had gained her this position—should be willing to exchange the great +Paris for the simple life of Warehold. It touched their civic pride. +</P> + +<P> +Great preparations were accordingly made. Billy Tatham's successor (his +son)—in his best open carriage—was drawn up at the station, and +Lucy's drive through the village with some of her numerous boxes +covered with foreign labels piled on the seat beside the young man—who +insisted on driving Lucy and the child himself—was more like the +arrival of a princess revisiting her estates than anything else. Martha +and Archie and Jane filled the carriage, with little Ellen on Archie's +lap, and more than one neighbor ran out of the house and waved to them +as they drove through the long village street and turned into the gate. +</P> + +<P> +Archie threw his arms around Lucy when he saw her, and in his open, +impetuous way called her his "dear aunty," telling her how glad he was +that she had come to keep his good mother from getting so sad at times, +and adding that she and granny had not slept for days before she came, +so eager were they to see her. And Lucy kissed him in return, but with +a different throb at her heart. She felt a thrill when she saw how +handsome and strong he was, and for an instant there flashed through +her a feeling of pride that he was her own flesh and blood. Then there +had come a sudden revulsion, strangling every emotion but the one of +aversion—an aversion so overpowering that she turned suddenly and +catching Ellen in her arms kissed her with so lavish a display of +affection that those at the station who witnessed the episode had only +praise for the mother's devotion. Jane saw the kiss Lucy had given +Archie, and a cry of joy welled up in her heart, but she lost the +shadow that followed. My lady of Paris was too tactful for that. +</P> + +<P> +Her old room was all ready. Jane, with Martha helping, had spent days +in its preparation. White dimity curtains starched stiff as a petticoat +had been hung at the windows; a new lace cover spread on the little +mahogany, brass-mounted dressing-table—her great grandmother's, in +fact—with its tiny swinging mirror and the two drawers (Martha +remembered when her bairn was just high enough to look into the +mirror), and pots of fresh flowers placed on the long table on which +her hooks used to rest. Two easy-chairs had also been brought up from +the sitting-room below, covered with new chintz and tied with blue +ribbons, and, more wonderful still, a candle-box had been covered with +cretonne and studded with brass tacks by the aid of Martha's stiff +fingers that her bairn might have a place in which to put her dainty +shoes and slippers. +</P> + +<P> +When the trunks had been carried upstairs and Martha with her own hands +had opened my lady's gorgeous blue morocco dressing-case with its +bottles capped with gold and its brushes and fittings emblazoned with +cupids swinging in garlands of roses, the poor woman's astonishment +knew no bounds. The many scents and perfumes, the dainty boxes, big and +little, holding various powders—one a red paste which the old nurse +thought must be a salve, but about which, it is needless to say, she +was greatly mistaken—as well as a rabbit's foot smirched with rouge +(this she determined to wash at once), and a tiny box of court-plaster +cut in half moons. So many things, in fact, did the dear old nurse pull +from this wonderful bag that the modest little bureau could not hold +half of them, and the big table had to be brought up and swept of its +plants and belongings. +</P> + +<P> +The various cosmetics and their uses were especial objects of comment. +</P> + +<P> +"Did ye break one of the bottles, darlin'?" she asked, sniffing at a +peculiar perfume which seemed to permeate everything. "Some of 'em must +have smashed; it's awful strong everywhere—smell that"—and she held +out a bit of lace which she had taken from the case, a dressing-sacque +that Lucy had used on the steamer. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy laughed. "And you don't like it? How funny, you dear old thing! +That was made specially for me; no one else in Paris has a drop." +</P> + +<P> +And then the dresses! Particularly the one she was to wear the first +night—a dress flounced and furbelowed and of a creamy white (she still +wore mourning—delicate purples shading to white—the exact tone for a +husband six months dead). And the filmy dressing-gowns, and, more +wonderful than all, the puff of smoke she was to sleep in, held +together by a band of violet ribbon; to say nothing of the dainty +slippers bound about with swan's-down, and the marvellous hats, endless +silk stockings of mauve, white, and black, and long and short gloves. +In all her life Martha had never seen or heard of such things. The room +was filled with them and the two big closets crammed to overflowing, +and yet a dozen trunks were not yet unpacked, including the two small +boxes holding little Ellen's clothes. +</P> + +<P> +The night was one long to be remembered. Everyone said the Manor House +had not been so gay for years. And they were all there—all her old +friends and many of Jane's new ones, who for years had looked on Lucy +as one too far above them in station to be spoken of except with bated +breath. +</P> + +<P> +The intimates of the house came early. Doctor John first, with his +grave manner and low voice—so perfectly dressed and quiet: Lucy +thought she had never seen his equal in bearing and demeanor, nor one +so distinguished-looking—not in any circle in Europe; and Uncle +Ephraim, grown fat and gouty, leaning on a cane, but still hearty and +wholesome, and overjoyed to see her; and Pastor Dellenbaugh—his hair +was snow-white now—and his complacent and unruffled wife; and the +others, including Captain Holt, who came in late. It was almost a +repetition of that other home-coming years before, when they had +gathered to greet her, then a happy, joyous girl just out of school. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy in their honor wore the dress that had so astonished Martha, and a +diamond-studded ornament which she took from her jewel-case and +fastened in her hair. The dress followed the wonderful curves of her +beautiful body in all its dimpled plumpness and the jewel set off to +perfection the fresh, oval face, laughing blue eyes—wet forget-me-nots +were the nearest their color—piquant, upturned nose and saucy mouth. +The color of the gown, too, harmonized both with the delicate pink of +her cheeks and with the tones of her rather too full throat showing +above the string of pearls that clasped it. +</P> + +<P> +Jane wore a simple gray silk gown which followed closely the slender +and almost attenuated lines of her figure. This gown the doctor always +loved because, as he told her, it expressed so perfectly the simplicity +of her mind and life. Her only jewels were her deep, thoughtful eyes, +and these, to-night, were brilliant with joy over her sister's return. +</P> + +<P> +As Jane moved about welcoming her guests the doctor, whose eyes rarely +left her face, became conscious that at no time in their lives had the +contrast between the two sisters been greater. +</P> + +<P> +One, a butterfly of thirty-eight, living only in the glow of the +sunlight, radiant in plumage, alighting first on one flower and then on +another, but always on flowers, never on weeds; gathering such honey as +suited her taste; never resting where she might by any chance be +compelled to use her feet, but always poised in air; a woman, rich, +brilliant, and beautiful, and—here was the key-note of her +life—always, year in and year out, warmed by somebody's admiration, +whose she didn't much mind nor care, so that it gratified her pride and +relieved her of ennui. The other—and this one he loved with his whole +soul—a woman of forty-six, with a profound belief in her creeds; +quixotic sometimes in her standards, but always sincere; devoted to her +traditions, to her friends and to her duty; unselfish, tender-hearted, +and self-sacrificing; whose feet, though often tired and bleeding, had +always trodden the earth. +</P> + +<P> +As Lucy greeted first one neighbor and then another, sometimes with one +hand, sometimes with two, offering her cheek now and then to some old +friend who had known her as a child, Jane's heart swelled with +something of the pride she used to have when Lucy was a girl. Her +beautiful sister, she saw, had lost none of the graciousness of her old +manner, nor of her tact in making her guests feel perfectly at home. +Jane noticed, too—and this was new to her—a certain well-bred +condescension, so delicately managed as never to be offensive—more the +air of a woman accustomed to many sorts and conditions of men and +women, and who chose to be agreeable as much to please herself as to +please her guests. +</P> + +<P> +And yet with all this poise of manner and condescending graciousness, +there would now and then dart from Lucy's eyes a quick, searching +glance of inquiry, as she tried to read her guests' thoughts, followed +by a relieved look on her own face as she satisfied herself that no +whisper of her past had ever reached them. These glances Jane never +caught. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John was most cordial in his greeting and talked to her a long +time about some portions of Europe, particularly a certain cafe in +Dresden where he used to dine, and another in Paris frequented by the +beau monde. She answered him quite frankly, telling him of some of her +own experiences in both places, quite forgetting that she was giving +him glimpses of her own life while away—glimpses which she had kept +carefully concealed from Jane or Martha. She was conscious, however, +after he had left her of a certain uncomfortable feeling quivering +through her as his clear, steadfast eyes looked into hers, he listened, +and yet she thought she detected his brain working behind his steadfast +gaze. It was as if he was searching for some hidden disease. "He knows +something," she said to herself, when the doctor moved to let someone +else take his place. "How much I can't tell. I'll get it all out of +sister." +</P> + +<P> +Blunt and bluff Captain Holt, white-whiskered and white-haired now, but +strong and hearty, gave her another and a different shock. What his +first words would be when they met and how she would avoid discussing +the subject uppermost in their minds if, in his rough way, he insisted +on talking about it, was one of the things that had worried her greatly +when she decided to come home, for there was never any doubt in her +mind as to his knowledge. But she misjudged the captain, as had a great +many others who never looked beneath the rugged bark covering his heart +of oak. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you've come at last," he said gravely, hardly touching her +hand in welcome, "you ought to have been here before. Jane's got a fine +lad of her own that she's bringin' up; when you know him ye'll like +him." +</P> + +<P> +She did not look at him when she answered, but a certain feeling of +relief crept over her. She saw that the captain had buried the past and +intended never to revive it. +</P> + +<P> +The stern look on his face only gave way when little Ellen came to him +of her own accord and climbing up into his lap said in her broken +English that she heard he was a great captain and that she wanted him +to tell her some stories like her good papa used to tell her. "He was +gray like you," she said, "and big," and she measured the size with her +plump little arms that showed out of her dainty French dress. +</P> + +<P> +With Doctor John and Captain Holt out of the way Lucy's mind was at +rest. "Nobody else round about Yardley except these two knows," she +kept saying to herself with a bound of relief, "and for these I don't +care. The doctor is Jane's slave, and the captain is evidently wise +enough not to uncover skeletons locked up in his own closet." +</P> + +<P> +These things settled in her mind, my lady gave herself up to whatever +enjoyment, compatible with her rapidly fading mourning, the simple +surroundings afforded, taking her cue from the conditions that +confronted her and ordering her conduct accordingly and along these +lines: Archie was her adopted nephew, the son of an old friend of +Jane's, and one whom she would love dearly, as, in fact, she would +anybody else whom Jane had brought up; she herself was a gracious widow +of large means recovering from a great sorrow; one who had given up the +delights of foreign courts to spend some time among her dear people who +had loved her as a child. Here for a time would she bring up and +educate her daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"To be once more at home, and in dear old Warehold, too!" she had said +with upraised Madonna-like eyes and clasped hands to a group of women +who were hanging on every word that dropped from her pretty lips. "Do +you know what that is to me? There is hardly a day I have not longed +for it. Pray, forgive me if I do not come to see you as often as I +would, but I really hate to be an hour outside of the four walls of my +precious home." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A PACKAGE OF LETTERS +</H3> + +<P> +Under the influence of the new arrival it was not at all strange that +many changes were wrought in the domestic life at Cobden Manor. +</P> + +<P> +My lady was a sensuous creature, loving color and flowers and the +dainty appointments of life as much in the surroundings of her home as +in the adornment of her person, and it was not many weeks before the +old-fashioned sitting-room had been transformed into a French boudoir. +In this metamorphosis she had used but few pieces of new furniture—one +or two, perhaps, that she had picked up in the village, as well as some +bits of mahogany and brass that she loved—but had depended almost +entirely upon the rearrangement of the heirlooms of the family. With +the boudoir idea in view, she had pulled the old tables out from the +walls, drawn the big sofa up to the fire, spread a rug—one of her +own—before the mantel, hung new curtains at the windows and ruffled +their edges with lace, banked the sills with geraniums and begonias, +tilted a print or two beside the clock, scattered a few books and +magazines over the centre-table, on which she had placed a big, +generous lamp, under whose umbrella shade she could see to read as she +sat in her grandmother's rocking-chair—in fact, had, with that taste +inherent in some women—touched with a knowing hand the dead things +about her and made them live and mean something;—her talisman being an +unerring sense of what contributed to personal comfort. Heretofore +Doctor John had been compelled to drag a chair halfway across the room +in order to sit and chat with Jane, or had been obliged to share her +seat on the sofa, too far from the hearth on cold days to be +comfortable. Now he could either stand on the hearth-rug and talk to +her, seated in one corner of the pulled-up sofa, her work-basket on a +small table beside her, or he could drop into a big chair within reach +of her hand and still feel the glow of the fire. Jane smiled at the +changes and gave Lucy free rein to do as she pleased. Her own nature +had never required these nicer luxuries; she had been too busy, and in +these last years of her life too anxious, to think of them, and so the +room had been left as in the days of her father. +</P> + +<P> +The effect of the rearrangement was not lost on the neighbors. They at +once noticed the sense of cosiness everywhere apparent, and in +consequence called twice as often, and it was not long before the +old-fashioned sitting-room became a stopping-place for everybody who +had half an hour to spare. +</P> + +<P> +These attractions, with the aid of a generous hospitality, Lucy did her +best to maintain, partly because she loved excitement and partly +because she intended to win the good-will of her neighbors—those who +might be useful to her. The women succumbed at once. Not only were her +manners most gracious, but her jewels of various kinds, her gowns of +lace and frou-frou, her marvellous hats, her assortment of parasols, +her little personal belongings and niceties—gold scissors, thimbles, +even the violet ribbons that rippled through her transparent +underlaces—so different from those of any other woman they knew—were +a constant source of wonder and delight. To them she was a beautiful +Lady Bountiful who had fluttered down among them from heights above, +and whose departure, should it ever take place, would leave a gloom +behind that nothing could illumine. +</P> + +<P> +To the men she was more reserved. Few of them ever got beyond a +handshake and a smile, and none of them ever reached the borders of +intimacy. Popularity in a country village could never, she knew, be +gained by a pretty woman without great discretion. She explained her +foresight to Jane by telling her that there was no man of her world in +Warehold but the doctor, and that she wouldn't think of setting her cap +for him as she would be gray-haired before he would have the courage to +propose. Then she kissed Jane in apology, and breaking out into a +rippling laugh that Martha heard upstairs, danced out of the room. +</P> + +<P> +Little Ellen, too, had her innings; not only was she prettily dressed, +presenting the most joyous of pictures, as with golden curls flying +about her shoulders she flitted in and out of the rooms like a sprite, +but she was withal so polite in her greetings, dropping to everyone a +little French courtesy when she spoke, and all in her quaint, broken +dialect, that everybody fell in love with her at sight. None of the +other mothers had such a child, and few of them knew that such children +existed. +</P> + +<P> +Jane watched the workings of Lucy's mind with many misgivings. She +loved her lightheartedness and the frank, open way with which she +greeted everybody who crossed their threshold. She loved, too, to see +her beautifully gowned and equipped and to hear the flattering comments +of the neighbors on her appearance and many charms; but every now and +then her ear caught an insincere note that sent a shiver through her. +She saw that the welcome Lucy gave them was not from her heart, but +from her lips; due to her training, no doubt, or perhaps to her +unhappiness, for Jane still mourned over the unhappy years of Lucy's +life—an unhappiness, had she known it, which had really ended with +Archie's safe adoption and Bart's death. Another cause of anxiety was +Lucy's restlessness. Every day she must have some new excitement—a +picnic with the young girls and young men, private theatricals in the +town hall, or excursions to Barnegat Beach, where they were building a +new summer hotel. Now and then she would pack her bag and slip off to +New York or Philadelphia for days at a time to stay with friends she +had met abroad, leaving Ellen with Jane and Martha. To the older sister +she seemed like some wild, untamable bird of brilliant plumage used to +long, soaring flights, perching first on one dizzy height and then +another, from which she could watch the world below. +</P> + +<P> +The thing, however, which distressed Jane most was Lucy's attitude +towards Archie. She made every allowance for her first meeting at the +station, and knew that necessarily it must be more or less constrained, +but she had not expected the almost cold indifference with which she +had treated the boy ever since. +</P> + +<P> +As the days went by and Lucy made no effort to attach Archie to her or +to interest herself either in his happiness or welfare, Jane became +more and more disturbed. She had prayed for this home-coming and had +set her heart on the home-building which was sure to follow, and now it +seemed farther off than ever. One thing troubled and puzzled her: while +Lucy was always kind to Archie indoors, kissing him with the others +when she came down to breakfast, she never, if she could help it, +allowed him to walk with her in the village, and she never on any +occasion took him with her when visiting the neighbors. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not take Archie with you, dear?" Jane had said one morning to +Lucy, who had just announced her intention of spending a few days in +Philadelphia with Max Feilding's sister Sue, whom she had met abroad +when Max was studying in Dresden—Max was still a bachelor, and his +sister kept house for him. He was abroad at the time, but was expected +by every steamer. +</P> + +<P> +"Archie isn't invited, you old goosie, and he would be as much out of +place in Max's house as Uncle Ephraim Tipple would be in Parliament." +</P> + +<P> +"But they would be glad to see him if you took him. He is just the age +now when a boy gets impressions which last him through—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the gawky and stumble-over-things age! Piano-stools, rugs, +anything that comes in his way. And the impressions wouldn't do him a +bit of good. They might, in fact, do him harm," and she laughed merrily +and spread her fingers to the blaze. A laugh was often her best shield. +She had in her time dealt many a blow and then dodged behind a laugh to +prevent her opponent from striking back. +</P> + +<P> +"But, Lucy, don't you want to do something to help him?" Jane asked in +a pleading tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, whatever I can, but he seems to me to be doing very well as he +is. Doctor John is devoted to him and the captain idolizes him. He's a +dear, sweet boy, of course, and does you credit, but he's not of my +world, Jane, dear, and I'd have to make him all over again before he +could fit into my atmosphere. Besides, he told me this morning that he +was going off for a week with some fisherman on the beach—some person +by the name of Fogarty, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a fine fellow; they have been friends from their boyhood." She +was not thinking of Fogarty, but of the tone of Lucy's voice when +speaking of her son. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—most estimable gentleman, no doubt, this Mr. Fogarty, but then, +dear, we don't invite that sort of people to dinner, do we?" and +another laugh rippled out. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sometimes," answered Jane in all sincerity. "Not Fogarty, because +he would be uncomfortable if he came, but many of the others just as +humble. We really have very few of any other kind. I like them all. +Many of them love me dearly." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all strange; nobody can help loving you," and she patted Jane's +shoulder with her jewelled fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"But you like them, too, don't you? You treat them as if you did." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy lifted her fluted petticoat, rested her slippered foot on the +fender, glanced down at the embroidered silk stocking covering her +ankle, and said in a graver tone: +</P> + +<P> +"I like all kinds of people—in their proper place. This is my home, +and it is wise to get along with one's neighbors. Besides, they all +have tongues in their heads like the rest of the human race, and it is +just as well to have them wag for you as against you." +</P> + +<P> +Jane paused for a moment, her eyes watching the blazing logs, and asked +with almost a sigh: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean, dear, that you never intend to help Archie, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never is a long word, Jane. Wait till he grows up and I see what he +makes of himself. He is now nothing but a great animal, well built as a +young bull, and about as awkward." +</P> + +<P> +Jane's eyes flashed and her shoulders straightened. The knife had a +double edge to its blade. +</P> + +<P> +"He is your own flesh and blood, Lucy," she said with a ring of +indignation in her voice. "You don't treat Ellen so; why should you +Archie?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy took her foot from the fender, dropped her skirts, and looked at +Jane curiously. From underneath the half-closed lids of her eyes there +flashed a quick glance of hate—a look that always came into Lucy's +eyes whenever Jane connected her name with Archie's. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us understand each other, sister," she said icily. "I don't +dislike the boy. When he gets into trouble I'll help him in any way I +can, but please remember he's not my boy—he's yours. You took him from +me with that understanding and I have never asked him back. He can't +love two mothers. You say he has been your comfort all these years. +Why, then, do you want to unsettle his mind?" +</P> + +<P> +Jane lifted her head and looked at Lucy with searching eyes—looked as +a man looks when someone he must not strike has flung a glove in his +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you really love anything, Lucy?" she asked in a lower voice, her +eyes still fastened on her sister's. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Ellen and you." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you love her father?" she continued in the same direct tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Y-e-s, a little— He was the dearest old man in the world and did his +best to please me; and then he was never very well. But why talk about +him, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"And you never gave him anything in return for all his devotion?" Jane +continued in the same cross-examining voice and with the same incisive +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my companionship—whenever I could. About what you give Doctor +John," and she looked at Jane with a sly inquiry as she laughed gently +to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Jane bit her lips and her face flushed scarlet. The cowardly thrust had +not wounded her own heart. It had only uncovered the love of the man +who lay enshrined in its depths. A sudden sense of the injustice done +him arose in her mind and then her own helplessness in it all. +</P> + +<P> +"I would give him everything I have, if I could," she answered simply, +all her insistency gone, the tears starting to her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy threw her arms about her sister and held her cheek to her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear, I was only in fun; please forgive me. Everything is so solemn to +you. Now kiss me and tell me you love me." +</P> + +<P> +That night when Captain Holt came in to play with the little "Pond +Lily," as he called Ellen, Jane told him of her conversation with Lucy, +not as a reflection on her sister, but because she thought he ought to +know how she felt toward Archie. The kiss had wiped out the tears, but +the repudiation of Archie still rankled in her breast. +</P> + +<P> +The captain listened patiently to the end. Then he said with a pause +between each word: +</P> + +<P> +"She's sailin' without her port and starboard lights, Miss Jane. One o' +these nights with the tide settin' she'll run up ag'in somethin' solid +in a fog, and then—God help her! If Bart had lived he might have come +home and done the decent thing, and then we could git her into port +some'er's for repairs, but that's over now. She better keep her lights +trimmed. Tell her so for me." +</P> + +<P> +What this "decent thing" was he never said—perhaps he had but a vague +idea himself. Bart had injured Lucy and should have made reparation, +but in what way except by marriage—he, perhaps, never formulated in +his own mind. +</P> + +<P> +Jane winced under the captain's outburst, but she held her peace. She +knew how outspoken he was and how unsparing of those who differed from +him and she laid part of his denunciation to this cause. +</P> + +<P> +Some weeks after this conversation the captain started for Yardley to +see Jane on a matter of business, and incidentally to have a romp with +the Pond Lily. It was astonishing how devoted the old sea-dog was to +the child, and how she loved him in return. "My big bear," she used to +call him, tugging away at his gray whiskers. On his way he stopped at +the post-office for his mail. It was mid-winter and the roads were +partly blocked with snow, making walking difficult except for sturdy +souls like Captain Nat. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Cap'n Holt, yer jest the man I been a-waitin' for," cried Miss +Tucher, the postmistress, from behind the sliding window. "If you ain't +goin' up to the Cobdens, ye kin, can't ye? Here's a lot o' letters jest +come that I know they're expectin'. Miss Lucy's" (many of the village +people still called her Miss Lucy, not being able to pronounce her dead +husband's name) "come in yesterday and seems as if she couldn't wait. +This storm made everything late and the mail got in after she left. +There ain't nobody comin' out to-day and here's a pile of 'em—furrin' +most of 'em. I'd take 'em myself if the snow warn't so deep. Don't +mind, do ye? I'd hate to have her disapp'inted, for she's jes' 's sweet +as they make 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mind it a mite, Susan Tucher," cried the captain. "Goin' there, +anyhow. Got some business with Miss Jane. Lord, what a wad o' them!" +</P> + +<P> +"That ain't half what she gits sometimes," replied the postmistress, +"and most of 'em has seals and crests stamped on 'em. Some o' them +furrin lords, I guess, she met over there." +</P> + +<P> +These letters the captain held in his hand when he pushed open the door +of the sitting-room and stood before the inmates in his rough +pea-jacket, his ruddy face crimson with the cold, his half-moon +whiskers all the whiter by contrast. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-mornin' to the hull o' ye!" he shouted. "Cold as blue blazes +outside, I tell ye, but ye look snug enough in here. Hello, little Pond +Lily! why ain't you out on your sled? Put two more roses in your cheeks +if there was room for 'em. There, ma'am," and he nodded to Lucy and +handed her the letters, "that's 'bout all the mail that come this +mornin'. There warn't nothin' else much in the bag. Susan Tucher asked +me to bring 'em up to you count of the weather and 'count o' your being +in such an all-fired hurry to read 'em." +</P> + +<P> +Little Ellen was in his arms before this speech was finished and +everybody else on their feet shaking hands with the old salt, except +poor, deaf old Martha, who called out, "Good-mornin', Captain Holt," in +a strong, clear voice, and in rather a positive way, but who kept her +seat by the fire and continued her knitting; and complacent Mrs. +Dellenbaugh, the pastor's wife, who, by reason of her position, never +got up for anybody. +</P> + +<P> +The captain advanced to the fire, Ellen still in his arms, shook hands +with Mrs. Dellenbaugh and extended three fingers, rough as lobster's +claws and as red, to the old nurse. Of late years he never met Martha +without feeling that he owed her an apology for the way he had treated +her the day she begged him to send Bart away. So he always tried to +make it up to her, although he had never told her why. +</P> + +<P> +"Hope you're better, Martha? Heard ye was under the weather; was that +so? Ye look spry 'nough now," he shouted in his best quarter-deck voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but it warn't much. Doctor John fixed me up," Martha replied +coldly. She had no positive animosity toward the captain—not since he +had shown some interest in Archie—but she could never make a friend of +him. +</P> + +<P> +During this greeting Lucy, who had regained her chair, sat with the +letters unopened in her lap. None of the eagerness Miss Tucher had +indicated was apparent. She seemed more intent on arranging the folds +of her morning-gown accentuating the graceful outlines of her +well-rounded figure. She had glanced through the package hastily, and +had found the one she wanted and knew that it was there warm under her +touch—the others did not interest her. +</P> + +<P> +"What a big mail, dear," remarked Jane, drawing up a chair. "Aren't you +going to open it?" The captain had found a seat by the window and the +child was telling him everything she had done since she last saw him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, in a minute," replied Lucy. "There's plenty of time." With +this she picked up the bunch of letters, ran her eye through the +collection, and then, with the greatest deliberation, broke one seal +after another, tossing the contents on the table. Some she merely +glanced at, searching for the signatures and ignoring the contents; +others she read through to the end. One was from Dresden, from a +student she had known there the year before. This was sealed with a +wafer and bore the address of the cafe where he took his meals. Another +was stamped with a crest and emitted a slight perfume; a third was +enlivened by a monogram in gold and began: "Ma chere amie," in a bold +round hand. The one under her hand she did not open, but slipped into +the pocket of her dress. The others she tore into bits and threw upon +the blazing logs. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess if them fellers knew how short a time it would take ye to +heave their cargo overboard," blurted out the captain, "they'd thought +a spell 'fore they mailed their manifests." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy laughed good-naturedly and Jane watched the blaze roar up the wide +chimney. The captain settled back in his chair and was about to +continue his "sea yarn," as he called it, to little Ellen, when he +suddenly loosened the child from his arms, and leaning forward in his +seat toward where Jane sat, broke out with: +</P> + +<P> +"God bless me! I believe I'm wool-gathering. I clean forgot what I come +for. It is you, Miss Jane, I come to see, not this little curly head +that'll git me ashore yet with her cunnin' ways. They're goin' to build +a new life-saving station down Barnegat way. That Dutch brig that come +ashore last fall in that so'easter and all them men drownded could have +been saved if we'd had somethin' to help 'em with. We did all we could, +but that house of Refuge ain't half rigged and most o' the time ye got +to break the door open to git at what there is if ye're in a hurry, +which you allus is. They ought to have a station with everything 'bout +as it ought to be and a crew on hand all the time; then, when somethin' +comes ashore you're right there on top of it. That one down to Squam is +just what's wanted here." +</P> + +<P> +"Will it be near the new summer hotel?" asked Lucy carelessly, just as +a matter of information, and without raising her eyes from the rings on +her beautiful hands. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout half a mile from the front porch, ma'am"—he preferred calling +her so—"from what I hear. 'Tain't located exactly yet, but some'er's +along there. I was down with the Gov'ment agent yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Who will take charge of it, captain?" inquired Jane, reaching over her +basket in search of her scissors. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's what I come up for. They're talkin' about me," and the +captain put his hands behind Ellen's head and cracked his big knuckles +close to her ear, the child laughing with delight as she listened. +</P> + +<P> +The announcement was received with some surprise. Jane, seeing Martha's +inquiring face, as if she wanted to hear, repeated the captain's words +to her in a loud voice. Martha laid down her knitting and looked at the +captain over her spectacles. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, would you take it, captain?" Jane asked in some astonishment, +turning to him again. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know but I would. Ain't no better job for a man than savin' +lives. I've helped kill a good many; 'bout time now I come 'bout on +another tack. I'm doin' nothin'—haven't been for years. If I could get +the right kind of a crew 'round me—men I could depend on—I think I +could make it go." +</P> + +<P> +"If you couldn't nobody could, captain," said Jane in a positive way. +"Have you picked out your crew?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, three or four of 'em. Isaac Polhemus and Tom Morgan—Tom sailed +with me on my last voyage—and maybe Tod." +</P> + +<P> +"Archie's Tod?" asked Jane, replacing her scissors and searching for a +spool of cotton. +</P> + +<P> +"Archie's Tod," repeated the captain, nodding his head, his big hand +stroking Ellen's flossy curls. "That's what brought me up. I want Tod, +and he won't go without Archie. Will ye give him to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"My Archie!" cried Jane, dropping her work and staring straight at the +captain. +</P> + +<P> +"Your Archie, Miss Jane, if that's the way you put it," and he stole a +look at Lucy. She was conscious of his glance, but she did not return +it; she merely continued listening as she twirled one of the rings on +her finger. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, but, captain, isn't it very dangerous work? Aren't the men often +drowned?" protested Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Anything's dangerous 'bout salt water that's worth the doin'. I've +stuck to the pumps seventy-two hours at a time, but I'm here to tell +the tale." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you talked to Archie?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but Tod has. They've fixed it up betwixt 'em. The boy's dead set +to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, but isn't he too young?" +</P> + +<P> +"Young or old, he's tough as a marline-spike—A1, and copper fastened +throughout. There ain't a better boatman on the beach. Been that way +ever since he was a boy. Won't do him a bit of harm to lead that kind +of life for a year or two. If he was mine it wouldn't take me a minute +to tell what I'd do." +</P> + +<P> +Jane leaned back in her chair, her eyes on the crackling logs, and +began patting the carpet with her foot. Lucy became engrossed in a book +that lay on the table beside her. She didn't intend to take any part in +the discussion. If Jane wanted Archie to serve as a common sailor that +was Jane's business. Then again, it was, perhaps, just as well for a +number of reasons to have him under the captain's care. He might become +so fond of the sea as to want to follow it all his life. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think about it, Lucy?" asked Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know anything about it. I don't really. I've lived so long +away from here I don't know what the young men are doing for a living. +He's always been fond of the sea, has he not, Captain Holt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Allus," said the captain doggedly; "it's in his blood." Her answer +nettled him. "You ain't got no objections, have you, ma'am?" he asked, +looking straight at Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's color came and went. His tone offended her, especially before +Mrs. Dellenbaugh, who, although she spoke but seldom in public had a +tongue of her own when she chose to use it. She was not accustomed to +being spoken to in so brusque a way. She understood perfectly well the +captain's covert meaning, but she did not intend either to let him see +it or to lose her temper. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, not the slightest," she answered with a light laugh. "I have no +doubt that it will be the making of him to be with you. Poor boy, he +certainly needs a father's care." +</P> + +<P> +The captain winced in turn under the retort and his eyes flashed, but +he made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +Little Ellen had slipped out of the captain's lap during the colloquy. +She had noticed the change in her friend's tone, and, with a child's +intuition, had seen that the harmony was in danger of being broken. She +stood by the captain's knee, not knowing whether to climb back again or +to resume her seat by the window. Lucy, noticing the child's +discomfort, called to her: +</P> + +<P> +"Come here, Ellen, you will tire the captain." +</P> + +<P> +The child crossed the room and stood by her mother while Lucy tried to +rearrange the glossy curls, tangled by too close contact with the +captain's broad shoulder. In the attempt Ellen lost her balance and +fell into her mother's lap. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Ellen!" said her mother coldly; "stand up, dear. You are so +careless. See how you have mussed my gown. Now go over to the window +and play with your dolls." +</P> + +<P> +The captain noted the incident and heard Lucy's reproof, but he made no +protest. Neither did he contradict the mother's statement that the +little girl had tired him. His mind was occupied with other things—the +tone of the mother's voice for one, and the shade of sadness that +passed over the child's face for another. From that moment he took a +positive dislike to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, think it over, Miss Jane," he said, rising from his seat and +reaching for his hat. "Plenty of time 'bout Archie. Life-savin' house +won't be finished for the next two or three months; don't expect to git +into it till June. Wonder, little Pond Lily, if the weather's goin' to +be any warmer?" He slipped his hand under the child's chin and leaning +over her head peered out of the window. "Don't look like it, does it, +little one? Looks as if the snow would hold on. Hello! here comes the +doctor. I'll wait a bit—good for sore eyes to see him, and I don't git +a chance every day. Ask him 'bout Archie, Miss Jane. He'll tell ye +whether the lad's too young." +</P> + +<P> +There came a stamping of feet on the porch outside as Doctor John shook +the snow from his boots, and the next instant he stepped into the room +bringing with him all the freshness and sunshine of the outside world. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-morning, good people," he cried, "every one of you! How very snug +and cosey you look here! Ah, captain, where have you been keeping +yourself? And Mrs. Dellenbaugh! This is indeed a pleasure. I have just +passed the dear doctor, and he is looking as young as he did ten years +ago. And my Lady Lucy! Down so early! Well, Mistress Martha, up again I +see; I told you you'd be all right in a day or two." +</P> + +<P> +This running fire of greetings was made with a pause before each inmate +of the room—a hearty hand-shake for the bluff captain, the pressing of +Mrs. Dellenbaugh's limp fingers, a low bow to Lucy, and a pat on +Martha's plump shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Jane came last, as she always did. She had risen to greet him and was +now unwinding the white silk handkerchief wrapped about his throat and +helping him off with his fur tippet and gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Jane. No, let me take it; it's rather wet," he added as he +started to lay the heavy overcoat over a chair. "Wait a minute. I've +some violets for you if they are not crushed in my pocket. They came +last night," and he handed her a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. +This done, he took his customary place on the rug with his back to the +blazing logs and began unbuttoning his trim frock-coat, bringing to +view a double-breasted, cream-white waistcoat—he still dressed as a +man of thirty, and always in the fashion—as well as a fluffy scarf +which Jane had made for him with her own fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"And what have I interrupted?" he asked, looking over the room. "One of +your sea yarns, captain?"—here he reached over and patted the child's +head, who had crept back to the captain's arms—"or some of my lady's +news from Paris? You tell me, Jane," he added, with a smile, opening +his thin, white, almost transparent fingers and holding them behind his +back to the fire, a favorite attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask the captain, John." She had regained her seat and was reaching out +for her work-basket, the violets now pinned in her bosom—her eyes had +long since thanked him. +</P> + +<P> +"No, do YOU tell me," he insisted, moving aside the table with her +sewing materials and placing it nearer her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, but it's the captain who should speak," Jane replied, laughing, +as she looked up into his face, her eyes filled with his presence. "He +has startled us all with the most wonderful proposition. The Government +is going to build a life-saving station at Barnegat beach, and they +have offered him the position of keeper, and he says he will take it if +I will let Archie go with him as one of his crew." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John's face instantly assumed a graver look. These forked roads +confronting the career of a young life were important and not to be +lightly dismissed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what did you tell him?" he asked, looking down at Jane in the +effort to read her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"We are waiting for you to decide, John." The tone was the same she +would have used had the doctor been her own husband and the boy their +child. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John communed with himself for an instant. "Well, let us take a +vote," he replied with an air as if each and every one in the room was +interested in the decision. "We'll begin with Mistress Martha, and then +Mrs. Dellenbaugh, and then you, Jane, and last our lady from over the +sea. The captain has already sold his vote to his affections, and so +must be counted out." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but don't count me in, please," exclaimed Lucy with a merry laugh +as she arose from her seat. "I don't know a thing about it. I've just +told the dear captain so. I'm going upstairs this very moment to write +some letters. Bonjour, Monsieur le Docteur; bonjour, Monsieur le +Capitaine and Madame Dellenbaugh," and with a wave of her hand and a +little dip of her head to each of the guests, she courtesied out of the +room. +</P> + +<P> +When the door was closed behind her she stopped in the hall, threw a +glance at her face in the old-fashioned mirror, satisfied herself of +her skill in preserving its beautiful rabbit's-foot bloom and +freshness, gave her blonde hair one or two pats to keep it in place, +rearranged the film of white lace about her shapely throat, and +gathering up the mass of ruffled skirts that hid her pretty feet, +slowly ascended the staircase. +</P> + +<P> +Once inside her room and while the vote was being taken downstairs that +decided Archie's fate she locked her door, dropped into a chair by the +fire, took the unopened letter from her pocket, and broke the seal. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Don't scold, little woman," it read. "I would have written before, but +I've been awfully busy getting my place in order. It's all arranged +now, however, for the summer. The hotel will be opened in June, and I +have the best rooms in the house, the three on the corner overlooking +the sea. Sue says she will, perhaps, stay part of the summer with me. +Try and come up next week for the night. If not I'll bring Sue with me +and come to you for the day. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Your own Max." +</P> + +<P> +For some minutes she sat gazing into the fire, the letter in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about time, Mr. Max Feilding," she said at last with a sigh of +relief as she rose from her seat and tucked the letter into her desk. +"You've had string enough, my fine fellow; now it's my turn. If I had +known you would have stayed behind in Paris all these months and kept +me waiting here I'd have seen you safe aboard the steamer. The hotel +opens in June, does it? Well, I can just about stand it here until +then; after that I'd go mad. This place bores me to death." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BEGINNING OF THE EBB +</H3> + +<P> +Spring has come and gone. The lilacs and crocuses, the tulips and +buttercups, have bloomed and faded; the lawn has had its sprinkling of +dandelions, and the duff of their blossoms has drifted past the +hemlocks and over the tree-tops. The grass has had its first cutting; +the roses have burst their buds and hang in clusters over the arbors; +warm winds blow in from the sea laden with perfumes from beach and +salt-marsh; the skies are steely blue and the cloud puffs drift lazily. +It is summer-time—the season of joy and gladness, the season of +out-of-doors. +</P> + +<P> +All the windows at Yardley are open; the porch has donned an +awning—its first—colored white and green, shading big rocking-chairs +and straw tables resting on Turkish rugs. Lucy had wondered why in all +the years that Jane had lived alone at Yardley she had never once +thought of the possibilities of this porch. Jane had agreed with her, +and so, under Lucy's direction, the awnings had been put up and the +other comforts inaugurated. Beneath its shade Lucy sits and reads or +embroiders or answers her constantly increasing correspondence. +</P> + +<P> +The porch serves too as a reception-room, the vines being thick and the +occupants completely hidden from view. Here Lucy often spreads a small +table, especially when Max Feilding drives over in his London drag from +Beach Haven on Barnegat beach. On these occasions, if the weather is +warm, she refreshes him with delicate sandwiches and some of her late +father's rare Scotch whiskey (shelved in the cellar for thirty years) +or with the more common brands of cognac served in the old family +decanters. +</P> + +<P> +Of late Max had become a constant visitor. His own ancestors had made +honorable records in the preceding century, and were friends of the +earlier Cobdens during the Revolution. This, together with the fact +that he had visited Yardley when Lucy was a girl—on his first return +from Paris, in fact—and that the acquaintance had been kept up while +he was a student abroad, was reason enough for his coming with such +frequency. +</P> + +<P> +His drag, moreover, as it whirled into Yardley's gate, gave a certain +air of eclat to the Manor House that it had not known since the days of +the old colonel. Nothing was lacking that money and taste could +furnish. The grays were high-steppers and smooth as satin, the polished +chains rattled and clanked about the pole; the body was red and the +wheels yellow, the lap-robe blue, with a monogram; and the diminutive +boy studded with silver buttons bearing the crest of the Feilding +family was as smart as the tailor could make him. +</P> + +<P> +And the owner himself, in his whity-brown driving-coat with big pearl +buttons, yellow gloves, and gray hat, looked every inch the person to +hold the ribbons. Altogether it was a most fashionable equipage, owned +and driven by a most fashionable man. +</P> + +<P> +As for the older residents of Warehold, they had only words of praise +for the turnout. Uncle Ephraim declared that it was a "Jim Dandy," +which not only showed his taste, but which also proved how much broader +that good-natured cynic had become in later years. Billy Tatham gazed +at it with staring eyes as it trundled down the highway and turned into +the gate, and at once determined to paint two of his hacks bright +yellow and give each driver a lap-robe with the letter "T" worked in +high relief. +</P> + +<P> +The inmates of Yardley were not quite so enthusiastic. Martha was glad +that her bairn was having such a good time, and she would often stand +on the porch with little Ellen's hand in hers and wave to Max and Lucy +as they dashed down the garden road and out through the gate, the tiger +behind; but Jane, with that quick instinct which some women possess, +recognized something in Feilding's manner which she could not put into +words, and so held her peace. She had nothing against Max, but she did +not like him. Although he was most considerate of her feelings and +always deferred to her, she felt that any opposition on her part to +their outings would have made no difference to either one of them. He +asked her permission, of course, and she recognized the courtesy, but +nothing that he ever did or said overcame her dislike of him. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John's personal attitude and bearing toward Feilding was an +enigma not only to Jane, but to others who saw it. He invariably +greeted him, whenever they met, with marked, almost impressive +cordiality, but it never passed a certain limit of reserve; a certain +dignity of manner which Max had recognized the first day he shook hands +with him. It recalled to Feilding some of his earlier days, when he was +a student in Paris. There had been a supper in Max's room that ended at +daylight—no worse in its features than dozens of others in the +Quartier—to which an intimate friend of the doctor's had been invited, +and upon which, as Max heard afterward, the doctor had commented rather +severely. +</P> + +<P> +Max realized, therefore, but too well that the distinguished +physician—known now over half the State—understood him, and his +habits, and his kind as thoroughly as he did his own ease of +instruments. He realized, too, that there was nothing about his present +appearance or surroundings or daily life that could lead so thoughtful +a man of the world as Dr. John Cavendish, of Barnegat, to conclude that +he had changed in any way for the better. +</P> + +<P> +And yet this young gentleman could never have been accused of burning +his candle at both ends. He had no flagrant vices really—none whose +posters were pasted on the victim's face. Neither cards nor any other +form of play interested him, nor did the wine tempt him when it was +red—or of any other color, for that matter, nor did he haunt the +dressing-rooms of chorus girls and favorites of the hour. His innate +refinement and good taste prevented any such uses of his spare time. +His weakness—for it could hardly be called a vice—was narrowed down +to one infirmity, and one only: this was his inability to be happy +without the exclusive society of some one woman. +</P> + +<P> +Who the woman might be depended very largely on whom he might be thrown +with. In the first ten years of his majority—his days of poverty when +a student—it had been some girl in exile, like himself. During the +last ten years—since his father's death and his inheritance—it had +been a loose end picked out of the great floating drift—that social +flotsam and jetsam which eddies in and out of the casinos of Nice and +Monte Carlo, flows into Aix and Trouville in summer and back again to +Rome and Cairo in winter—a discontented wife perhaps; or an unmarried +woman of thirty-five or forty, with means enough to live where she +pleased; or it might be some self-exiled Russian countess or +English-woman of quality who had a month off, and who meant to make the +most of it. All most respectable people, of course, without a breath of +scandal attaching to their names—Max was too careful for that—and yet +each and every one on the lookout for precisely the type of man that +Max represented: one never happy or even contented when outside the +radius of a waving fan or away from the flutter of a silken skirt. +</P> + +<P> +It was in one of these resorts of the idle, a couple of years before, +while Lucy's husband and little Ellen were home in Geneva, that Max had +met her, and where he had renewed the acquaintance of their +childhood—an acquaintance which soon ripened into the closest +friendship. +</P> + +<P> +Hence his London drag and appointments; hence the yacht and a +four-in-hand—then a great novelty—all of which he had promised her +should she decide to join him at home. Hence, too, his luxuriously +fitted-up bachelor quarters in Philadelphia, and his own comfortable +apartments in his late father's house, where his sister Sue lived; and +hence, too, his cosey rooms in the best corner of the Beach Haven +hotel, with a view overlooking Barnegat Light and the sea. +</P> + +<P> +None of these things indicated in the smallest degree that this noble +gentleman contemplated finally settling down in a mansion commensurate +with his large means, where he and the pretty widow could enjoy their +married life together; nothing was further from his mind—nothing could +be—he loved his freedom too much. What he wanted, and what he intended +to have, was her undivided companionship—at least for the summer; a +companionship without any of the uncomfortable complications which +would have arisen had he selected an unmarried woman or the wife of +some friend to share his leisure and wealth. +</P> + +<P> +The woman he picked out for the coming season suited him exactly. She +was blonde, with eyes, mouth, teeth, and figure to his liking (he had +become critical in forty odd years—twenty passed as an expert); +dressed in perfect taste, and wore her clothes to perfection; had a +Continental training that made her mistress of every situation, +receiving with equal ease and graciousness anybody, from a postman to a +prince, sending them away charmed and delighted; possessed money enough +of her own not to be too much of a drag upon him; and—best of all (and +this was most important to the heir of Walnut Hill)—had the best blood +of the State circling in her veins. Whether this intimacy might drift +into something closer, compelling him to take a reef in his sails, +never troubled him. It was not the first time that he had steered his +craft between the Scylla of matrimony and the Charybdis of scandal, and +he had not the slightest doubt of his being able to do it again. +</P> + +<P> +As for Lucy, she had many plans in view. One was to get all the fun +possible out of the situation; another was to provide for her future. +How this was to be accomplished she had not yet determined. Her plans +were laid, but some of them she knew from past experience might go +astray. On one point she had made up her mind—not to be in a hurry. In +furtherance of these schemes she had for some days—some months, in +fact—been making preparations for an important move. She knew that its +bare announcement would come as a surprise to Jane and Martha and, +perhaps, as a shock, but that did not shake her purpose. She +furthermore expected more or less opposition when they fully grasped +her meaning. This she intended to overcome. Neither Jane nor Martha, +she said to herself, could be angry with her for long, and a few kisses +and an additional flow of good-humor would soon set them to laughing +again. +</P> + +<P> +To guard against the possibility of a too prolonged interview with +Jane, ending, perhaps, in a disagreeable scene—one beyond her +control—she had selected a sunny summer morning for the stage setting +of her little comedy and an hour when Feilding was expected to call for +her in his drag. She and Max were to make a joint inspection that day +of his new apartment at Beach Haven, into which he had just moved, as +well as the stable containing the three extra vehicles and equine +impedimenta, which were to add to their combined comfort and enjoyment. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy had been walking in the garden looking at the rose-beds, her arm +about her sister's slender waist, her ears open to the sound of every +passing vehicle—Max was expected at any moment—when she began her +lines. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't mind, Jane, dear, will you, if I get together a few things +and move over to Beach Haven for a while?" she remarked simply, just as +she might have done had she asked permission to go upstairs to take a +nap. "I think we should all encourage a new enterprise like the hotel, +especially old families like ours. And then the sea air always does me +so much good. Nothing like Trouville air, my dear husband used to tell +me, when I came back in the autumn. You don't mind, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"For how long, Lucy?" asked Jane, with a tone of disappointment in her +voice, as she placed her foot on the top step of the porch. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can't tell. Depends very much on how I like it." As she spoke +she drew up an easy-chair for Jane and settled herself in another. Then +she added carelessly: "Oh, perhaps a month—perhaps two." +</P> + +<P> +"Two months!" exclaimed Jane in astonishment, dropping into her seat. +"Why, what do you want to leave Yardley for? O Lucy, don't—please +don't go!" +</P> + +<P> +"But you can come over, and I can come here," rejoined Lucy in a +coaxing tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but I don't want to come over. I want you at home. And it's so +lovely here. I have never seen the garden look so beautiful; and you +have your own room, and this little porch is so cosey. The hotel is a +new building, and the doctor says a very damp one, with everything +freshly plastered. He won't let any of his patients go there for some +weeks, he tells me. Why should you want to go? I really couldn't think +of it, dear. I'd miss you dreadfully." +</P> + +<P> +"You dear old sister," answered Lucy, laying her parasol on the small +table beside her, "you are so old-fashioned. Habit, if nothing else, +would make me go. I have hardly passed a summer in Paris or Geneva +since I left you; and you know how delightful my visits to Biarritz +used to be years ago. Since my marriage I have never stayed in any one +place so long as this. I must have the sea air." +</P> + +<P> +"But the salt water is right here, Lucy, within a short walk of our +gate, and the air is the same." Jane's face wore a troubled look, and +there was an anxious, almost frightened tone in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not exactly the same," Lucy answered positively, as if she +had made a life-long study of climate; "and if it were, the life is +very different. I love Warehold, of course; but you must admit that it +is half-asleep all the time. The hotel will be some change; there will +be new people and something to see from the piazzas. And I need it, +dear. I get tired of one thing all the time—I always have." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will be just as lonely there." Jane in her astonishment was +like a blind man feeling about for a protecting wall. +</P> + +<P> +"No; Max and his sister will be at Beach Haven, and lots of others I +know. No, I won't be lonely," and an amused expression twinkled in her +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Jane sat quite still. Some of Captain Holt's blunt, outspoken +criticisms floated through her brain. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any reason for wanting to leave here?" she asked, raising her +eyes and looking straight at Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +"No, certainly not. How foolish, dear, to ask me! I'm never so happy as +when I am with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, why then should you want to give up your home and all the +comforts you need—your flowers, garden, and everything you love, and +this porch, which you have just made so charming, to go to a damp, +half-completed hotel, without a shrub about it—only a stretch of +desolate sand with the tide going in and out?" There was a tone of +suspicion in Jane's voice that Lucy had never heard from her sister's +lips—never, in all her life. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, because I love the tides, if nothing else," she answered with a +sentimental note in her voice. "Every six hours they bring me a new +message. I could spend whole mornings watching the tides come and go. +During my long exile you don't know how I dreamed every night of the +dear tides of Barnegat. If you had been away from all you love as many +years as I have, you would understand how I could revel in the sound of +the old breakers." +</P> + +<P> +For some moments Jane did not answer. She knew from the tones of Lucy's +voice and from the way she spoke that she did not mean it. She had +heard her talk that way to some of the villagers when she wanted to +impress them, but she had never spoken in the same way to her. +</P> + +<P> +"You have some other reason, Lucy. Is it Max?" she asked in a strained +tone. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy colored. She had not given her sister credit for so keen an +insight into the situation. Jane's mind was evidently working in a new +direction. She determined to face the suspicion squarely; the truth +under some conditions is better than a lie. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied, with an assumed humility and with a tone as if she +had been detected in a fault and wanted to make a clean breast of it. +"Yes—now that you have guessed it—it IS Max." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think it would be better to see him here instead of at the +hotel?" exclaimed Jane, her eyes still boring into Lucy's. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps"—the answer came in a helpless way—"but that won't do much +good. I want to keep my promise to him if I can." +</P> + +<P> +"What was your promise?" Jane's eyes lost their searching look for an +instant, but the tone of suspicion still vibrated. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming on her dress. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago in a burst of +generosity I got myself into something of a scrape. Max wants his +sister Sue to spend the summer with him, and I very foolishly promised +to chaperon her. She is delighted over the prospect, for she must have +somebody, and I haven't the heart to disappoint her. Max has been so +kind to me that I hate now to tell him I can't go. That's all, dear. I +don't like to speak of obligations of this sort, and so at first I only +told you half the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"You should always keep your promise, dear," Jane answered thoughtfully +and with a certain relieved tone. (Sue was nearly thirty, but that did +not occur to Jane.) "But this time I wish you had not promised. I am +sorry, too, for little Ellen. She will miss her little garden and +everything she loves here; and then again, Archie will miss her, and so +will Captain Holt and Martha. You know as well as I do that a hotel is +no place for a child." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to hear you say so. That's why I shall not take her with +me." As she spoke she shot an inquiring glance from the corner of her +eyes at the anxious face of her sister. These last lines just before +the curtain fell were the ones she had dreaded most. +</P> + +<P> +Jane half rose from her seat. Her deep eyes were wide open, gazing in +astonishment at Lucy. For an instant she felt as if her heart had +stopped beating. +</P> + +<P> +"And you—you—are not going to take Ellen with you!" she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not." She saw her sister's agitation, but she did not +intend to notice it. Besides, her expectant ear had caught the sound of +Max's drag as it whirled through the gate. "I always left her with her +grandmother when she was much younger than she is now. She is very +happy here and I wouldn't be so cruel as to take her away from all her +pleasures. Then she loves old people. See how fond she is of the +Captain and Martha! No, you are right. I wouldn't think of taking her +away." +</P> + +<P> +Jane was standing now, her eyes blazing, her lips quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, Lucy, that you would leave your child here and spend two +months away from her?" +</P> + +<P> +The wheels were crunching the gravel within a rod of the porch. Max had +already lifted his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"But, sister, you don't understand—" The drag stopped and Max, with +uncovered head, sprang out and extended his hand to Jane. +</P> + +<P> +Before he could offer his salutations Lucy's joyous tones rang out. +</P> + +<P> +"Just in the nick of time, Max," she cried. "I've just been telling my +dear sister that I'm going to move over to Beach Haven to-morrow, bag +and baggage, and she is delighted at the news. Isn't it just like her?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BREAKERS AHEAD +</H3> + +<P> +The summer-home of Max Feilding, Esq., of Walnut Hill, and of the +beautiful and accomplished widow of the dead Frenchman was located on a +levelled sand-dune in full view of the sea. Indeed, from beneath its +low-hooded porticos and piazzas nothing else could be seen except, +perhaps, the wide sky—gray, mottled, or intensely blue, as the weather +permitted—the stretch of white sand shaded from dry to wet and edged +with tufts of yellow grass; the circling gulls and the tall finger of +Barnegat Light pointing skyward. Nothing, really, but some scattering +buildings in silhouette against the glare of the blinding light—one +the old House of Refuge, a mile away to the north, and nearer by, the +new Life Saving Station (now complete) in charge of Captain Nat Holt +and his crew of trusty surfmen. +</P> + +<P> +This view Lucy always enjoyed. She would sit for hours under her +awnings and watch the lazy boats crawling in and out of the inlet, or +the motionless steamers—motionless at that distance—slowly unwinding +their threads of smoke. The Station particularly interested her. +Somehow she felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that Archie was at +work and that he had at last found his level among his own people—not +that she wished him any harm; she only wanted him out of her way. +</P> + +<P> +The hostelry itself was one of those low-roofed, shingle-sided and +shingle-covered buildings common in the earlier days along the Jersey +coast, and now supplanted by more modern and more costly structures. It +had grown from a farm-house and out-buildings to its present state with +the help of an architect and a jig-saw; the former utilizing what +remained of the house and its barns, and the latter transforming plain +pine into open work patterns with which to decorate its gable ends and +facade. When the flags were raised, the hanging baskets suspended in +each loop of the porches, and the merciless, omnipresent and +ever-insistent sand was swept from its wide piazzas and sun-warped +steps it gave out an air of gayety so plausible and enticing that many +otherwise sane and intelligent people at once closed their comfortable +homes and entered their names in its register. +</P> + +<P> +The amusements of these habitues—if they could be called habitues, +this being their first summer—were as varied as their tastes. There +was a band which played mornings and afternoons in an unpainted pine +pagoda planted on a plot of slowly dying grass and decorated with more +hanging baskets and Chinese lanterns; there was bathing at eleven and +four; and there was croquet on the square of cement fenced about by +poles and clothes-lines at all hours. Besides all this there were +driving parties to the villages nearby; dancing parties at night with +the band in the large room playing away for dear life, with all the +guests except the very young and very old tucked away in twos in the +dark corners of the piazzas out of reach of the lights and the +inquisitive—in short, all the diversions known to such retreats, so +necessary for warding off ennui and thus inducing the inmates to stay +the full length of their commitments. +</P> + +<P> +In its selection Max was guided by two considerations: it was near +Yardley—this would materially aid in Lucy's being able to join +him—and it was not fashionable and, therefore, not likely to be +overrun with either his own or Lucy's friends. The amusements did not +interest him; nor did they interest Lucy. Both had seen too much and +enjoyed too much on the other side of the water, at Nice, at Monte +Carlo, and Biarritz, to give the amusements a thought. What they wanted +was to be let alone; this would furnish all the excitement either of +them needed. This exclusiveness was greatly helped by the red and +yellow drag, with all its contiguous and connecting impedimenta, a +turnout which never ceased to occupy everybody's attention whenever the +small tiger stood by the heads of the satin-coated grays awaiting the +good pleasure of his master and his lady. Its possession not only +marked a social eminence too lofty for any ordinary habitue to climb to +unless helped up by the proffered hand of the owner, but it prevented +anyone of these would-be climbers from inviting either its owner or his +companion to join in other outings no matter how enjoyable. Such +amusements as they could offer were too simple and old-fashioned for +two distinguished persons who held the world in their slings and who +were whirling it around their heads with all their might. The result +was that their time was their own. +</P> + +<P> +They filled it at their pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +When the tide was out and the sand hard, they drove on the beach, +stopping at the new station, chatting with Captain Holt or Archie; or +they strolled north, always avoiding the House of Refuge—that locality +had too many unpleasant associations for Lucy, or they sat on the +dunes, moving back out of the wet as the tide reached them, tossing +pebbles in the hollows, or gathering tiny shells, which Lucy laid out +in rows of letters as she had done when a child. In the afternoon they +drove by way of Yardley to see how Ellen was getting on, or idled about +Warehold, making little purchases at the shops and chatting with the +village people, all of whom would come out to greet them. After dinner +they would generally betake themselves to Max's portico, opening out of +his rooms, or to Lucy's—they were at opposite ends of the long +corridor—where the two had their coffee while Max smoked. +</P> + +<P> +The opinions freely expressed regarding their social and moral status, +and individual and combined relations, differed greatly in the several +localities in which they were wont to appear. In Warehold village they +were looked upon as two most charming and delightful people, rich, +handsome, and of proper age and lineage, who were exactly adapted to +each other and who would prove it before the year was out, with Pastor +Dellenbaugh officiating, assisted by some dignitary from Philadelphia. +</P> + +<P> +At the hostelry many of the habitues had come to a far different +conclusion. Marriage was not in either of their heads, they maintained; +their intimacy was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship dating +back to childhood—they were cousins really—Max being the dearest and +most unselfish creature in the world, he having given up all his +pleasures elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious lady +whose grief was still severe and who would really be quite alone in the +world were it not for her little daughter, now temporarily absent. +</P> + +<P> +This summary of facts, none of which could be questioned, was +supplemented and enriched by another conclusive instalment from Mrs. +Walton Coates, of Chestnut Plains, who had met Lucy at Aix the year +before, and who therefore possessed certain rights not vouchsafed to +the other habitues of Beach Haven—an acquaintance which Lucy, for +various reasons, took pains to encourage—Mrs. C.'s social position +being beyond question, and her house and other appointments more than +valuable whenever Lucy should visit Philadelphia: besides, Mrs. +Coates's own and Lucy's apartments joined, and the connecting door of +the two sitting-rooms was often left open, a fact which established a +still closer intimacy. This instalment, given in a positive and rather +lofty way, made plain the fact that in her enforced exile the +distinguished lady not only deserved the thanks of every habitue of the +hotel, but of the whole country around, for selecting the new +establishment in which to pass the summer, instead of one of the more +fashionable resorts elsewhere. +</P> + +<P> +This outburst of the society leader, uttered in the hearing of a +crowded piazza, had occurred after a conversation she had had with Lucy +concerning little Ellen. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me about your little daughter," Mrs. Coates had said. "You did +not leave her abroad, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Coates! I am really here on my darling's +account," Lucy answered with a sigh. "My old home is only a short +distance from here. But the air does not agree with me there, and so I +came here to get a breath of the real sea. Ellen is with her aunt, my +dear sister Jane. I wanted to bring her, but really I hadn't the heart +to take her from them; they are so devoted to her. Max loves her +dearly. He drives me over there almost every day. I really do not know +how I could have borne all the sorrows I have had this year without +dear Max. He is like a brother to me, and SO thoughtful. You know we +have known each other since we were children. They tell such dreadful +stories, too, about him, but I have never seen that side of him, he's a +perfect saint to me." +</P> + +<P> +From that time on Mrs. Coates was her loyal mouthpiece and devoted +friend. Being separated from one's child was one of the things she +could not brook; Lucy was an angel to stand it as she did. As for +Max—no other woman had ever so influenced him for good, nor did she +believe any other woman could. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the second week a small fly no larger than a pin's head +began to develop in the sunshine of their amber. It became visible to +the naked eye when Max suddenly resolved to leave his drag, his tiger, +his high-stepping grays, and his fair companion, and slip over to +Philadelphia—for a day or two, he explained. His lawyer needed him, he +said, and then again he wanted to see his sister Sue, who had run down +to Walnut Hill for the day. (Sue, it might as well be stated, had not +yet put in an appearance at Beach Haven, nor had she given any notice +of her near arrival; a fact which had not disturbed Lucy in the least +until she attempted to explain to Jane.) +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to pull up, little woman, and get out for a few days," Max +had begun. "Morton's all snarled up, he writes me, over a mortgage, and +I must straighten it out. I'll leave Bones [the tiger] and everything +just as it is. Don't mind, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mind! Of course I do!" retorted Lucy. "When did you get this +marvellous idea into that wonderful brain of yours, Max? I intended to +go to Warehold myself to-morrow." She spoke with her usual good-humor, +but with a slight trace of surprise and disappointment in her tone. +</P> + +<P> +"When I opened my mail this morning; but my going won't make any +difference about Warehold. Bones and the groom will take care of you." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy leaned back in her chair and looked over the rail of the porch. +She had noticed lately a certain restraint in Max's manner which was +new to her. Whether he was beginning to get bored, or whether it was +only one of his moods, she could not decide—even with her acute +knowledge of similar symptoms. That some change, however, had come over +him she had not the slightest doubt. She never had any trouble in +lassoing her admirers. That came with a glance of her eye or a lift of +her pretty shoulders: nor for that matter in keeping possession of them +as long as her mood lasted. +</P> + +<P> +"Whom do you want to see in Philadelphia, Max?" she asked, smiling +roguishly at him. She held him always by presenting her happiest and +most joyous side, whether she felt it or not. +</P> + +<P> +"Sue and Morton—and you, you dear girl, if you'll come along." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I'm not coming along. I'm too comfortable where I am. Is this +woman somebody you haven't told me of, Max?" she persisted, looking at +him from under half-closed lids. +</P> + +<P> +"Your somebodies are always thin air, little girl; you know everything +I have ever done in my whole life," Max answered gravely. She had for +the last two weeks. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy threw up her hands and laughed so loud and cheerily that an +habitue taking his morning constitutional on the boardwalk below turned +his head in their direction. The two were at breakfast under the +awnings of Lucy's portico, Bones standing out of range. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one word of it, you fraud; nor do you. You've forgotten one-half +of all you've done and the other half you wouldn't dare tell any woman. +Come, give me her name. Anybody Sue knows?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody that anybody knows, Honest John." Then he added as an +after-thought, "Are you sorry?" As he spoke he rose from his seat and +stood behind her chair looking down over her figure. She had her back +to him. He thought he had never seen her look so lovely. She was +wearing a light-blue morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and a +wide Leghorn hat—the morning costume of all others he liked her best +in. +</P> + +<P> +"No—don't think I am," she answered lightly. "Fact is I was getting +pretty tired of you. How long will you be gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I think till the end of the week—not longer." He reached over the +chair and was about to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coil +of her hair, when he checked himself and straightened up. One of those +sudden restraints which had so puzzled Lucy had seized him. She could +not see his face, but she knew from the tones of his voice that the +enthusiasm of the moment had cooled. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes. +She was always entrancing from this point of view: the upturned +eyelashes, round of the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swelling +shoulders were like no other woman's he knew. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want you to go, Max," she said in the same coaxing tone of +voice that Ellen might have used in begging for sugar-plums. "Just let +the mortgage and old Morton and everybody else go. Stay here with me." +</P> + +<P> +Max straightened up and threw out his chest and a determined look came +into his eyes. If he had had any doubts as to his departure Lucy's +pleading voice had now removed them. +</P> + +<P> +"No, can't do it," he answered in mock positiveness. "Can't 'pon my +soul. Business is business. Got to see Morton right away; ought to have +seen him before." Then he added in a more serious tone, "Don't get +worried if I stay a day or two longer." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, go, you great bear, you," and she rose to her feet and +shook out her skirts. "I wouldn't let you stay, no matter what you +said." She was not angry—she was only feeling about trying to put her +finger on the particular button that controlled Max's movements. +"Worried? Not a bit of it. Stay as long as you please." +</P> + +<P> +There WAS a button, could she have found it. It was marked "Caution," +and when pressed communicated to the heir of Walnut Hill the +intelligence that he was getting too fond of the pretty widow and that +his only safety lay in temporary flight. It was a favorite trick of +his. In the charting of his course he had often found two other rocks +beside Scylla and Charybdis in his way; one was boredom and the other +was love. When a woman began to bore him, or he found himself liking +her beyond the limit of his philosophy, he invariably found relief in +change of scene. Sometimes it was a sick aunt or a persistent lawyer or +an engagement nearly forgotten and which must be kept at all hazards. +He never, however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her shoulder with his +fingers. "You know I don't want to leave you. I shall be perfectly +wretched while I'm gone, but there's no help for it. Morton's such a +fussy old fellow—always wanting to do a lot of things that can, +perhaps, wait just as well as not. Hauled me down from Walnut Hill half +a dozen times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell. But this +time it's important and I must go. Bones," and he lifted his finger to +the boy, "tell John I want the light wagon. I'll take the 11.12 to +Philadelphia." +</P> + +<P> +The tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention, his finger at his +eyebrow. Lucy turned her face toward the boy. "No, Bones, you'll do +nothing of the kind. You tell John to harness the grays to the drag. +I'll go to the station with Mr. Feilding." +</P> + +<P> +Max shrugged his shoulders. He liked Lucy for a good many things—one +was her independence, another was her determination to have her own +way. Then, again, she was never so pretty as when she was a trifle +angry; her color came and went so deliciously and her eyes snapped so +charmingly. Lucy saw the shrug and caught the satisfied look in his +face. She didn't want to offend him and yet she didn't intend that he +should go without a parting word from her—tender or otherwise, as +circumstances might require. She knew she had not found the button, and +in her doubt determined for the present to abandon the search. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Bones, I've changed my mind," she called to the boy, who was now +half way down the piazza. "I don't think I will go. I'll stop here, +Max, and do just what you want me to do," she added in a softened +voice. "Come along," and she slipped her hand in his and the two walked +toward the door of his apartments. +</P> + +<P> +When the light wagon and satin-skinned sorrel, with John on the seat +and Bones in full view, stopped at the sanded porch, Mrs. Coates and +Lucy formed part of the admiring group gathered about the turn-out. All +of Mr. Feilding's equipages brought a crowd of onlookers, no matter how +often they appeared—he had five with him at Beach Haven, including the +four-in-hand which he seldom used—but the grays and the light wagon, +by common consent, were considered the most "stylish" of them all, not +excepting the drag. +</P> + +<P> +After Max had gathered the reins in his hands, had balanced the whip, +had settled himself comfortably and with a wave of his hand to Lucy had +driven off, Mrs. Coates slipped her arm through my lady's and the two +slowly sauntered to their rooms. +</P> + +<P> +"Charming man, is he not?" Mrs. Coates ventured. "Such a pity he is not +married! You know I often wonder whom such men will marry. Some pretty +school-girl, perhaps, or prim woman of forty." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered, "you are wrong. The bread-and-butter miss would +never suit Max, and he's past the eye-glass and side-curl age. The next +phase, if he ever reaches it, will be somebody who will make him +do—not as he pleases, but as SHE pleases. A man like Max never cares +for a woman any length of time who humors his whims." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he certainly was most attentive to that pretty Miss Billeton. +You remember her father was lost overboard four years ago from his +yacht. Mr. Coates told me he met her only a day or so ago; she had come +down to look after the new ball-room they are adding to the old house. +You know her, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—never heard of her. How old is she?" rejoined Lucy in a careless +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"I should say twenty, maybe twenty-two—you can't always tell about +these girls; very pretty and very rich. I am quite sure I saw Mr. +Feilding driving with her just before he moved his horses down here, +and she looked prettier than ever. But then he has a new flame every +month, I hear." +</P> + +<P> +"Where were they driving?" There was a slight tone of curiosity in +Lucy's voice. None of Max's love-affairs ever affected her, of course, +except as they made for his happiness; all undue interest, therefore, +was out of place, especially before Mrs. Coates. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't remember. Along the River Road, perhaps—he generally drives +there when he has a pretty woman with him." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy bit her lip. Some other friend, then, had been promised the drag +with the red body and yellow wheels! This was why he couldn't come to +Yardley when she wrote for him. She had found the button. It rang up +another woman. +</P> + +<P> +The door between the connecting sitting-rooms was not opened that day, +nor that night, for that matter. Lucy pleaded a headache and wished to +be alone. She really wanted to look the field over and see where her +line of battle was weak. Not that she really cared—unless the girl +should upset her plans; not as Jane would have cared had Doctor John +been guilty of such infidelity. The eclipse was what hurt her. She had +held the centre of the stage with the lime-light full upon her all her +life, and she intended to retain it against Miss Billeton or Miss +Anybody else. She decided to let Max know at once, and in plain terms, +giving him to understand that she didn't intend to be made a fool of, +reminding him at the same time that there were plenty of others who +cared for her, or who would care for her if she should but raise her +little finger. She WOULD raise it, too, even if she packed her trunks +and started for Paris—and took him with her. +</P> + +<P> +These thoughts rushed through her mind as she sat by the window and +looked out over the sea. The tide was making flood, and the +fishing-boats anchored in the inlet were pointing seaward. She could +see, too, the bathers below and the children digging in the sand. Now +and then a boat would head for the inlet, drop its sail, and swing +round motionless with the others. Then a speck would break away from +the anchored craft and with the movement of a water-spider land the +fishermen ashore. +</P> + +<P> +None of these things interested her. She could not have told whether +the sun shone or whether the sky was fair or dull. Neither was she +lonely, nor did she miss Max. She was simply +angry—disgusted—disappointed at the situation; at herself, at the +woman who had come between them, at the threatened failure of her +plans. One moment she was building up a house of cards in which she +held all the trumps, and the next instant she had tumbled it to the +ground. One thing she was determined upon—not to take second place. +She would have all of him or none of him. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the third day Max returned. He had not seen Morton, nor +any of his clerks, nor anybody connected with his office. Neither had +he sent him any message or written him any letter. Morton might have +been dead and buried a century so far as Max or his affairs were +concerned. Nor had he laid his eyes on the beautiful Miss Billeton; nor +visited her house; nor written her any letters; nor inquired for her. +What he did do was to run out to Walnut Hill, have a word with his +manager, and slip back to town again and bury himself in his club. Most +of the time he read the magazines, some pages two or three times over. +Once he thought he would look up one or two of his women friends at +their homes—those who might still be in town—and then gave it up as +not being worth the trouble. At the end of the third day he started for +Barnegat. The air was bad in the city, he said to himself, and +everybody he met was uninteresting. He would go back, hitch up the +grays, and he and Lucy have a spin down the beach. Sea air always did +agree with him, and he was a fool to leave it. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram sent over from +Warehold. She was dressed in her very best: a double-breasted jacket +and straw turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. Her cheeks were like +two red peonies and her eyes bright as diamonds. She was perched up in +the driver's seat of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with the +skill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger, did not spring into his +perch as they whirled from the station in the direction of the beach. +His company was not wanted. +</P> + +<P> +They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and of Morton; of how hot +it was in town and how cool it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates and +of pater-familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach Haven; of the +dance the night before—Max leading in the conversation and she +answering either in mono-syllables or not at all, until Max hazarded +the statement that he had been bored to death waiting for Morton, who +never put in an appearance, and that the only human being, male or +female, he had seen in town outside the members of the club, was Sue. +</P> + +<P> +They had arrived off the Life-Saving Station now, and Archie had called +the captain to the door, and both stood looking at them, the boy waving +his hand and the captain following them with his eyes. Had either of +them caught the captain's remark they, perhaps, would have drawn rein +and asked for an explanation: +</P> + +<P> +"Gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? Looks as if they was runnin' to a +fire!" +</P> + +<P> +But they didn't hear it; would not, probably have heard it, had the +captain shouted it in their ears. Lucy was intent on opening up a +subject which had lain dormant in her mind since the morning of Max's +departure, and the gentleman himself was trying to cipher out what new +"kink," as he expressed it to himself, had "got it into her head." +</P> + +<P> +When they had passed the old House of Refuge Lucy drew rein and stopped +the drag where the widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe the +horses' feet. She was still uncertain as to how she would lead up to +the subject-matter without betraying her own jealousy or, more +important still, without losing her temper. This she rarely displayed, +no matter how goading the provocation. Nobody had any use for an +ill-tempered woman, not in her atmosphere; and no fly that she had ever +known had been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. There might be +vinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but they were kept behind +closed doors and sampled only when she was alone. As she sat looking +out to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusual +mood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set her +course for the inlet. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. "She's making for +Farguson's ship-yard. She runs between Amboy and Barnegat—Captain +Ambrose Farguson sails her." At times like these any topic was good +enough to begin on. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner from +under her half-closed lids. The voice came like the thin piping of a +flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to let +everybody know it was present. +</P> + +<P> +"One of my carriages was shipped by her. I paid Captain Farguson the +freight just before I went away." +</P> + +<P> +"What's her name?"—slight tremolo—only a note or two. +</P> + +<P> +"The Polly Walters," droned Max, talking at random, mind neither on the +sloop nor her captain. +</P> + +<P> +"Named after his wife?" The flute-like notes came more crisply. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, so he told me." Max had now ceased to give any attention to his +answers. He had about made up his mind that something serious was the +matter and that he would ask her and find out. +</P> + +<P> +"Ought to be called the Max Feilding, from the way she tacks about. +She's changed her course three times since I've been watching her." +</P> + +<P> +Max shot a glance athwart his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the +pretty lips thinned and straightened and the half-closed eyes and +wrinkled forehead. He was evidently the disturbing cause, but in what +way he could not for the life of him see. That she was angry to the +tips of her fingers was beyond question; the first time he had seen her +thus in all their acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes-that would fit her exactly," he answered with a smile and with a +certain soothing tone in his voice. "Every tack her captain makes +brings him the nearer to the woman he loves." +</P> + +<P> +"Rather poetic, Max, but slightly farcical. Every tack you make lands +you in a different port—with a woman waiting in every one of them." +The first notes of the overture had now been struck. +</P> + +<P> +"No one was waiting in Philadelphia for me except Sue, and I only met +her by accident," he said good-naturedly, and in a tone that showed he +would not quarrel, no matter what the provocation; "she came in to see +her doctor. Didn't stay an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you take her driving?" This came in a thin, piccolo tone-barely +enough room for it to escape through her lips. All the big drums and +heavy brass were now being moved up. +</P> + +<P> +"No; had nothing to take her out in. Why do you ask? What has happened, +little—" +</P> + +<P> +"Take anybody else?" she interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +He spoke quite frankly and simply. At any other time she would have +believed him. She had always done so in matters of this kind, partly +because she didn't much care and partly because she made it a point +never to doubt the word of a man, either by suspicion or inference, who +was attentive to her. This time she did care, and she intended to tell +him so. All she dreaded was that the big horns and the tom-toms would +get away from her leadership and the hoped-for, correctly played +symphony end in an uproar. +</P> + +<P> +"Max," she said, turning her head and lifting her finger at him with +the movement of a conductor's baton, "how can you lie to me like that? +You never went near your lawyer; you went to see Miss Billeton, and +you've spent every minute with her since you left me. Don't tell me you +didn't. I know everything you've done, and—" Bass drums, bass viols, +bassoons—everything—was loose now. +</P> + +<P> +She had given up her child to be with him! Everything, in fact—all her +people at Yardley; her dear old nurse. She had lied to Jane about +chaperoning Sue—all to come down and keep him from being lonely. What +she wanted was a certain confidence in return. It made not the +slightest difference to her how many women he loved, or how many women +loved him; she didn't love him, and she never would; but unless she was +treated differently from a child and like the woman that she was, she +was going straight back to Yardley, and then back to Paris, etc., etc. +</P> + +<P> +She knew, as she rushed on in a flood of abuse such as only a woman can +let loose when she is thoroughly jealous and entirely angry, that she +was destroying the work of months of plotting, and that he would be +lost to her forever, but she was powerless to check the torrent of her +invective. Only when her breath gave out did she stop. +</P> + +<P> +Max had sat still through it all, his eyes expressing first +astonishment and then a certain snap of admiration, as he saw the color +rising and falling in her cheeks. It was not the only time in his +experience that he had had to face similar outbursts. It was the first +time, however, that he had not felt like striking back. Other women's +outbreaks had bored him and generally had ended his interest in +them—this one was more charming than ever. He liked, too, her American +pluck and savage independence. Jealous she certainly was, but there was +no whine about it; nor was there any flop at the close—floppy women he +detested—had always done so. Lucy struck straight out from her +shoulder and feared nothing. +</P> + +<P> +As she raged on, the grays beating the water with their well-polished +hoofs, he continued to sit perfectly still, never moving a muscle of +his face nor changing his patient, tolerant expression. The best plan, +he knew, was to let all the steam out of the boiler and then gradually +rake the fires. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear little woman,"' he began, "to tell you the truth, I never laid +eyes on Morton; didn't want to, in fact. All that was an excuse to get +away. I thought you wanted a rest, and I went away to let you have it. +Miss Billeton I haven't seen for three months, and couldn't if I would, +for she is engaged to her cousin and is now in Paris buying her wedding +clothes. I don't know who has been humbugging you, but they've done it +very badly. There is not one word of truth in what you've said from +beginning to end." +</P> + +<P> +There is a certain ring in a truthful statement that overcomes all +doubts. Lucy felt this before Max had finished. She felt, too, with a +sudden thrill, that she still held him. Then there came the +instantaneous desire to wipe out all traces of the outburst and keep +his good-will. +</P> + +<P> +"And you swear it?" she asked, her belief already asserting itself in +her tones, her voice falling to its old seductive pitch. +</P> + +<P> +"On my honor as a man," he answered simply. +</P> + +<P> +For a time she remained silent, her mind working behind her mask of +eyes and lips, the setting sun slanting across the beach and lighting +up her face and hair, the grays splashing the suds with their impatient +feet. Max kept his gaze upon her. He saw that the outbreak was over and +that she was a little ashamed of her tirade. He saw, too, man of the +world as he was, that she was casting about in her mind for some way in +which she could regain for herself her old position without too much +humiliation. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say another word, little woman," he said in his kindest tone. +"You didn't mean a word of it; you haven't been well lately, and I +oughtn't to have left you. Tighten up your reins; we'll drive on if you +don't mind." +</P> + +<P> +That night after the moon had set and the lights had been turned out +along the boardwalk and the upper and lower porticos and all Beach +Haven had turned in for the night, and Lucy had gone to her apartments, +and Mr. and Mrs. Coates and the rest of them, single and double, were +asleep, Max, who had been pacing up and down his dressing-room, stopped +suddenly before his mirror, and lifting the shade from the lamp, made a +critical examination of his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Forty, and I look it!" he said, pinching his chin with his thumb and +forefinger, and turning his cheek so that the light would fall on the +few gray hairs about his temples. "That beggar Miggs said so yesterday +at the club. By gad, how pretty she was, and how her eyes snapped! I +didn't think it was in her!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SWEDE'S STORY +</H3> + +<P> +Captain Holt had selected his crew—picked surfmen, every one of +them—and the chief of the bureau had endorsed the list without comment +or inquiry. The captain's own appointment as keeper of the new +Life-Saving Station was due as much to his knowledge of men as to his +skill as a seaman, and so when his list was sent in—men he said he +could "vouch for"—it took but a moment for the chief to write +"Approved" across its face. +</P> + +<P> +Isaac Polhemus came first: Sixty years of age, silent, gray, thick-set; +face scarred and seamed by many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; two +china-blue eyes—peep-holes through which you looked into his open +heart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood hands a bunch of knots; +legs like snubbing-posts, body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking; +alert as a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a stove when +his time was his own. Sixty only in years, this man; forty in strength +and in skill, twenty in suppleness, and a one-year-old toddling infant +in all that made for guile. "Uncle Ike" some of the younger men once +called him, wondering behind their hands whether he was not too old and +believing all the time that he was. "Uncle Ike" they still called him, +but it was a title of affection and pride; affection for the man +underneath the blue woollen shirt, and pride because they were deemed +worthy to pull an oar beside him. +</P> + +<P> +The change took place the winter before when he was serving at +Manasquan and when he pulled four men single-handed from out of a surf +that would have staggered the bravest. There was no life-boat within +reach and no hand to help. It was at night—a snowstorm raging and the +sea a corral of hungry beasts fighting the length of the beach. The +shipwrecked crew had left their schooner pounding on the outer bar, and +finding their cries drowned by the roar of the waters, had taken to +their boat. She came bow on, the sea-drenched sailors clinging to her +sides. Uncle Isaac Polhemus caught sight of her just as a savage +pursuing roller dived under her stern, lifted the frail shell on its +broad back, and whirled it bottom side up and stern foremost on to the +beach. Dashing into the suds, he jerked two of the crew to their feet +before they knew what had struck them; then sprang back for the others +clinging to the seats and slowly drowning in the smother. Twice he +plunged headlong after them, bracing himself against the backsuck, then +with the help of his steel-like grip all four were dragged clear of the +souse. Ever after it was "Uncle Isaac" or "that old hang-on," but +always with a lifting of the chin in pride. +</P> + +<P> +Samuel Green came next: Forty-five, long, Lincoln-bodied, and bony; +coal-black hair, coal-black eyes, and charcoal-black mustache; neck +like a loop in standing rigging; arms long as cant-hooks, with the +steel grips for fingers; sluggish in movement and slow in action until +the supreme moment of danger tautened his nerves to breaking point; +then came an instantaneous spring, quick as the recoil of a parted +hawser. All his life a fisherman except the five years he spent in the +Arctic and the year he served at Squan; later he had helped in the +volunteer crew alongshore. Loving the service, he had sent word over to +Captain Holt that he'd like "to be put on," to which the captain had +sent back word by the same messenger "Tell him he IS put on." And he +WAS, as soon as the papers were returned from Washington. Captain Nat +had no record to look up or inquiries to make as to the character or +fitness of Sam Green. He was the man who the winter before had slipped +a rope about his body, plunged into the surf and swam out to the brig +Gorgus and brought back three out of the five men lashed to the +rigging, all too benumbed to make fast the shot-line fired across her +deck. +</P> + +<P> +Charles Morgan's name followed in regular order, and then Parks—men +who had sailed with Captain Holt, and whose word and pluck he could +depend upon; and Mulligan from Barnegat, who could pull a boat with the +best of them; and last, and least in years, those two slim, tightly +knit, lithe young tiger-cats, Tod and Archie. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Nat had overhauled each man and had inspected him as closely as +he would have done the timber for a new mast or the manila to make its +rigging. Here was a service that required cool heads, honest hearts, +and the highest technical skill, and the men under him must be sound to +the core. He intended to do his duty, and so should every man subject +to his orders. The Government had trusted him and he held himself +responsible. This would probably be his last duty, and it would be well +done. He was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been idle for +years. Now he would show his neighbors something of his skill and his +power to command. He did not need the pay; he needed the occupation and +the being in touch with the things about him. For the last fifteen or +more years he had nursed a sorrow and lived the life almost of a +recluse. It was time he threw it off. +</P> + +<P> +During the first week of service, with his crew about him, he explained +to them in minute detail their several duties. Each day in the week +would have its special work: Monday would be beach drill, practising +with the firing gun and line and the safety car. Tuesday was boat +drill; running the boat on its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloading +it, and pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars poised, +the others springing in and taking their seats beside their mates. On +Wednesdays flag drills; practising with the international code of +signals, so as to communicate with stranded vessels. Thursdays, beach +apparatus again. Friday, resuscitation of drowning men. Saturday, +scrub-day; every man except himself and the cook (each man was cook in +turn for a week) on his knees with bucket and brush, and every floor, +chair, table, and window scoured clean. Sunday, a day of rest, except +for the beach patrol, which at night never ceased, and which by day +only ceased when the sky was clear of snow and fog. +</P> + +<P> +This night patrol would be divided into watches of four hours each at +eight, twelve, and four. Two of the crew were to make the tramp of the +beach, separating opposite the Station, one going south two and a half +miles to meet the surfman from the next Station, and the other going +north to the inlet; exchanging their brass checks each with the other, +as a record of their faithfulness. +</P> + +<P> +In addition to these brass checks each patrol would carry three Coston +signal cartridges in a water-proof box, and a holder into which they +were fitted, the handle having an igniter working on a spring to +explode the cartridge, which burned a red light. These +will-o'-the-wisps, flashed suddenly from out a desolate coast, have +sent a thrill of hope through the heart of many a man clinging to +frozen rigging or lashed to some piece of wreckage that the hungry +surf, lying in wait, would pounce upon and chew to shreds. +</P> + +<P> +The men listened gravely to the captain's words and took up their +duties. Most of them knew them before, and no minute explanations were +necessary. Skilled men understand the value of discipline and prefer it +to any milder form of government. Archie was the only member who raised +his eyes in astonishment when the captain, looking his way, mentioned +the scrubbing and washing, each man to take his turn, but he made no +reply except to nudge Tod and say under his breath: +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't you like to see Aunt Lucy's face when she comes some Saturday +morning? She'll be pleased, won't she?" As to the cooking, that did not +bother him; he and Tod had cooked many a meal on Fogarty's stove, and +mother Fogarty had always said Archie could beat her any day making +biscuit and doughnuts and frying ham. +</P> + +<P> +Before the second week was out the Station had fallen into its regular +routine. The casual visitor during the sunny hours of the soft +September days when practice drill was over might see only a lonely +house built on the sand; and upon entering, a few men leaning back in +their chairs against the wall of the living-room reading the papers or +smoking their pipes, and perhaps a few others leisurely overhauling the +apparatus, making minor repairs, or polishing up some detail the +weather had dulled. At night, too, with the radiance of the moon making +a pathway of silver across the gentle swell of the sleepy surf, he +would doubtless wonder at their continued idle life as he watched the +two surfmen separate and begin their walk up and down the beach radiant +in the moonlight. But he would change his mind should he chance upon a +north-easterly gale, the sea a froth in which no boat could live, the +slant of a sou'wester the only protection against the cruel lash of the +wind. If this glimpse was not convincing, let him stand in the door of +their house in the stillness of a winter's night, and catch the shout +and rush of the crew tumbling from their bunks at the cry of "Wreck +ashore!" from the lips of some breathless patrol who had stumbled over +sand-dunes or plunged through snowdrifts up to his waist to give +warning. It will take less than a minute to swing wide the doors, +grapple the life-boat and apparatus and whirl them over the dunes to +the beach; and but a moment more to send a solid shot flying through +the air on its mission of mercy. And there is no time lost. Ten men +have been landed in forty-five minutes through or over a surf that +could be heard for miles; rescuers and rescued half dead. But no man +let go his grip nor did any heart quail. Their duty was in front of +them; that was what the Government paid for, and that was what they +would earn—every penny of it. +</P> + +<P> +The Station house in order, the captain was ready for visitors—those +he wanted. Those he did not want—the riffraff of the ship-yard and the +loungers about the taverns—he told politely to stay away; and as the +land was Government property and his will supreme, he was obeyed. +</P> + +<P> +Little Ellen had been the first guest, and by special invitation. +</P> + +<P> +"All ready, Miss Jane, for you and the doctor and the Pond Lily; bring +her down any time. That's what kind o' makes it lonely lyin' shut up +with the men. We ain't got no flowers bloomin' 'round, and the sand +gits purty white and blank-lookin' sometimes. Bring her down, you and +the doctor; she's better'n a pot full o' daisies." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, Jane, beside +him, holding the child in her lap. And Archie helped them out, lifting +his good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all—the +crew standing about looking on. Some of them knew Jane and came in for +a hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor. There was hardly a +man among them whose cabin he had not visited—not once, but dozens of +times. +</P> + +<P> +With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child, +among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefing +jackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mist +and who might be off on the next breeze. +</P> + +<P> +Archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to show +her the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and the +peg in the hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins—every +surfman had his peg, order being imperative with Captain Nat—when that +old sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow's arms and placed +her feet on the sand. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Cobden,"—that was another peculiarity of the captain's,—every +man went by his last name, and he had begun with Archie to show the men +he meant it. "No, that little posy is mine for to-day. Come along, you +rosebud; I'm goin' to show you the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gun +on wheels; and I've got a lot o' shells the men has been pickin' up for +ye. Oh, but you're goin' to have a beautiful time, lassie!" +</P> + +<P> +The child looked up in the captain's face, and her wee hand tightened +around his rough stubs of fingers. Archie then turned to Jane and with +Tod's help the three made a tour of the house, the doctor following, +inspecting the captain's own room with its desk and papers, the kitchen +with all its appointments, the outhouse for wood and coal, the +staircase leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top the +small ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where the lookout kept +watch on clear days for incoming steamers. On their return Mulligan +spread a white oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china plate +filled with some cake that he had baked the night before, and which +Green supplemented by a pitcher of water from the cistern. +</P> + +<P> +Each one did something to please her. Archie handed her the biggest +piece of cake on the dish, and Uncle Isaac left the room in a hurry and +stumbling upstairs went through his locker and hauled out the head of a +wooden doll which he had picked up on the beach in one of his day +patrols and which he had been keeping for one of his +grand-children—all blighted with the sun and scarred with salt water, +but still showing a full set of features, much to Ellen's delight; and +Sam Green told her of his own little girl, just her age, who lived up +in the village and whom he saw every two weeks, and whose hair was just +the color of hers. Meanwhile the doctor chatted with the men, and Jane, +with her arm locked in Archie's, so proud and so tender over him, +inspected each appointment and comfort of the house with +ever-increasing wonder. +</P> + +<P> +And so, with the visit over, the gig was loaded up, and with Ellen +waving her hand to the men and kissing her finger-tips in true French +style to the captain and Archie, and the crew responding in a hearty +cheer, the party drove, past the old House of Refuge, and so on back to +Warehold and Yardley. +</P> + +<P> +One August afternoon, some days after this visit, Tod stood in the door +of the Station looking out to sea. The glass had been falling all day +and a dog-day haze had settled down over the horizon. This, as the +afternoon advanced, had become so thick that the captain had ordered +out the patrols, and Archie and Green were already tramping the +beach—Green to the inlet and Archie to meet the surfmen of the station +below. Park, who was cook this week, had gone to the village for +supplies, and so the captain and Tod were alone in the house, the +others, with the exception of Morgan, who was at his home in the +village with a sprained ankle, being at work some distance away on a +crosshead over which the life-line was always fired in gun practice. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Tod, who was leaning against the jamb of the door speculating +over what kind of weather the night would bring, and wondering whether +the worst of it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck out of his +woollen shirt and strained his eyes in the direction of the beach until +they rested upon the figure of a man slowly making his way over the +dunes. As he passed the old House of Refuge, some hundreds of yards +below, he stopped for a moment as if undecided on his course, looked +ahead again at the larger house of the Station, and then, as if +reassured, came stumbling on, his gait showing his want of experience +in avoiding the holes and tufts of grass cresting the dunes. His +movements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood +that Tod stepped out on the low porch of the Station to get a better +view of him. +</P> + +<P> +From the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as if +feeling his way, Tod concluded that he was a stranger and had tramped +the beach for the first time. At the sight of the surfman the man left +the dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch. +</P> + +<P> +"Kind o' foggy, ain't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure, +particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign air +about them. He saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not +over thirty years of age. +</P> + +<P> +"You work here?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and coming +closer, his eyes taking in Tod, the porch, and the view of the +sitting-room through the open window. +</P> + +<P> +"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat. +</P> + +<P> +"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and enough to do." He had +resumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectly +impassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind. Strangers who +asked questions were never very welcome. Then, again, the inquiry about +his private life nettled him. +</P> + +<P> +The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat, +settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from his +head, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. +Then he said slowly, as if to himself: +</P> + +<P> +"I took the wrong road and got consid'able het up." +</P> + +<P> +Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cotton +handkerchief, but made no reply. Curiosity is not the leading +characteristic of men who follow the sea. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the head man around? His name's Holt, ain't it?" continued the +stranger, replacing his cap and stuffing his handkerchief into the +side-pocket of his coat. +</P> + +<P> +As the words fell from his lips Tod's quick eye caught a sudden gleam +like that of a search-light flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows of +the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"That's his name," answered Tod. "Want to see him? He's inside." The +surfman had not yet changed his position nor moved a muscle of his +body. Tiger cats are often like this. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt's burly form stepped from the door. He had overheard the +conversation, and not recognizing the voice had come to find out what +the man wanted. +</P> + +<P> +"You lookin' for me? I'm Captain Holt. What kin I do for ye?" asked the +captain in his quick, imperious way. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what he said, sir," rejoined Tod, bringing himself to an erect +position in deference to his chief. +</P> + +<P> +The stranger rose from his seat and took his cap from his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and I thought you might take me +on." +</P> + +<P> +Tod was now convinced that the stranger was a foreigner. No man of +Tod's class ever took his hat off to his superior officer. They had +other ways of showing their respect for his authority—instant +obedience, before and behind his back, for instance. +</P> + +<P> +The captain's eyes absorbed the man from his thick shoes to his +perspiring hair. +</P> + +<P> +"Norwegian, ain't ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; Swede." +</P> + +<P> +"Not much difference. When did ye leave Sweden? You talk purty good." +</P> + +<P> +"When I was a boy." +</P> + +<P> +"What kin ye do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a good derrick man and been four years with a coaler." +</P> + +<P> +"You want steady work, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I ain't got it. Gov'ment app'ints our men. This is a Life-Saving +Station." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger stood twisting his cap. The first statement seemed to make +but little impression on him; the second aroused a keener interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. Just new built, ain't it? and you just put in charge? +Captain Nathaniel Holt's your name—am I right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you're just right." And the captain, dismissing the man and the +incident from his mind, turned on his heel, walked the length of the +narrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the blurred horizon line. +The twilight was now deepening and a red glow shimmered through the +settling fog. +</P> + +<P> +"Fogarty!" cried the captain, beckoning over his shoulder with his head. +</P> + +<P> +Tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick in reply as if two +steel springs were fastened to his heels. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks rather soapy, Fogarty. May come on thick. Better take a turn to +the inlet and see if that yawl is in order. We might have to cross it +to-night. We can't count on this weather. When you meet Green send him +back here. That shot-line wants overhaulin'." Here the captain +hesitated and looked intently at the stranger. "And here, you Swede," +he called in a louder tone of command, "you go 'long and lend a hand, +and when you come back I'll have some supper for ye." +</P> + +<P> +One of Tod's springs must have slid under the Swede's shoes. Either the +prospect of a meal or of having a companion to whom he could lend a +hand—nothing so desolate as a man out of work—a stranger at that—had +put new life into his hitherto lethargic body. +</P> + +<P> +"This way," said Tod, striding out toward the surf. +</P> + +<P> +The Swede hurried to his side and the two crossed the boat runway, +ploughed through the soft drift of the dune, and striking the hard, wet +sand of the beach, headed for the inlet. Tod having his high, +waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the incoming surf, the +half-circles of suds swashing past his feet and spreading themselves up +the slope. The sand was wet here and harder on that account, and the +walking better. The Swede took the inside course nearer the shore. Soon +Tod began to realize that the interest the captain had shown in the +unknown man and the brief order admitting him for a time to membership +in the crew placed the stranger on a different footing. He was, so to +speak, a comrade and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy. +This clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more freedom; not that he +had any additional interest in the man—he only meant to be polite. +</P> + +<P> +"What you been workin' at?" he asked, kicking an empty tin can that the +tide had rolled within his reach. Work is the universal topic; the +weather is too serious a subject to chatter about lightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Last year or two?" asked the Swede, quickening his pace to keep up. +Tod's steel springs always kept their original temper while the +captain's orders were being executed and never lost their buoyancy +until these orders were entirely carried out. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Tod. +</P> + +<P> +"Been a-minin'; runnin' the ore derricks and the shaft h'isters. What +you been doin'?" And the man glanced at Tod from under his cap. +</P> + +<P> +"Fishin'. See them poles out there? You kin just git sight o' them in +the smoke. Them's my father's. He's out there now, I guess, if he ain't +come in." +</P> + +<P> +"You live 'round here?" The man's legs were shorter than Tod's, and he +was taking two steps to Tod's one. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you passed the House o' Refuge, didn't ye, comin' up? I was +watchin' ye. Well, you saw that cabin with the fence 'round it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the woman told me where I'd find the cap'n. You know her, I +s'pose?" asked the Swede. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. I was born there." Tod's +words were addressed to the perspective of the beach and to the way the +haze blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything else when walking +on the beach, whether on or off duty. +</P> + +<P> +"You know everybody 'round here, don't you?" remarked the Swede in a +casual tone. The same quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man's +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, guess so," answered Tod with another kick. Here the remains of an +old straw hat shared the fate of the can. +</P> + +<P> +"You ever heard tell of a woman named Lucy Cobden, lives 'round here +somewheres?" +</P> + +<P> +Tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run into a derelict. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know no WOMAN," he answered slowly, accentuating the last +word. "I know a LADY named Miss Jane Cobden. Why?" and he scrutinized +the man's face. +</P> + +<P> +"One I mean's got a child—big now—must be fifteen or twenty years +old—girl, ain't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's a boy. He's one of the crew here; his name's Archie Cobden. +Me and him's been brothers since we was babies. What do you know about +him?" Tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'; that's why I ask." The man had also become interested in the +flotsam of the beach, and had stopped to pick up a dam-shell which he +shied into the surf. Then he added slowly, and as if not to make a +point of the inquiry, "Is she alive?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Here this week. Lives up in Warehold in that big house with the +brick gate-posts." +</P> + +<P> +The man walked on for some time in silence and then asked: +</P> + +<P> +"You're sure the child is livin' and that the mother's name is Jane?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure? Don't I tell ye Cobden's in the crew and Miss Jane was here this +week! He's up the beach on patrol or you'd 'a' seen him when you fust +struck the Station." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger quickened his steps. The information seemed to have put +new life into him again. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever hear of a man named Bart Holt," he asked, "who used to be +'round here?" Neither man was looking at the other as they talked. The +conversation was merely to pass the time of day. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; he's the captain's son. Been dead for years. Died some'er's out +in Brazil, so I've heard my father say. Had fever or something." +</P> + +<P> +The Swede walked on in silence for some minutes. Then he stopped, faced +Tod, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said slowly, as he peered +into his eyes: +</P> + +<P> +"He ain't dead, no more'n you and I be. I worked for him for two years. +He run the mines on a percentage. I got here last week, and he sent me +down to find out how the land lay. If the woman was dead I was to say +nothing and come back. If she was alive I was to tell the captain, his +father, where a letter could reach him. They had some bad blood 'twixt +'em, but he didn't tell me what it was about. He may come home here to +live, or he may go back to the mines; it's just how the old man takes +it. That's what I've got to say to him. How do you think he'll take it?" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Tod made no reply. He was trying to make up his mind what +part of the story was true and what part was skilfully put together to +provide, perhaps, additional suppers. The improbability of the whole +affair struck him with unusual force. Raising hopes of a long-lost son +in the breast of a father was an old dodge and often meant the raising +of money. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can't say," Tod answered carelessly; he had his own opinion +now of the stranger. "You'll have to see the captain about that. If the +man's alive it's rather funny he ain't showed up all these years." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, keep mum 'bout it, will ye, till I talk to him? Here comes one +o' your men." +</P> + +<P> +Green's figure now loomed up out of the mist. +</P> + +<P> +"Where away, Tod?" the approaching surfman cried when he joined the two. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain wants me to look after the yawl," answered Tod. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right," cried Green; "I just left it. Went down a-purpose. +Who's yer friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"A man the cap'n sent along to lend a hand. This is Sam Green," and he +turned to the Swede and nodded to his brother surfman. +</P> + +<P> +The two shook hands. The stranger had not volunteered his name and Tod +had not asked for it. Names go for little among men who obey orders; +they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, but they do +not add to the value of the owner or help his standing in any way. +"Shorty" or "Fatty" or "Big Mike" is all sufficient. What the man can +DO and how he does it, is more important. +</P> + +<P> +"No use goin' to the inlet," continued Green. "I'll report to the +captain. Come along back. I tell ye it's gettin' thick," and he looked +out across the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dim +twilight. +</P> + +<P> +The three turned and retraced their steps. +</P> + +<P> +Tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house ahead of the others. +Not only did he intend to tell the captain of what he had heard, but he +intended to tell him at once. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt was in his private room, sitting at his desk, busy over +his monthly report. A swinging kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling +threw a light full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of gray +whiskers. Tod stepped in and closed the door behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't go to the inlet, sir. Green had thought of the yawl and had +looked after it; he'll report to you about it. I just heard a strange +yarn from that fellow you sent with me and I want to tell ye what it +is." +</P> + +<P> +The captain laid down his pen, pushed his glasses from his eyes, and +looked squarely into Tod's face. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been askin' 'bout Miss Jane Cobden and Archie, and says your son +Bart is alive and sent him down here to find out how the land lay. It's +a cock-and-bull story, but I give it to you just as I got it." +</P> + +<P> +Once in the South Seas the captain awoke to look into the muzzle of a +double-barrelled shot-gun held in the hand of the leader of a mutiny. +The next instant the man was on the floor, the captain's fingers +twisted in his throat. +</P> + +<P> +Tod's eyes were now the barrels of that gun. No cat-like spring +followed; only a cold, stony stare, as if he were awaking from a +concussion that had knocked the breath out of him. +</P> + +<P> +"He says Bart's ALIVE!" he gasped. "Who? That feller I sent with ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +The captain's face grew livid and then flamed up, every vein standing +clear, his eyes blazing. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a liar! A dirty liar! Bring him in!" Each word hissed from his +lips like an explosive. +</P> + +<P> +Tod opened the door of the sitting-room and the Swede stepped in. The +captain whirled his chair suddenly and faced him. Anger, doubt, and the +flicker of a faint hope were crossing his face with the movement of +heat lightning. +</P> + +<P> +"You know my son, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do." The answer was direct and the tone positive. +</P> + +<P> +"What's his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Barton Holt. He signs it different, but that's his name." +</P> + +<P> +"How old is he?" The pitch of the captain's voice had altered. He +intended to riddle the man's statement with a cross-fire of examination. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bout forty, maybe forty-five. He never told +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of eyes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Brown, like yours." +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of hair?" +</P> + +<P> +"Curly. It's gray now; he had fever, and it turned." +</P> + +<P> +"Where—when?" Hope and fear were now struggling for the mastery. +</P> + +<P> +"Two years ago—when I first knew him; we were in hospital together." +</P> + +<P> +"What's he been doin'?" The tone was softer. Hope seemed to be stronger +now. +</P> + +<P> +"Mining out in Brazil." +</P> + +<P> +The captain took his eyes from the face of the man and asked in +something of his natural tone of voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he now?" +</P> + +<P> +The Swede put his hand in his inside pocket and took out a small +time-book tied around with a piece of faded tape. This he slowly +unwound, Tod's and the captain's eyes following every turn of his +fingers. Opening the book, he glanced over the leaves, found the one he +was looking for, tore it carefully from the book, and handed it to the +captain. +</P> + +<P> +"That's his writing. If you want to see him send him a line to that +address. It'll reach him all right. If you don't want to see him he'll +go back with me to Rio. I don't want yer supper and I don't want yer +job. I done what I promised and that's all there is to it. Good-night," +and he opened the door and disappeared in the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt sat with his head on his chest looking at the floor in +front of him. The light of the banging lamp made dark shadows under his +eyebrows and under his chin whiskers. There was a firm set to his +clean-shaven lips, but the eyes burned with a gentle light; a certain +hope, positive now, seemed to be looming up in them. +</P> + +<P> +Tod watched him for an instant, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"What do ye think of it, cap'n?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't made up my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he lyin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Seems too good to be true. He's got some things right; +some things he ain't. Keep your mouth shut till I tell ye to open +it—to Cobden, mind ye, and everybody else. Better help Green overhaul +that line. That'll do, Fogarty." +</P> + +<P> +Tod dipped his head—his sign of courteous assent—and backed out of +the room. The captain continued motionless, his eyes fixed on space. +Once he turned, picked up the paper, scrutinized the handwriting word +for word, and tossed it back on the desk. Then he rose from his seat +and began pacing the floor, stopping to gaze at a chart on the wall, at +the top of the stove, at the pendulum of the clock, surveying them +leisurely. Once he looked out of the window at the flare of light from +his swinging lamp, stencilled on the white sand and the gray line of +the dunes beyond. At each of these resting-places his face assumed a +different expression; hope, fear, and anger again swept across it as +his judgment struggled with his heart. In one of his turns up and down +the small room he laid his hand on a brick lying on the +window-sill—one that had been sent by the builders of the Station as a +sample. This he turned over carefully, examining the edges and color as +if he had seen it for the first time and had to pass judgment upon its +defects or merits. Laying it back in its place, he threw himself into +his chair again, exclaiming aloud, as if talking to someone: +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't true. He'd wrote before if he were alive. He was wild and +keerless, but he never was dirt-mean, and he wouldn't a-treated me so +all these years. The Swede's a liar, I tell ye!" +</P> + +<P> +Wheeling the chair around to face the desk, he picked up a pen, dipped +it into the ink, laid it back on the desk, picked it up again, opened a +drawer on his right, took from it a sheet of official paper, and wrote +a letter of five lines. This he enclosed in the envelope, directed to +the name on the slip of paper. Then he opened the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Fogarty." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, cap'n." +</P> + +<P> +"Take this to the village and drop it in the post yourself. The +weather's clearin', and you won't be wanted for a while," and he strode +out and joined his men. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN +</H3> + +<P> +September weather on Barnegat beach! Fine gowns and fine hats on the +wide piazzas of Beach Haven! Too cool for bathing, but not too cool to +sit on the sand and throw pebbles and loll under kindly umbrellas; air +fresh and bracing, with a touch of June in it; skies full of +mares'-tails—slips of a painter's brush dragged flat across the film +of blue; sea gone to rest; not a ripple, no long break of the surf, +only a gentle lift and fall like the breathing of a sleeping child. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Isaac shook his head when he swept his eye round at all this +loveliness; then he turned on his heel and took a look at the aneroid +fastened to the wall of the sitting-room of the Life-Saving Station. +The arrow showed a steady shrinkage. The barometer had fallen six +points. +</P> + +<P> +"What do ye think, Captain Holt?" asked the old surfman. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't thinkin', Polhemus; can't tell nothin' 'bout the weather this +month till the moon changes; may go on this way for a week or two, or +it may let loose and come out to the sou'-east I've seen these dog-days +last till October." +</P> + +<P> +Again Uncle Isaac shook his head, and this time kept his peace; now +that his superior officer had spoken he had no further opinion to +express. +</P> + +<P> +Sam Green dropped his feet to the floor, swung himself over to the +barometer, gazed at it for a moment, passed out of the door, swept his +eye around, and resumed his seat—tilted back against the wall. What +his opinion might be was not for publication—not in the captain's +hearing. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt now consulted the glass, picked up his cap bearing the +insignia of his rank, and went out through the kitchen to the land side +of the house. The sky and sea—feathery clouds and still, oily +flatness—did not interest him this September morning. It was the +rolling dune that caught his eye, and the straggly path that threaded +its way along the marshes and around and beyond the clump of scrub +pines and bushes until it was lost in the haze that hid the village. +This land inspection had been going on for a month, and always when Tod +was returning from the post-office with the morning mail. The men had +noticed it, but no one had given vent to his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +Tod, of course, knew the cause of the captain's impatience, but no one +of the others did, not even Archie; time enough for that when the +Swede's story was proved true. If the fellow had lied that was an end +to it; if he had told the truth Bart would answer, and the mystery be +cleared up. This same silence had been maintained toward Jane and the +doctor; better not raise hopes he could not verify—certainly not in +Jane's breast. +</P> + +<P> +Not that he had much hope himself; he dared not hope. Hope meant a prop +to his old age; hope meant joy to Jane, who would welcome the prodigal; +hope meant relief to the doctor, who could then claim his own; hope +meant redemption for Lucy, a clean name for Archie, and honor to +himself and his only son. +</P> + +<P> +No wonder, then, that he watched for an answer to his letter with +feverish impatience. His own missive had been blunt and to the point, +asking the direct question: "Are you alive or dead, and if alive, why +did you fool me with that lie about your dying of fever in a hospital +and keep me waiting all these years?" Anything more would have been +superfluous in the captain's judgment—certainly until he received some +more definite information as to whether the man was his son. +</P> + +<P> +Half a dozen times this lovely September morning the captain had +strolled leisurely out of the back door and had mounted the low hillock +for a better view. Suddenly a light flashed in his face, followed by a +look in his eyes that they had not known for weeks—not since the Swede +left. The light came when his glance fell upon Tod's lithe figure +swinging along the road; the look kindled when he saw Tod stop and wave +his hand triumphantly over his head. +</P> + +<P> +The letter had arrived! +</P> + +<P> +With a movement as quick as that of a horse touched by a whip, he +started across the sand to meet the surfman. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess we got it all right this time, captain," cried Tod. "It's got +the Nassau postmark, anyhow. There warn't nothin' else in the box but +the newspapers," and he handed the package to his chief. +</P> + +<P> +The two walked to the house and entered the captain's office. Tod hung +back, but the captain laid his hand on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in with me, Fogarty. Shut the door. I'll send these papers in to +the men soon's I open this." +</P> + +<P> +Tod obeyed mechanically. There was a tone in the captain's voice that +was new to him. It sounded as if he were reluctant to be left alone +with the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Now hand me them spectacles." +</P> + +<P> +Tod reached over and laid the glasses in his chief's hand. The captain +settled himself deliberately in his revolving chair, adjusted his +spectacles, and slit the envelope with his thumb-nail. Out came a sheet +of foolscap closely written on both sides. This he read to the end, +turning the page as carefully as if it had been a set of official +instructions, his face growing paler and paler, his mouth tight shut. +Tod stood beside him watching the lights and shadows playing across his +face. The letter was as follows: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Nassau, No. 4 Calle Valenzuela, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Aug. 29, 18—. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Father: Your letter was not what I expected, although it is, perhaps, +all I deserve. I am not going into that part of it, now I know that +Lucy and my child are alive. What has been done in the past I can't +undo, and maybe I wouldn't if I could, for if I am worth anything +to-day it comes from what I have suffered; that's over now, and I won't +rake it up, but I think you would have written me some word of kindness +if you had known what I have gone through since I left you. I don't +blame you for what you did—I don't blame anybody; all I want now is to +get back home among the people who knew me when I was a boy, and try +and make up for the misery I have caused you and the Cobdens. I would +have done this before, but it has only been for the last two years that +I have had any money. I have got an interest in the mine now and am +considerably ahead, and I can do what I have always determined to do if +I ever had the chance and means—come home to Lucy and the child; it +must be big now—and take them back with me to Bolivia, where I have a +good home and where, in a few years, I shall be able to give them +everything they need. That's due to her and to the child, and it's due +to you; and if she'll come I'll do my best to make her happy while she +lives. I heard about five years ago from a man who worked for a short +time in Farguson's ship-yard how she was suffering, and what names the +people called the child, and my one thought ever since has been to do +the decent thing by both. I couldn't then, for I was living in a hut +back in the mountains a thousand miles from the coast, or tramping from +place to place; so I kept still. He told me, too, how you felt toward +me, and I didn't want to come and have bad blood between us, and so I +stayed on. When Olssen Strom, my foreman, sailed for Perth Amboy, where +they are making some machinery for the company, I thought I'd try +again, so I sent him to find out. One thing in your letter is wrong. I +never went to the hospital with yellow fever; some of the men had it +aboard ship, and I took one of them to the ward the night I ran away. +The doctor at the hospital wanted my name, and I gave it, and this may +have been how they thought it was me, but I did not intend to deceive +you or anybody else, nor cover up any tracks. Yes, father, I'm coming +home. If you'll hold out your hand to me I'll take it gladly. I've had +a hard time since I left you; you'd forgive me if you knew how hard it +has been. I haven't had anybody out here to care whether I lived or +died, and I would like to see how it feels. But if you don't I can't +help it. My hope is that Lucy and the boy will feel differently. There +is a steamer sailing from here next Wednesday; she goes direct to +Amboy, and you may expect me on her. Your son, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Barton." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"It's him, Tod," cried the captain, shaking the letter over his head; +"it's him!" The tears stood in his eyes now, his voice trembled; his +iron nerve was giving way. "Alive, and comin' home! Be here next week! +Keep the door shut, boy, till I pull myself together. Oh, my God, Tod, +think of it! I haven't had a day's peace since I druv him out nigh on +to twenty year ago. He hurt me here"—and he pointed to his +breast—"where I couldn't forgive him. But it's all over now. He's come +to himself like a man, and he's square and honest, and he's goin' to +stay home till everything is straightened out. O God! it can't be true! +it CAN'T be true!" +</P> + +<P> +He was sobbing now, his face hidden by his wrist and the cuff of his +coat, the big tears striking his pea-jacket and bounding off. It had +been many years since these springs had yielded a drop—not when +anybody could see. They must have scalded his rugged cheeks as molten +metal scalds a sand-pit. +</P> + +<P> +Tod stood amazed. The outburst was a revelation. He had known the +captain ever since he could remember, but always as an austere, +exacting man. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad, captain," Tod said simply; "the men'll be glad, too. Shall I +tell 'em?" +</P> + +<P> +The captain raised his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute, son." His heart was very tender, all discipline was +forgotten now; and then he had known Tod from his boyhood. "I'll go +myself and tell 'em," and he drew his hand across his eyes as if to dry +them. "Yes, tell 'em. Come, I'll go 'long with ye and tell 'em myself. +I ain't 'shamed of the way I feel, and the men won't be 'shamed +neither." +</P> + +<P> +The sitting-room was full when he entered. Dinner had been announced by +Morgan, who was cook that week, by shouting the glad tidings from his +place beside the stove, and the men were sitting about in their chairs. +Two fishermen who had come for their papers occupied seats against the +wall. +</P> + +<P> +The captain walked to the corner of the table, stood behind his own +chair and rested the knuckles of one hand on the white oilcloth. The +look on his face attracted every eye. Pausing for a moment, he turned +to Polhemus and spoke to him for the others: +</P> + +<P> +"Isaac, I got a letter just now. Fogarty brought it over. You knew my +boy Bart, didn't ye, the one that's been dead nigh on to twenty years?" +</P> + +<P> +The old surfman nodded, his eyes still fastened on the captain. This +calling him "Isaac" was evidence that something personal and unusual +was coming. The men, too, leaned forward in attention; the story of +Bart's disappearance and death had been discussed up and down the coast +for years. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's alive," rejoined the captain with a triumphant tone in his +voice, "and he'll be here in a week—comin' to Amboy on a steamer. +There ain't no mistake about it; here's his letter." +</P> + +<P> +The announcement was received in dead silence. To be surprised was not +characteristic of these men, especially over a matter of this kind. +Death was a part of their daily experience, and a resurrection neither +extraordinary nor uncommon. They were glad for the captain, if the +captain was glad—and he, evidently was. But what did Bart's turning up +at this late day mean? Had his money given out, or was he figuring to +get something out of his father—something he couldn't get as long as +he remained dead? +</P> + +<P> +The captain continued, his voice stronger and with a more positive ring +in it: +</P> + +<P> +"He's part owner in a mine now, and he's comin' home to see me and to +straighten out some things he's interested in." It was the first time +in nearly twenty years that he had ever been able to speak of his son +with pride. +</P> + +<P> +A ripple of pleasure went through the room. If the prodigal was +bringing some money with him and was not to be a drag on the captain, +that put a new aspect on the situation. In that case the father was to +be congratulated. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's a comfort to you, captain," cried Uncle Isaac in a cheery +tone. "A good son is a good thing. I never had one, dead or alive, but +I'd 'a' loved him if I had had. I'm glad for you, Captain Nat, and I +know the men are." (Polhemus's age and long friendship gave him this +privilege. Then, of course, the occasion was not an official one.) +</P> + +<P> +"Been at the mines, did ye say, captain?" remarked Green. Not that it +was of any interest to him; merely to show his appreciation of the +captain's confidence. This could best be done by prolonging the +conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, up in the mountains of Brazil some'er's, I guess, though he don't +say," answered the captain in a tone that showed that the subject was +still open for discussion. +</P> + +<P> +Mulligan now caught the friendly ball and tossed it back 'with: +</P> + +<P> +"I knowed a feller once who was in Brazil—so he said. Purty hot down +there, ain't it, captain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; on the coast. I ain't never been back in the interior." +</P> + +<P> +Tod kept silent. It was not his time to speak, nor would it be proper +for him, nor necessary. His chief knew his opinion and sympathies and +no word of his could add to their sincerity. +</P> + +<P> +Archie was the only man in the room, except Uncle Isaac, who regarded +the announcement as personal to the captain. Boys without fathers and +fathers without boys had been topics which had occupied his mind ever +since he could remember. That this old man had found one of his own +whom he loved and whom he wanted to get his arms around, was an +inspiring thought to Archie. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no one happier than I am, captain," he burst out +enthusiastically. "I've often heard of your son, and of his going away +and of your giving him up for dead. I'm mighty glad for you," and he +grasped his chief's hand and shook it heartily. +</P> + +<P> +As the lad's fingers closed around the rough hand of the captain a +furtive look flashed from out Morgan's eyes. It was directed to +Parks—they were both Barnegat men—and was answered by that surfman +with a slow-falling wink. Tod saw it, and his face flushed. Certain +stories connected with Archie rose in his mind; some out of his +childhood, others since he had joined the crew. +</P> + +<P> +The captain's eyes filled as he shook the boy's hand, but he made no +reply to Archie's outburst. Pausing for a moment, as if willing to +listen to any further comments, and finding that no one else had any +word for him, he turned on his heel and reentered his office. +</P> + +<P> +Once inside, he strode to the window and looked out on the dunes, his +big hands hooked behind his back, his eyes fixed on vacancy. +</P> + +<P> +"It won't be long, now, Archie, not long, my lad," he said in a low +voice, speaking aloud to himself. "I kin say you're my grandson out +loud when Bart comes, and nothin' kin or will stop me! And now I kin +tell Miss Jane." +</P> + +<P> +Thrusting the letter into his inside pocket, he picked up his cap, and +strode across the dune in the direction of the new hospital. +</P> + +<P> +Jane was in one of the wards when the captain sent word to her to come +to the visiting-room. She had been helping the doctor in an important +operation. The building was but half way between the Station and +Warehold, which made it easier for the captain to keep his eye on the +sea should there be any change in the weather. +</P> + +<P> +Jane listened to the captain's outburst covering the announcement that +Bart was alive without a comment. Her face paled and her breathing came +short, but she showed no signs of either joy or sorrow. She had faced +too many surprises in her life to be startled at anything. Then again, +Bart alive or dead could make no difference now in either her own or +Lucy's future. +</P> + +<P> +The captain continued, his face brightening, his voice full of hope: +</P> + +<P> +"And your troubles are all over now, Miss Jane; your name will be +cleared up, and so will Archie's, and the doctor'll git his own, and +Lucy kin look everybody in the face. See what Bart says," and he handed +her the open letter. +</P> + +<P> +Jane read it word by word to the end and handed it back to the captain. +Once in the reading she had tightened her grasp on her chair as if to +steady herself, but she did not flinch; she even read some sentences +twice, so that she might be sure of their meaning. +</P> + +<P> +In his eagerness the captain had not caught the expression of agony +that crossed her face as her mind, grasping the purport of the letter, +began to measure the misery that would follow if Bart's plan was +carried out. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew how ye'd feel," he went on, "and I've been huggin' myself ever +since it come when I thought how happy ye'd be when I told ye; but I +ain't so sure 'bout Lucy. What do you think? Will she do what Bart +wants?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Jane in a quiet, restrained voice; "she will not do it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" said the captain in a surprised tone. He was not accustomed to +be thwarted in anything he had fixed his mind upon, and he saw from +Jane's expression that her own was in opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I won't permit it." +</P> + +<P> +The captain leaned forward and looked at Jane in astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't permit it!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I won't permit it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" The word came from the captain as if it had been shot from a gun. +</P> + +<P> +"Because it would not be right." Her eyes were still fixed on the +captain's. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, ain't it right that he should make some amends for what he's +done?" he retorted with increasing anger. "When he said he wouldn't +marry her I druv him out; now he says he's sorry and wants to do +squarely by her and my hand's out to him. She ain't got nothin' in her +life that's doin' her any good. And that boy's got to be baptized right +and take his father's name, Archie Holt, out loud, so everybody kin +hear." +</P> + +<P> +Jane made no answer except to shake her head. Her eyes were still on +the captain's, but her mind was neither on him nor on what fell from +his lips. She was again confronting that spectre which for years had +lain buried and which the man before her was exorcising back to life. +</P> + +<P> +The captain sprang from his seat and stood before her; the words now +poured from his lips in a torrent. +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll git out from this death blanket you been sleepin' under, +bearin' her sin; breakin' the doctor's heart and your own; and Archie +kin hold his head up then and say he's got a father. You ain't heard +how the boys talk 'bout him behind his back. Tod Fogarty's stuck to +him, but who else is there 'round here? We all make mistakes; that's +what half the folks that's livin' do. Everything's been a lie—nothin' +but lies—for near twenty years. You've lived a lie motherin' this boy +and breakin' your heart over the whitest man that ever stepped in shoe +leather. Doctor John's lived a lie, tellin' folks he wanted to devote +himself to his hospital when he'd rather live in the sound o' your +voice and die a pauper than run a college anywhere else. Lucy has lived +a lie, and is livin' it yet—and LIKES IT, TOO, that's the worst of it. +And I been muzzled all these years; mad one minute and wantin' to twist +his neck, and the next with my eyes runnin' tears that the only boy I +got was lyin' out among strangers. The only one that's honest is the +little Pond Lily. She ain't got nothin' to hide and you see it in her +face. Her father was square and her mother's with her and nothin' can't +touch her and don't. Let's have this out. I'm tired of it—" +</P> + +<P> +The captain was out of breath now, his emotions still controlling him, +his astonishment at the unexpected opposition from the woman of all +others on whose assistance he most relied unabated. +</P> + +<P> +Jane rose from her chair and stood facing him, a great light in her +eyes: +</P> + +<P> +"No! No! NO! A thousand times, no! You don't know Lucy; I do. What you +want done now should have been done when Archie was born. It was my +fault. I couldn't see her suffer. I loved her too much. I thought to +save her, I didn't care how. It would have been better for her if she +had faced her sin then and taken the consequences; better for all of +us. I didn't think so then, and it has taken me years to find it out. I +began to be conscious of it first in her marriage, then when she kept +on living her lie with her husband, and last when she deserted Ellen +and went off to Beach Haven alone—that broke my heart, and my mistake +rose up before me, and I KNEW!" +</P> + +<P> +The captain stared at her in astonishment. He could hardly credit his +ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, better, if she'd faced it. She would have lived here then under +my care, and she might have loved her child as I have done. Now she has +no tie, no care, no responsibility, no thought of anything but the +pleasures of the moment. I have tried to save her, and I have only +helped to ruin her." +</P> + +<P> +"Make her settle down, then, and face the music!" blurted out the +captain, resuming his seat. "Bart warn't all bad; he was only young and +foolish. He'll take care of her. It ain't never too late to begin to +turn honest. Bart wants to begin; make her begin, too. He's got money +now to do it; and she kin live in South America same's she kin here. +She's got no home anywhere. She don't like it here, and never did; you +kin see that from the way she swings 'round from place to place. MAKE +her face it, I tell ye. You been too easy with her all your life; pull +her down now and keep her nose p'inted close to the compass." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not know of what you talk," Jane answered, her eyes blazing. +"She hates the past; hates everything connected with it; hates the very +name of Barton Holt. Never once has she mentioned it since her return. +She never loved Archie; she cared no more for him than a bird that has +dropped its young out of its nest. Besides, your plan is impossible. +Marriage does not condone a sin. The power to rise and rectify the +wrong lies in the woman. Lucy has not got it in her, and she never will +have it. Part of it is her fault; a large part of it is mine. She has +lived this lie all these years, and I have only myself to blame. I have +taught her to live it. I began it when I carried her away from here; I +should have kept her at home and had her face the consequences of her +sin then. I ought to have laid Archie in her arms and kept him there. I +was a coward and could not, and in my fear I destroyed the only thing +that could have saved her—the mother-love. Now she will run her +course. She's her own mistress; no one can compel her to do anything." +</P> + +<P> +The captain raised his clenched hand: +</P> + +<P> +"Bart will, when he comes." +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"By claimin' the boy and shamin' her before the world, if she don't. +She liked him well enough when he was a disgrace to himself and to me, +without a dollar to his name. What ails him now, when he comes back and +owns up like a man and wants to do the square thing, and has got money +enough to see it through? She's nothin' but a THING, if she knew it, +till this disgrace's wiped off'n her. By God, Miss Jane, I tell you +this has got to be put through just as Bart wants it, and quick!" +</P> + +<P> +Jane stepped closer and laid her hand on the captain's arm. The look in +her eyes, the low, incisive, fearless ring in her voice, overawed him. +Her courage astounded him. This side of her character was a revelation. +Under their influence he became silent and humbled—as a boisterous +advocate is humbled by the measured tones of a just judge. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not my friend, Captain Nat, who is talking now. It is the father +who is speaking. Think for a moment. Who has borne the weight of this, +you or I? You had a wayward son whom the people here think you drove +out of your home for gambling on Sunday. No other taint attaches to him +or to you. Dozens of other sons and fathers have done the same. He +returns a reformed man and lives out his life in the home he left. +</P> + +<P> +"I had a wayward sister who forgot her mother, me, her womanhood, and +herself, and yet at whose door no suspicion of fault has been laid. I +stepped in and took the brunt and still do. I did this for my father's +name and for my promise to him and for my love of her. To her child I +have given my life. To him I am his mother and will always be—always, +because I will stand by my fault. That is a redemption in itself, and +that is the only thing that saves me from remorse. You and I, outside +of his father and mother, are the only ones living that know of his +parentage. The world has long since forgotten the little they +suspected. Let it rest; no good could come—only suffering and misery. +To stir it now would only open old wounds and, worst of all, it would +make a new one." +</P> + +<P> +"In you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, worse than that. My heart is already scarred all over; no fresh +wound would hurt." +</P> + +<P> +"In the doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes and no. He has never asked the truth and I have never told him." +</P> + +<P> +"Who, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"In little Ellen. Let us keep that one flower untouched." +</P> + +<P> +The captain rested his head in his hand, and for some minutes made no +answer. Ellen was the apple of his eye. +</P> + +<P> +"But if Bart insists?" +</P> + +<P> +"He won't insist when he sees Lucy. She is no more the woman that he +loved and wronged than I am. He would not know her if he met her +outside this house." +</P> + +<P> +"What shall I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. Let matters take their course. If he is the man you think he +is he will never break the silence." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will suffer on—and the doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +Jane bowed her head and the tears sprang to her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, always; there is nothing else to do." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE UNDERTOW +</H3> + +<P> +Within the month a second letter was handed to the captain by Tod, now +regularly installed as postman. It was in answer to one of Captain +Holt's which he had directed to the expected steamer and which had met +the exile on his arrival. It was dated "Amboy," began "My dear father," +and was signed "Your affectionate son, Barton." +</P> + +<P> +This conveyed the welcome intelligence—welcome to the father—that the +writer would be detained a few days in Amboy inspecting the new +machinery, after which he would take passage for Barnegat by the Polly +Walters, Farguson's weekly packet. Then these lines followed: "It will +be the happiest day of my life when I can come into the inlet at high +tide and see my home in the distance." +</P> + +<P> +Again the captain sought Jane. +</P> + +<P> +She was still at the hospital, nursing some shipwrecked men—three with +internal injuries—who had been brought in from Forked River Station, +the crew having rescued them the week before. Two of the regular +attendants were worn out with the constant nursing, and so Jane +continued her vigils. +</P> + +<P> +She had kept at her work—turning neither to the right nor to the left, +doing her duty with the bravery and patience of a soldier on the +firing-line, knowing that any moment some stray bullet might end her +usefulness. She would not dodge, nor would she cower; the danger was no +greater than others she had faced, and no precaution, she knew, could +save her. Her lips were still sealed, and would be to the end; some +tongue other than her own must betray her sister and her trust. In the +meantime she would wait and bear bravely whatever was sent to her. +</P> + +<P> +Jane was alone when the captain entered, the doctor having left the +room to begin his morning inspection. She was in her gray-cotton +nursing-dress, her head bound about with a white kerchief. The pathos +of her face and the limp, tired movement of her figure would have been +instantly apparent to a man less absorbed in his own affairs than the +captain. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll be here to-morrow or next day!" he cried, as he advanced to +where she sat at her desk in the doctor's office, the same light in his +eyes and the same buoyant tone in his voice, his ruddy face aglow with +his walk from the station. +</P> + +<P> +"You have another letter then?" she said in a resigned tone, as if she +had expected it and was prepared to meet its consequences. In her +suffering she had even forgotten her customary welcome of him—for +whatever his attitude and however gruff he might be, she never forgot +the warm heart beneath. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, from Amboy," panted the captain, out of breath with his quick +walk, dragging a chair beside Jane's desk as he spoke. "He got mine +when the steamer come in. He's goin' to take the packet so he kin bring +his things—got a lot o' them, he says. And he loves the old home, +too—he says so—you kin read it for yourself." As he spoke he +unbuttoned his jacket, and taking Bart's letter from its inside pocket, +laid his finger on the paragraph and held it before her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you talked about it to anybody?" Jane asked calmly; she hardly +glanced at the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Only to the men; but it's all over Barnegat. A thing like that's +nothin' but a cask o' oil overboard and the bung out—runs +everywhere—no use tryin' to stop it." He was in the chair now, his +arms on the edge of the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"But you've said nothing to anybody about Archie and Lucy, and what +Bart intends to do when he comes, have you?" Jane inquired in some +alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word, and won't till ye see him. She's more your sister than she +is his wife, and you got most to say 'bout Archie, and should. You been +everything to him. When you've got through I'll take a hand, but not +before." The captain always spoke the truth, and meant it; his word +settled at once any anxieties she might have had on that score. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you decided to do?" She was not looking at him as she spoke; +she was toying with a penholder that lay before her on the desk, +apparently intent on its construction. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm goin' to meet him at Farguson's ship-yard when the Polly comes +in," rejoined the captain in a positive tone, as if his mind had long +since been made up regarding details, and he was reciting them for her +guidance—"and take him straight to my house, and then come for you. +You kin have it out together. Only one thing, Miss Jane"—here his +voice changed and something of his old quarter-deck manner showed +itself in his face and gestures—"if he's laid his course and wants to +keep hold of the tiller I ain't goin' to block his way and he shall +make his harbor, don't make no difference who or what gits in the +channel. Ain't neither of us earned any extry pay for the way we've run +this thing. You've got Lucy ashore flounderin' 'round in the fog, and I +had no business to send him off without grub or compass. If he wants to +steer now he'll STEER. I don't want you to make no mistake 'bout this, +and you'll excuse me if I put it plain." +</P> + +<P> +Jane put her hand to her head and looked out of the window toward the +sea. All her life seemed to be narrowing to one small converging path +which grew smaller and smaller as she looked down its perspective. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand, captain," she sighed. All the fight was out of her; she +was like one limping across a battlefield, shield and spear gone, the +roads unknown. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and the doctor entered. His quick, sensitive eye +instantly caught the look of despair on Jane's face and the air of +determination on the captain's. What had happened he did not know, but +something to hurt Jane; of that he was positive. He stepped quickly +past the captain without accosting him, rested his hand on Jane's +shoulder, and said in a tender, pleading tone: +</P> + +<P> +"You are tired and worn out; get your cloak and hat and I'll drive you +home." Then he turned to the captain: "Miss Jane's been up for three +nights. I hope you haven't been worrying her with anything you could +have spared her from—at least until she got rested," and he frowned at +the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't and wouldn't. I been a-tellin' her of Bart's comin' home. +That ain't nothin' to worry over—that's something to be glad of. You +heard about it, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Morgan told me. Twenty years will make a great difference in +Bart. It must have been a great surprise to you, captain." +</P> + +<P> +Both Jane and the captain tried to read the doctor's face, and both +failed. Doctor John might have been commenting on the weather or some +equally unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Jane again. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, dear—please," he begged. It was only when he was anxious about +her physical condition or over some mental trouble that engrossed her +that he spoke thus. The words lay always on the tip of his tongue, but +he never let them fall unless someone was present to overhear. +</P> + +<P> +"You are wrong, John," she answered, bridling her shoulders as if to +reassure him. "I am not tired—I have a little headache, that's all." +With the words she pressed both hands to her temples and smoothed back +her hair—a favorite gesture when her brain fluttered against her skull +like a caged pigeon. "I will go home, but not now—this afternoon, +perhaps. Come for me then, please," she added, looking up into his face +with a grateful expression. +</P> + +<P> +The captain picked up his cap and rose from his seat. One of his dreams +was the marriage of these two. Episodes like this only showed him the +clearer what lay in their hearts. The doctor's anxiety and Jane's +struggle to bear her burdens outside of his touch and help only +confirmed the old sea-dog in his determination. When Bart had his way, +he said to himself, all this would cease. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one to the other and +putting on his cap. "See you later, Miss Jane. Morgan's back ag'in to +work, thanks to you, doctor. That was a pretty bad sprain he had—he's +all right now, though; went on practice yesterday. I'm glad of +it—equinox is comin' on and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these +days. May be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out. Good-by, Miss +Jane; good-by, doctor." And he shut the door behind him. +</P> + +<P> +With the closing of the door the sound of wheels was heard—a crisp, +crunching sound—and then the stamping of horses' feet. Max Feilding's +drag, drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive Bones, had +driven up and now stood beside the stone steps of the front door of the +hospital. The coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub and +plate glistened in the sunshine. On the seat, the reins in one pretty +gloved hand, a gold-mounted whip in the other, sat Lucy. She was +dressed in her smartest driving toilette—a short yellow-gray jacket +fastened with big pearl buttons and a hat bound about with the breast +of a tropical bird. Her eyes were dancing, her cheeks like ripe peaches +with all the bloom belonging to them in evidence, and something more, +and her mouth all curves and dimples. +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor reached her side—he had heard the sound of the wheels, +and looking through the window had caught sight of the drag—she had +risen from her perch and was about to spring clear of the equipage +without waiting for the helping hand of either Bones or himself. She +was still a girl in her suppleness. +</P> + +<P> +"No, wait until I can give you my hand," he said, hurrying toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"No—I don't want your hand, Sir Esculapius. Get out of the way, +please—I'm going to jump! There—wasn't that lovely?" And she landed +beside him. "Where's sister? I've been all the way to Yardley, and +Martha tells me she has been here almost all the week. Oh, what a +dreadful, gloomy-looking place! How many people have you got here +anyhow, cooped up in this awful— Why, it's like an almshouse," she +added, looking about her. "Where did you say sister was?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go and call her," interpolated the doctor when he could get a +chance to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you won't do anything of the kind; I'll go myself. You've had her +all the week, and now it's my turn." +</P> + +<P> +Jane had by this time closed the lid of her desk, had moved out into +the hall, and now stood on the top step of the entrance awaiting Lucy's +ascent. In her gray gown, simple head-dress, and resigned face, the +whole framed in the doorway with its connecting background of dull +stone, she looked like one of Correggio's Madonnas illumining some old +cloister wall. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you dear, DEAR sister!" Lucy cried, running up the short steps to +meet her. "I'm so glad I've found you; I was afraid you were tying up +somebody's broken head or rocking a red-flannelled baby." With this she +put her arms around Jane's neck and kissed her rapturously. +</P> + +<P> +"Where can we talk? Oh, I've got such a lot of things to tell you! You +needn't come, you dear, good doctor. Please take yourself off, +sir—this way, and out the gate, and don't you dare come back until I'm +gone." +</P> + +<P> +My Lady of Paris was very happy this morning; bubbling over with +merriment—a condition that set the doctor to thinking. Indeed, he had +been thinking most intently about my lady ever since he had heard of +Bart's resurrection. He had also been thinking of Jane and Archie. +These last thoughts tightened his throat; they had also kept him awake +the past few nights. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor bowed with one of his Sir Roger bows, lifted his hat first +to Jane in all dignity and reverence, and then to Lucy with a +flourish—keeping up outwardly the gayety of the occasion and seconding +her play of humor—walked to the shed where his horse was tied and +drove off. He knew these moods of Lucy's; knew they were generally +assumed and that they always concealed some purpose—one which neither +a frown nor a cutting word nor an outbreak of temper would accomplish; +but that fact rarely disturbed him. Then, again, he was never anything +but courteous to her—always remembering Jane's sacrifice and her pride +in her. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, you dear, let us go somewhere where we can be quiet," Lucy +cried, slipping her arm around Jane's slender waist and moving toward +the hall. +</P> + +<P> +With the entering of the bare room lined with bottles and cases of +instruments her enthusiasm began to cool. Up to this time she had done +all the talking. Was Jane tired out nursing? she asked herself; or did +she still feel hurt over her refusal to take Ellen with her for the +summer? She had remembered for days afterward the expression on her +face when she told of her plans for the summer and of her leaving Ellen +at Yardley; but she knew this had all passed out of her sister's mind. +This was confirmed by Jane's continued devotion to Ellen and her many +kindnesses to the child. It was true that whenever she referred to her +separation from Ellen, which she never failed to do as a sort of probe +to be assured of the condition of Jane's mind, there was no direct +reply—merely a changing of the topic, but this had only proved Jane's +devotion in avoiding a subject which might give her beautiful sister +pain. What, then, was disturbing her to-day? she asked herself with a +slight chill at her heart. Then she raised her head and assumed a +certain defiant air. Better not notice anything Jane said or did; if +she was tired she would get rested and if she was provoked with her she +would get pleased again. It was through her affections and her +conscience that she could hold and mould her sister Jane—never through +opposition or fault-finding. Besides, the sun was too bright and the +air too delicious, and she herself too blissfully happy to worry over +anything. In time all these adverse moods would pass out of Jane's +heart as they had done a thousand times before. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you dear, precious thing!" Lucy began again, all these matters +having been reviewed, settled, and dismissed from her mind in the time +it took her to cross the room. "I'm so sorry for you when I think of +you shut up here with these dreadful people; but I know you wouldn't be +happy anywhere else," she laughed in a meaning way. (The bringing in of +the doctor even by implication was always a good move.) "And Martha +looks so desolate. Dear, you really ought to be more with her; but for +my darling Ellen I don't know what Martha would do. I miss the child +so, and yet I couldn't bear to take her from the dear old woman." +</P> + +<P> +Jane made no answer. Lucy had found a chair now and had laid her +gloves, parasol, and handkerchief on another beside her. Jane had +resumed her seat; her slender neck and sloping shoulders and sparely +modelled head with its simply dressed hair—she had removed the +kerchief—in silhouette against the white light of the window. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it all about, Lucy?" she asked in a grave tone after a slight +pause in Lucy's talk. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a great secret to tell you—one you mustn't breathe until I +give you leave." +</P> + +<P> +She was leaning back in her chair now, her eyes trying to read Jane's +thoughts. Her bare hands were resting in her lap, the jewels flashing +from her fingers; about her dainty mouth there hovered, like a +butterfly, a triumphant smile; whether this would alight and spread its +wings into radiant laughter, or disappear, frightened by a gathering +frown, depended on what would drop from her sister's lips. +</P> + +<P> +Jane looked up. The strong light from the window threw her head into +shadow; only the slight fluff of her hair glistened in the light. This +made an aureole which framed the Madonna's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Lucy, what is it?" she asked again simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Max is going to be married." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" rejoined Jane in the same quiet tone. Her mind was not on Max +or on anything connected with him. It was on the shadow slowly settling +upon all she loved. +</P> + +<P> +"In December," replied Lucy, a note of triumph in her voice, her smile +broadening. +</P> + +<P> +"Who to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me." +</P> + +<P> +With the single word a light ripple escaped from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +Jane straightened herself in her chair. A sudden faintness passed over +her—as if she had received a blow in the chest, stopping her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—you mean—that you have promised to marry Max Feilding!" she +gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"That's exactly what I do mean." +</P> + +<P> +The butterfly smile about Lucy's mouth had vanished. That straightening +of the lips and slow contraction of the brow which Jane knew so well +was taking its place. Then she added nervously, unclasping her hands +and picking up her gloves: +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you pleased?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," answered Jane, gazing about the room with a dazed look, +as if seeking for a succor she could not find. "I must think. And so +you have promised to marry Max!" she repeated, as if to herself. "And +in December." For a brief moment she paused, her eyes again downcast; +then she raised her voice quickly and in a more positive tone asked, +"And what do you mean to do with Ellen?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I want to talk to you about, you dear thing." Lucy had +come prepared to ignore any unfavorable criticisms Jane might make and +to give her only sisterly affection in return. "I want to give her to +you for a few months more," she added blandly, "and then we will take +her abroad with us and send her to school either in Paris or Geneva, +where her grandmother can be near her. In a year or two she will come +to us in Paris." +</P> + +<P> +Jane made no answer. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy moved uncomfortably in her chair. She had never, in all her life, +seen her sister in any such mood. She was not so much astonished over +her lack of enthusiasm regarding the engagement; that she had +expected—at least for the first few days, until she could win her over +to her own view. It was the deadly poise—the icy reserve that +disturbed her. This was new. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy!" Again Jane stopped and looked out of the window. "You remember +the letter I wrote you some years ago, in which I begged you to tell +Ellen's father about Archie and Barton Holt?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's eyes flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and you remember my answer, don't you?" she answered sharply. +"What a fool I would have been, dear, to have followed your advice!" +</P> + +<P> +Jane went straight on without heeding the interruption or noticing +Lucy's changed tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you intend to tell Max?" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell Max! My dear, good sister, are you crazy! What should I tell +Max for? All that is dead and buried long ago! Why do you want to dig +up all these graves? Tell Max—that aristocrat! He's a dear, sweet +fellow, but you don't know him. He'd sooner cut his hand off than marry +me if he knew!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid you will have to—and this very day," rejoined Jane in a +calm, measured tone. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy moved uneasily in her chair; her anxiety had given way to a +certain ill-defined terror. Jane's voice frightened her. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she asked in a trembling voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Because Captain Holt or someone else will, if you don't." +</P> + +<P> +"What right has he or anybody else to meddle with my affairs?" Lucy +retorted in an indignant tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Because he cannot help it. I intended to keep the news from you for a +time, but from what you have just told me you had best hear it now. +Barton Holt is alive. He has been in Brazil all these years, in the +mines. He has written to his father that he is coming home." +</P> + +<P> +All the color faded from Lucy's cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Bart! Alive! Coming home! When?" +</P> + +<P> +"He will be here day after to-morrow; he is at Amboy, and will come by +the weekly packet. What I can do I will. I have worked all my life to +save you, and I may yet, but it seems now as if I had reached the end +of my rope." +</P> + +<P> +"Who said so? Where did you hear it? It CAN'T be true!" +</P> + +<P> +Jane shook her head. "I wish it was not true—but it is—every word of +it. I have read his letter." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy sank back in her chair, her cheeks livid, a cold perspiration +moistening her forehead. Little lines that Jane had never noticed began +to gather about the corners of her mouth; her eyes were wide open, with +a strained, staring expression. What she saw was Max's eyes looking +into her own, that same cold, cynical expression on his face she had +sometimes seen when speaking of other women he had known. +</P> + +<P> +"What's he coming for?" Her voice was thick and barely audible. +</P> + +<P> +"To claim his son." +</P> + +<P> +"He—says—he'll—claim—Archie—as—his—son!" she gasped. "I'd like +to see any man living dare to—" +</P> + +<P> +"But he can TRY, Lucy—no one can prevent that, and in the trying the +world will know." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy sprang from her seat and stood over her sister: +</P> + +<P> +"I'll deny it!" she cried in a shrill voice; "and face him down. He +can't prove it! No one about here can!" +</P> + +<P> +"He may have proofs that you couldn't deny, and that I would not if I +could. Captain Holt knows everything, remember," Jane replied in her +same calm voice. +</P> + +<P> +"But nobody else does but you and Martha!" The thought gave her renewed +hope—the only ray she saw. +</P> + +<P> +"True; but the captain is enough. His heart is set on Archie's name +being cleared, and nothing that I can do or say will turn him from his +purpose. Do you know what he means to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied faintly, more terror than curiosity in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"He means that you shall marry Barton, and that Archie shall be +baptized as Archibald Holt. Barton will then take you both back to +South America. A totally impossible plan, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"I marry Barton Holt! Why, I wouldn't marry him if he got down on his +knees. Why, I don't even remember what he looks like! Did you ever hear +of such impudence! What is he to me?" The outburst carried with it a +certain relief. +</P> + +<P> +"What he is to you is not the question. It is what YOU are to Archie! +Your sin has been your refusal to acknowledge him. Now you are brought +face to face with the consequences. The world will forgive a woman all +the rest, but never for deserting her child, and that, my dear sister, +IS PRECISELY WHAT YOU DID TO ARCHIE." +</P> + +<P> +Jane's gaze was riveted on Lucy. She had never dared to put this fact +clearly before—not even to herself. Now that she was confronted with +the calamity she had dreaded all these years, truth was the only thing +that would win. Everything now must be laid bare. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy lifted her terrified face, burst into tears, and reached out her +hands to Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sister,—sister!" she moaned. "What shall I do? Oh, if I had never +come home! Can't you think of some way? You have always been so +good—Oh, please! please!" +</P> + +<P> +Jane drew Lucy toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do all I can, dear. If I fail there is only one resource left. +That is the truth, and all of it. Max can save you, and he will if he +loves you. Tell, him everything!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT +</H3> + +<P> +The wooden arrow on the top of the cupola of the Life-Saving Station +had had a busy night of it. With the going down of the sun the wind had +continued to blow east-southeast—its old course for weeks—and the +little sentinel, lulled into inaction, had fallen into a doze, its +feather end fixed on the glow of the twilight. +</P> + +<P> +At midnight a rollicking breeze that piped from out the north caught +the sensitive vane napping, and before the dawn broke had quite tired +it out, shifting from point to point, now west, now east, now +nor'east-by-east, and now back to north again. By the time Morgan had +boiled his coffee and had cut his bacon into slivers ready for the +frying-pan the restless wind, as if ashamed of its caprices, had again +veered to the north-east, and then, as if determined ever after to lead +a better life, had pulled itself together and had at last settled down +to a steady blow from that quarter. +</P> + +<P> +The needle of the aneroid fastened to the wall of the sitting-room, and +in reach of everybody's eye, had also made a night of it. In fact, it +had not had a moment's peace since Captain Holt reset its register the +day before. All its efforts for continued good weather had failed. +Slowly but surely the baffled and disheartened needle had sagged from +"Fair" to "Change," dropped back to "Storm," and before noon the next +day had about given up the fight and was in full flight for "Cyclones +and Tempests." +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Isaac Polhemus, sitting at the table with one eye on his game of +dominoes (Green was his partner) and the other on the patch of sky +framed by the window, read the look of despair on the honest face of +the aneroid, and rising from his chair, a "double three" in his hand, +stepped to where the weather prophet hung. +</P> + +<P> +"Sompin's comin' Sam," he said solemnly. "The old gal's got a bad +setback. Ain't none of us goin' to git a wink o' sleep to-night, or I +miss my guess. Wonder how the wind is." Here he moved to the door and +peered out. "Nor'-east and puffy, just as I thought. We're goin' to hev +some weather, Sam—ye hear?—some WEATHER!" With this he regained his +chair and joined the double three to the long tail of his successes. +Good weather or bad weather—peace or war—was all the same to Uncle +Isaac. What he wanted was the earliest news from the front. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt took a look at the sky, the aneroid and the wind—not the +arrow; old sea-dogs know which way the wind blows without depending on +any such contrivance—the way the clouds drift, the trend of the +white-caps, the set of a distant sail, and on black, almost breathless +nights, by the feel of a wet finger held quickly in the air, the +coolest side determining the wind point. +</P> + +<P> +On this morning the clouds attracted the captain's attention. They hung +low and drifted in long, straggling lines. Close to the horizon they +were ashy pale; being nearest the edge of the brimming sea, they had, +no doubt, seen something the higher and rosier-tinted clouds had +missed; something of the ruin that was going on farther down the round +of the sphere. These clouds the captain studied closely, especially a +prismatic sun-dog that glowed like a bit of rainbow snipped off by +wind-scissors, and one or two dirt spots sailing along by themselves. +</P> + +<P> +During the captain's inspection Archie hove in sight, wiping his hands +with a wad of cotton waste. He and Parks had been swabbing out the +firing gun and putting the polished work of the cart apparatus in order. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to blow, captain, isn't it?" he called out. Blows were what +Archie was waiting for. So far the sea had been like a mill-pond, +except on one or two occasions, when, to the boy's great regret, +nothing came ashore. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like it. Glass's been goin' down and the wind has settled to the +nor'east. Some nasty dough-balls out there I don't like. See 'em goin' +over that three-master?" +</P> + +<P> +Archie looked, nodded his head, and a certain thrill went through him. +The harder it blew the better it would suit Archie. +</P> + +<P> +"Will the Polly be here to-night?" he added. "Your son's coming, isn't +he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but you won't see him to-night, nor to-morrow, not till this is +over. You won't catch old Ambrose out in this weather" (Captain Ambrose +Farguson sailed the Polly). "He'll stick his nose in the basin +some'er's and hang on for a spell. I thought he'd try to make the +inlet, and I 'spected Bart here to-night till I saw the glass when I +got up. Ye can't fool Ambrose—he knows. Be two or three days now 'fore +Bart comes," he added, a look of disappointment shadowing his face. +</P> + +<P> +Archie kept on to the house, and the captain, after another sweep +around, turned on his heel and reentered the sitting-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Green!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, captain." The surfman was on his feet in an instant, his ears +wide open. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you and Fogarty would look over those new Costons and see if +they're all right. And, Polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them +cork jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward on practice +yesterday—they ought to slip on easier; guess they're considerable +dried out and a little mite stiff." +</P> + +<P> +Green nodded his head in respectful assent and left the room. Polhemus, +at the mention of his name, had dropped his chair legs to the floor; he +had finished his game of dominoes and had been tilted back against the +wall, awaiting the dinner-hour. +</P> + +<P> +"It's goin' to blow a livin' gale o' wind, Polhemus," the captain +continued; "that's what it's goin' to do. Ye kin see it yerself. There +she comes now!" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke the windows on the sea side of the house rattled as if +shaken by the hand of a man and as quickly stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Them puffs are jest the tootin' of her horn—" this with a jerk of his +head toward the windows. "I tell ye, it looks ugly!" +</P> + +<P> +Polhemus gained his feet and the two men stepped to the sash and peered +out. To them the sky was always an open book—each cloud a letter, each +mass a paragraph, the whole a warning. +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm kind o' glad, Isaac." Again the captain forgot the surfman in +the friend. "As long as it's got to blow it might as well blow now and +be over. I'd kind o' set my heart on Bart's comin', but I guess I've +waited so long I kin wait a day or two more. I wrote him to come by +train, but he wrote back he had a lot o' plunder and he'd better put it +'board the Polly; and, besides, he said he kind o' wanted to sail into +the inlet like he used to when he was a boy. Then again, I couldn't +meet him; not with this weather comin' on. No—take it all in all, I'm +glad he ain't comin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I guess yer right, captain," answered uncle Isaac in an even +tone, as he left the room to overhaul the cork jackets. The occasion +was not one of absorbing interest to Isaac. +</P> + +<P> +By the time the table was cleared and the kitchen once more in order +not only were the windows on the sea side of the house roughly shaken +by the rising gale, but the sand caught from the dunes was being +whirled against their panes. The tide, too, egged on by the storm, had +crept up the slope of the dunes, the spray drenching the grass-tufts. +</P> + +<P> +At five o'clock the wind blew forty miles an hour at sundown it had +increased to fifty; at eight o'clock it bowled along at sixty. Morgan, +who had been to the village for supplies, reported that the tide was +over the dock at Barnegat and that the roof of the big bathing-house at +Beach Haven had been ripped off and landed on the piazza. He had had +all he could do to keep his feet and his basket while crossing the +marsh on his way back to the station. Then he added: +</P> + +<P> +"There's a lot o' people there yit. That feller from Philadelphy who's +mashed on Cobden's aunt was swellin' around in a potato-bug suit o' +clothes as big as life." This last was given from behind his hand after +he had glanced around the room and found that Archie was absent. +</P> + +<P> +At eight o'clock, when Parks and Archie left the Station to begin their +patrol, Parks was obliged to hold on to the rail of the porch to steady +himself, and Archie, being less sure of his feet, was blown against the +water-barrel before he could get his legs well under him. At the edge +of the surf the two separated for their four hours' patrol, Archie +breasting the gale on his way north, and Parks hurrying on, helped by +the wind, to the south. +</P> + +<P> +At ten o'clock Parks returned. He had made his first round, and had +exchanged his brass check with the patrol at the next station. As he +mounted the sand-dune he quickened his steps, hurried to the Station, +opened the sitting-room door, found it empty, the men being in bed +upstairs awaiting their turns, and then strode on to the captain's +room, his sou'wester and tarpaulin drenched with spray and sand, his +hip-boots leaving watery tracks along the clean floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Wreck ashore at No. 14, sir!" Parks called out in a voice hoarse with +fighting the wind. +</P> + +<P> +The captain sprang from his cot—he was awake, his light still burning. +</P> + +<P> +"Anybody drownded?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; got 'em all. Seven of 'em, so the patrol said. Come ashore +'bout supper-time." +</P> + +<P> +"What is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"A two-master from Virginia loaded with cord-wood. Surf's in bad shape, +sir; couldn't nothin' live in it afore; it's wuss now. Everything's a +bobble; turrible to see them sticks thrashin' 'round and slammin' +things." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't want no assistance, did they?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; they got the fust line 'round the foremast and come off in +less'n a hour; warn't none of 'em hurted." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it any better outside?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; wuss. I ain't seen nothin' like it 'long the coast for years. +Good-night," and Parks took another hole in the belt holding his +tarpaulins together, opened the back door, walked to the edge of the +house, steadied himself against the clapboards, and boldly facing the +storm, continued his patrol. +</P> + +<P> +The captain stretched himself again on his bed; he had tried to sleep, +but his brain was too active. As he lay listening to the roar of the +surf and the shrill wail of the wind, his thoughts would revert to Bart +and what his return meant; particularly to its effect on the fortunes +of the doctor, of Jane and of Lucy. +</P> + +<P> +Jane's attitude continued to astound him. He had expected that Lucy +might not realize the advantages of his plan at first—not until she +had seen Bart and listened to what he had to say; but that Jane, after +the confession of her own weakness should still oppose him, was what he +could not under stand, he would keep his promise, however, to the very +letter. She should have free range to dissuade Bart from his purpose. +After that Bart should have his way. No other course was possible, and +no other course either honest or just. +</P> + +<P> +Then he went over in his mind all that had happened to him since the +day he had driven Bart out into the night, and from that same House of +Refuge, too, which, strange to say, lay within sight of the Station. He +recalled his own and Bart's sufferings; his loneliness; the bitterness +of the terrible secret which had kept his mouth closed all these years, +depriving him of even the intimate companionship of his own grandson. +With this came an increased love for the boy; he again felt the warm +pressure of his hand and caught the look in his eyes the morning Archie +congratulated him so heartily on Bart's expected return, he had always +loved him; he would love him now a thousand times more when he could +put his hand on the boy's shoulder and tell him everything. +</P> + +<P> +With the changing of the patrol, Tod and Polhemus taking the places of +Archie and Parks, he fell into a doze, waking with a sudden start some +hours later, springing from his bed, and as quickly turning up the lamp. +</P> + +<P> +Still in his stocking feet and trousers—on nights like this the men +lie down in half their clothes—he walked to the window and peered out. +It was nearing daylight; the sky still black. The storm was at its +height; the roar of the surf incessant and the howl of the wind +deafening. Stepping into the sitting-room he glanced at the +aneroid—the needle had not advanced a point; then turning into the +hall, he mounted the steps to the lookout in the cupola, walked softly +past the door of the men's room so as not to waken the sleepers, +particularly Parks and Archie, whose cots were nearest the door—both +had had four hours of the gale and would have hours more if it +continued—and reaching the landing, pressed his face against the cool +pane and peered out. +</P> + +<P> +Below him stretched a dull waste of sand hardly distinguishable in the +gloom until his eyes became accustomed to it, and beyond this the white +line of the surf, whiter than either sky or sand. This writhed and +twisted like a cobra in pain. To the north burned Barnegat Light, only +the star of its lamp visible. To the south stretched alternate bands of +sand, sky, and surf, their dividing lines lost in the night. Along this +beach, now stopping to get their breath, now slanting the brim of their +sou'westers to escape the slash of the sand and spray, strode Tod and +Polhemus, their eyes on and beyond the tumbling surf, their ears open +to every unusual sound, their Costons buttoned tight under their coats +to keep them from the wet. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, while his eyes were searching the horizon line, now hardly +discernible in the gloom, a black mass rose from behind a cresting of +foam, see-sawed for an instant, clutched wildly at the sky, and dropped +out of sight behind a black wall of water. The next instant there +flashed on the beach below him, and to the left of the station, the red +flare of a Coston signal. +</P> + +<P> +With the quickness of a cat Captain Holt sprang to the stairs shouting: +</P> + +<P> +"A wreck, men, a wreck!" The next instant he had thrown aside the door +of the men's room. "Out every one of ye! Who's on the beach?" And he +looked over the cots to find the empty ones. +</P> + +<P> +The men were on their feet before he had ceased speaking, Archie before +the captain's hand had left the knob of the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's on the beach, I say?" he shouted again. +</P> + +<P> +"Fogarty and Uncle Ike," someone answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Polhemus! Good! All hands on the cart, men; boat can't live in that +surf. She lies to the north of us!" And he swung himself out of the +door and down the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"God help 'em, if they've got to come through that surf!" Parks said, +slinging on his coat. "The tide's just beginnin' to make flood, and all +that cord-wood'll come a-waltzin' back. Never see nothin' like it!" +</P> + +<P> +The front door now burst in and another shout went ringing through the +house: +</P> + +<P> +"Schooner in the breakers!" +</P> + +<P> +It was Tod. He had rejoined Polhemus the moment before he flared his +light and had made a dash to rouse the men. +</P> + +<P> +"I seen her, Fogarty, from the lookout," cried the captain, in answer, +grabbing his sou'wester; he was already in his hip-boots and tarpaulin. +"What is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Schooner, I guess, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Two or three masts?" asked the captain hurriedly, tightening the strap +of his sou'wester and slipping the leather thong under his gray +whiskers. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't make out, sir; she come bow on. Uncle Ike see her fust." And he +sprang out after the men. +</P> + +<P> +A double door thrown wide; a tangle of wild cats springing straight at +a broad-tired cart; a grappling of track-lines and handle-bars; a whirl +down the wooden incline, Tod following with the quickly lighted +lanterns; a dash along the runway, the sand cutting their cheeks like +grit from a whirling stone; over the dune, the men bracing the cart on +either side, and down the beach the crew swept in a rush to where +Polhemus stood waving his last Coston. +</P> + +<P> +Here the cart stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't unload nothin'," shouted Polhemus. "She ain't fast; looks to me +as if she was draggin' her anchors." +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt canted the brim of his sou'wester, held his bent elbow +against his face to protect it from the cut of the wind, and looked in +the direction of the surfman's fingers. The vessel lay about a quarter +of a mile from the shore and nearer the House of Refuge than when the +captain had first seen her from the lookout. She was afloat and +drifting broadside on to the coast. Her masts were still standing and +she seemed able to take care of herself. Polhemus was right. Nothing +could be done till she grounded. In the meantime the crew must keep +abreast of her. Her fate, however, was but a question of time, for not +only had the wind veered to the southward—a-dead-on-shore wind—but +the set of the flood must eventually strand her. +</P> + +<P> +At the track-lines again, every man in his place, Uncle Isaac with his +shoulder under the spokes of the wheels, the struggling crew keeping +the cart close to the edge of the dune, springing out of the way of the +boiling surf or sinking up to their waists into crevices of sluiceways +gullied out by the hungry sea. Once Archie lost his footing and would +have been sucked under by a comber had not Captain Holt grapped him by +the collar and landed him on his feet again. Now and then a roller more +vicious than the others would hurl a log of wood straight at the cart +with the velocity of a torpedo, and swoop back again, the log missing +its mark by a length. +</P> + +<P> +When the dawn broke the schooner could be made out more clearly. Both +masts were still standing, their larger sails blown away. The bowsprit +was broken short off close to her chains. About this dragged the +remnants of a jib sail over which the sea soused and whitened. She was +drifting slowly and was now but a few hundred yards from the beach, +holding, doubtless, by her anchors. Over her deck the sea made a clean +breach. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, and while the men still tugged at the track-ropes, keeping +abreast of her so as to be ready with the mortar and shot-line, the +ill-fated vessel swung bow on toward the beach, rose on a huge mountain +of water, and threw herself headlong. When the smother cleared her +foremast was overboard and her deck-house smashed. Around her hull the +waves gnashed and fought like white wolves, leaping high, flinging +themselves upon her. In the recoil Captain Holt's quick eye got a +glimpse of the crew; two were lashed to the rigging and one held the +tiller—a short, thickset man, wearing what appeared to be a slouch hat +tied over his ears by a white handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +With the grounding of the vessel a cheer went up from around the cart. +</P> + +<P> +"Now for the mortar!" +</P> + +<P> +"Up with it on the dune, men!" shouted the captain, his voice ringing +above the roar of the tempest. +</P> + +<P> +The cart was forced up the slope—two men at the wheels, the others +straining ahead—the gun lifted out and set, Polhemus ramming the +charge home, Captain Holt sighting the piece; there came a belching +sound, a flash of dull light, and a solid shot carrying a line rose in +the air, made a curve like a flying rocket, and fell athwart the wreck +between her forestay and jib. A cheer went up from the men about the +gun. When this line was hauled in and the hawser attached to it made +fast high up on the mainmast and above the raging sea, and the car run +off to the wreck, the crew could be landed clear of the surf and the +slam of the cord-wood. +</P> + +<P> +At the fall of the line the man in the slouch hat was seen to edge +himself forward in an attempt to catch it. The two men in the rigging +kept their hold. The men around the cart sprang for the hawser and +tally-blocks to rig the buoy, when a dull cry rose from the wreck. To +their horror they saw the mainmast waver, flutter for a moment, and sag +over the schooner's side. The last hope of using the life-car was gone! +Without the elevation of the mast and with nothing but the smashed hull +to make fast to, the shipwrecked men would be pounded into pulp in the +attempt to drag them through the boil of wreckage. +</P> + +<P> +"Haul in, men!" cried the captain. "No use of another shot; we can't +drag 'em through that surf!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take my chances," said Green, stepping forward. "Let me, cap'n. I +can handle 'em if they haul in the slack and make fast." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you can't," said the captain calmly. "You couldn't get twenty feet +from shore. We got to wait till the tide cleans this wood out. It's +workin' right now. They kin stand it for a while. Certain death to +bring 'em through that smother—that stuff'd knock the brains out of +'em fast as they dropped into it. Signal to 'em to hang on, Parks." +</P> + +<P> +An hour went by—an hour of agony to the men clinging to the grounded +schooner, and of impatience to the shore crew, who were powerless. The +only danger was of exhaustion to the shipwrecked men and the breaking +up of the schooner. If this occurred there was nothing left but a +plunge of rescuing men through the surf, the life of every man in his +hand. +</P> + +<P> +The beach began filling up. The news of a shipwreck had spread with the +rapidity of a thunder-shower. One crowd, denser in spots where the +stronger men were breasting the wind, which was now happily on the +wane, were moving from the village along the beach, others were +stumbling on through the marshes. From the back country, along the road +leading from the hospital, rattled a gig, the horse doing his utmost. +In this were Doctor John and Jane. She had, contrary to his advice, +remained at the hospital. The doctor had been awakened by the shouts of +a fisherman, and had driven with all speed to the hospital to get his +remedies and instruments. Jane had insisted upon accompanying him, +although she had been up half the night with one of the sailors rescued +the week before by the crew of No. 14. The early morning air—it was +now seven o'clock—would do her good, she pleaded, and she might be of +use if any one of the poor fellows needed a woman's care. +</P> + +<P> +Farther down toward Beach Haven the sand was dotted with wagons and +buggies; some filled with summer boarders anxious to see the crew at +work. One used as the depot omnibus contained Max Feilding, Lucy, and +half a dozen others. She had passed a sleepless night, and hearing the +cries of those hurrying by had thrown a heavy cloak around her and +opening wide the piazza door had caught sight of the doomed vessel +fighting for its life. Welcoming the incident as a relief from her own +maddening thoughts, she had joined Max, hoping that the excitement +might divert her mind from the horror that overshadowed her. Then, too, +she did not want to be separated a single moment from him. Since the +fatal hour when Jane had told her of Bart's expected return Max's face +had haunted her. As long as he continued to look into her eyes, +believing and trusting in her there was hope. He had noticed her +haggard look, but she had pleaded one of her headaches, and had kept up +her smiles, returning his caresses. Some way would be opened; some way +MUST be opened! +</P> + +<P> +While waiting for the change of wind and tide predicted by Captain Holt +to clear away the deadly drift of the cord-wood so dangerous to the +imperilled men, the wreckage from the grounded schooner began to come +ashore—crates of vegetables, barrels of groceries, and boxes filled +with canned goods. Some of these were smashed into splinters by end-on +collisions with cord-wood; others had dodged the floatage and were +landed high on the beach. +</P> + +<P> +During the enforced idleness Tod occupied himself in rolling away from +the back-suck of the surf the drift that came ashore. Being nearest a +stranded crate he dragged it clear and stood bending over it, reading +the inscription. With a start he beckoned to Parks, the nearest man to +him, tore the card from the wooden slat, and held it before the +surfman's face. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this? Read! That's the Polly Walters out there, I tell ye, and +the captain's son's aboard! I've been suspicionin' it all the mornin'. +That's him with the slouch hat. I knowed he warn't no sailor from the +way he acted. Don't say nothin' till we're sure." +</P> + +<P> +Parks lunged forward, dodged a stick of cord-wood that drove straight +at him like a battering-ram and, watching his chance, dragged a +floating keg from the smother, rolled it clear of the surf, canted it +on end, and took a similar card from its head. Then he shouted with all +his might: +</P> + +<P> +"It's the Polly, men! It's the Polly—the Polly Walters! O God, ain't +that too bad! Captain Ambrose's drowned, or we'd a-seen him! That +feller in the slouch hat is Bart Holt! Gimme that line!" He was +stripping off his waterproofs now ready for a plunge into the sea. +</P> + +<P> +With the awful words ringing in his ears Captain Holt made a spring +from the dune and came running toward Parks, who was now knotting the +shot-line about his waist. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you say she is?" he shouted, as he flung himself to the edge +of the roaring surf and strained his eyes toward the wreck. +</P> + +<P> +"The Polly—the Polly Walters!" +</P> + +<P> +"My God! How do ye know? She ain't left Amboy, I tell ye!" +</P> + +<P> +"She has! That's her—see them kerds! They come off that stuff behind +ye. Tod got one and I got t'other!" he held the bits of cardboard under +the rim of the captain's sou'wester. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt snatched the cards from Parks's hand, read them at a +glance, and a dazed, horror-stricken expression crossed his face. Then +his eye fell upon Parks knotting the shot-line about his waist. +</P> + +<P> +"Take that off! Parks, stay where ye are; don't ye move, I tell ye." +</P> + +<P> +As the words dropped from the captain's lips a horrified shout went up +from the bystanders. The wreck, with a crunching sound, was being +lifted from the sand. She rose steadily, staggered for an instant and +dropped out of sight. She had broken amidships. With the recoil two +ragged bunches showed above the white wash of the water. On one +fragment—a splintered mast—crouched the man with the slouch hat; to +the other clung the two sailors. The next instant a great roller, +gathering strength as it came, threw itself full length on both +fragments and swept on. Only wreckage was left and one head. +</P> + +<P> +With a cry to the men to stand by and catch the slack, the captain +ripped a line from the drum of the cart, dragged off his high boots, +knotted the bight around his waist, and started on a run for the surf. +</P> + +<P> +Before his stockinged feet could reach the edge of the foam, Archie +seized him around the waist and held him with a grip of steel. +</P> + +<P> +"You sha'n't do it, captain!" he cried, his eyes blazing. "Hold him, +men—I'll get him!" With the bound of a cat he landed in the middle of +the floatage, dived under the logs, rose on the boiling surf, worked +himself clear of the inshore wreckage, and struck out in the direction +of the man clinging to the shattered mast, and who was now nearing the +beach, whirled on by the inrushing seas. +</P> + +<P> +Strong men held their breath, tears brimming their eyes. Captain Holt +stood irresolute, dazed for the moment by Archie's danger. The beach +women—Mrs. Fogarty among them—were wringing their hands. They knew +the risk better than the others. +</P> + +<P> +Jane, at Archie's plunge, had run down to the edge of the surf and +stood with tight-clenched fingers, her gaze fixed on the lad's head as +he breasted the breakers—her face white as death, the tears streaming +down her cheeks. Fear for the boy she loved, pride in his pluck and +courage, agony over the result of the rescue, all swept through her as +she strained her eyes seaward. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, Max, and Mrs. Coates were huddled together under the lee of the +dune. Lucy's eyes were staring straight ahead of her; her teeth +chattering with fear and cold. She had heard the shouts of Parks and +the captain, and knew now whose life was at stake. There was no hope +left; Archie would win and pull him out alive, and her end would come. +</P> + +<P> +The crowd watched the lad until his hand touched the mast, saw him pull +himself hand over hand along its slippery surface and reach out his +arms. Then a cheer went up from a hundred throats, and as instantly +died away in a moan of terror. Behind, towering over them like a huge +wall, came a wave of black water, solemn, merciless, uncrested, as if +bent on deadly revenge. Under its impact the shattered end of the mast +rose clear of the water, tossed about as if in agony, veered suddenly +with the movement of a derrick-boom, and with its living freight dashed +headlong into the swirl of cord-wood. +</P> + +<P> +As it ploughed through the outer drift and reached the inner line of +wreckage, Tod, whose eyes had never left Archie since his leap into the +surf, made a running jump from the sand, landed on a tangle of drift, +and sprang straight at the section of the mast to which Archie clung. +The next instant the surf rolled clear, submerging the three men. +</P> + +<P> +Another ringing order now rose above the roar of the waters, and a +chain of rescuing surfmen—the last resort—with Captain Nat at the +head dashed into the turmoil. +</P> + +<P> +It was a hand-to-hand fight now with death. At the first onslaught of +the battery of wreckage Polhemus was knocked breathless by a blow in +the stomach and rescued by the bystanders just as a log was curling +over him. Green was hit by a surging crate, and Mulligan only saved +from the crush of the cord-wood by the quickness of a fisherman. +Morgan, watching his chance, sprang clear of a tangle of barrels and +cord-wood, dashed into the narrow gap of open water, and grappling Tod +as he whirled past, twisted his fingers in Archie's waistband. The +three were then pounced upon by a relay of fishermen led by Tod's +father and dragged from under the crunch and surge of the smother. Both +Tod and Morgan were unhurt and scrambled to their feet as soon as they +gained the hard sand, but Archie lay insensible where the men had +dropped him, his body limp, his feet crumpled under him. +</P> + +<P> +All this time the man in the slouch hat was being swirled in the hell +of wreckage, the captain meanwhile holding to the human chain with one +hand and fighting with the other until he reached the half-drowned man +whose grip had now slipped from the crate to which he clung. As the two +were shot in toward the beach, Green, who had recovered his breath, +dodged the recoil, sprang straight for them, threw the captain a line, +which he caught, dashed back and dragged the two high up on the beach, +the captain's arm still tightly locked about the rescued man. +</P> + +<P> +A dozen hands were held out to relieve the captain of his burden, but +he only waved them away. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take care of him!" he gasped in a voice almost gone from +buffeting the waves, as the body slipped from his arms to the wet sand. +"Git out of the way, all of you!" +</P> + +<P> +Once on his feet, he stood for an instant to catch his breath, wrung +the grime from his ears with his stiff fingers, and then shaking the +water from his shoulders as a dog would after a plunge, he passed his +great arms once more under the bedraggled body of the unconscious man +and started up the dune toward the House of Refuge, the water dripping +from both their wet bodies. Only once did he pause, and then to shout: +</P> + +<P> +"Green,—Mulligan! Go back, some o' ye, and git Archie. He's hurt bad. +Quick, now! And one o' ye bust in them doors. And— Polhemus, pull some +coats off that crowd and a shawl or two from them women if they can +spare 'em, and find Doctor John, some o' ye! D'ye hear! DOCTOR JOHN!" +</P> + +<P> +A dozen coats were stripped from as many backs, a shawl of Mrs. +Fogarty's handed to Polhemus, the doors burst in and Uncle Isaac +lunging in tumbled the garments on the floor. On these the captain laid +the body of the rescued man, the slouch hat still clinging to his head. +</P> + +<P> +While this was being done another procession was approaching the house. +Tod and Parks were carrying Archie's unconscious form, the water +dripping from his clothing. Tod had his hands under the boy's armpits +and Parks carried his feet. Behind the three walked Jane, half +supported by the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead!" she moaned. "Oh, no—no—no, John; it cannot be! Not my Archie! +my brave Archie!" +</P> + +<P> +The captain heard the tramp of the men's feet on the board floor of the +runway outside and rose to his feet. He had been kneeling beside the +form of the rescued man. His face was knotted with the agony he had +passed through, his voice still thick and hoarse from battling with the +sea. +</P> + +<P> +"What's that she says?" he cried, straining his ears to catch Jane's +words. "What's that! Archie dead! No! 'Tain't so, is it, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John, his arm still supporting Jane, shook his head gravely and +pointed to his own forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all over, captain," he said in a broken voice. "Skull fractured." +</P> + +<P> +"Hit with them logs! Archie! Oh, my God! And this man ain't much better +off—he ain't hardly breathin'. See for yerself, doctor. Here, Tod, lay +Archie on these coats. Move back that boat, men, to give 'em room, and +push them stools out of the way. Oh, Miss Jane, maybe it ain't true, +maybe he'll come round! I've seen 'em this way more'n a dozen times. +Here, doctor let's get these wet clo'es off 'em." He dropped between +the two limp, soggy bodies and began tearing open the shirt from the +man's chest. Jane, who had thrown herself in a passion of grief on the +water-soaked floor beside Archie, commenced wiping the dead boy's face +with her handkerchief, smoothing the short wet curls from his forehead +as she wept. +</P> + +<P> +The man's shirt and collar loosened, Captain Holt pulled the slouch hat +from his head, wrenched the wet shoes loose, wrapped the cold feet in +the dry shawl, and began tucking the pile of coats closer about the +man's shoulders that he might rest the easier. For a moment he looked +intently at the pallid face smeared with ooze and grime, and limp body +that the doctor was working over, and then stepped to where Tod now +crouched beside his friend, the one he had loved all his life. The +young surfman's strong body was shaking with the sobs he could no +longer restrain. +</P> + +<P> +"It's rough, Tod," said the captain, in a choking voice, which grew +clearer as he talked on. "Almighty rough on ye and on all of us. You +did what you could—ye risked yer life for him, and there ain't nobody +kin do more. I wouldn't send ye out again, but there's work to do. Them +two men of Cap'n Ambrose's is drowned, and they'll come ashore +some'er's near the inlet, and you and Parks better hunt 'em up. They +live up to Barnegat, ye know, and their folks'll be wantin' 'em." It +was strange how calm he was. His sense of duty was now controlling him. +</P> + +<P> +Tod had raised himself to his feet when the captain had begun to speak +and stood with his wet sou'wester in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Been like a brother to me," was all he said, as he brushed the tears +from his eyes and went to join Parks. +</P> + +<P> +The captain watched Tod's retreating figure for a moment, and bending +again over Archie's corpse, stood gazing at the dead face, his hands +folded across his girth—as one does when watching a body being slowly +lowered into a grave. +</P> + +<P> +"I loved ye, boy," Jane heard him say between her sobs. "I loved ye! +You knowed it, boy. I hoped to tell ye so out loud so everybody could +hear. Now they'll never know." +</P> + +<P> +Straightening himself up, he walked firmly to the open door about which +the people pressed, held back by the line of surfmen headed by +Polhemus, and calmly surveyed the crowd. Close to the opening, trying +to press her way in to Jane, his eyes fell on Lucy. Behind her stood +Max Feilding. +</P> + +<P> +"Friends," said the captain, in a low, restrained voice, every trace of +his grief and excitement gone, "I've got to ask ye to git considerable +way back and keep still. We got Doctor John here and Miss Jane, and +there ain't nothin' ye kin do. When there is I'll call ye. Polhemus, +you and Green see this order is obeyed." +</P> + +<P> +Again he hesitated, then raising his eyes over the group nearest the +door, he beckoned to Lucy, pushed her in ahead of him, caught the +swinging doors in his hands, and shut them tight. This done, he again +dropped on his knees beside the doctor and the now breathing man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE CLAW OF THE SEA-PUSS +</H3> + +<P> +With the closing of the doors the murmur of the crowd, the dull glare +of the gray sky, and the thrash of the wind were shut out. The only +light in the House of Refuge now came from the two small windows, one +above the form of the suffering man and the other behind the dead body +of Archie. Jane's head was close to the boy's chest, her sobs coming +from between her hands, held before her face. The shock of Archie's +death had robbed her of all her strength. Lucy knelt beside her, her +shoulder resting against a pile of cordage. Every now and then she +would steal a furtive glance around the room—at the boat, at the +rafters overhead, at the stove with its pile of kindling—and a slight +shudder would pass through her. She had forgotten nothing of the past, +nor of the room in which she crouched. Every scar and stain stood out +as clear and naked as those on some long-buried wreck dug from shifting +sands by a change of tide. +</P> + +<P> +A few feet away the doctor was stripping the wet clothes from the +rescued man and piling the dry coats over him to warm him back to life. +His emergency bag, handed in by Polhemus through the crack of the +closed doors, had been opened, a bottle selected, and some spoonfuls of +brandy forced down the sufferer's throat. He saw that the sea-water had +not harmed him; it was the cordwood and wreckage that had crushed the +breath out of him. In confirmation he pointed to a thin streak of blood +oozing from one ear. The captain nodded, and continued chafing the +man's hands—working with the skill of a surfman over the water-soaked +body. Once he remarked in a half-whisper—so low that Jane could not +hear him: +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't sure yet, doctor. I thought it was Bart when I grabbed him +fust; but he looks kind o' different from what I expected to see him. +If it's him he'll know me when he comes to. I ain't changed so much +maybe. I'll rub his feet now," and he kept on with his work of +resuscitation. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's straining ears had caught the captain's words of doubt, but they +gave her no hope. She had recognized at the first glance the man of all +others in the world she feared most. His small ears, the way the hair +grew on the temples, the bend of the neck and slope from the chin to +the throat. No—she had no misgivings. These features had been part of +her life—had been constantly before her since the hour Jane had told +her of Bart's expected return. Her time had come; nothing could save +her. He would regain consciousness, just as the captain had said, and +would open those awful hollow eyes and would look at her, and then that +dreadful mouth, with its thin, ashen lips, would speak to her, and she +could deny nothing. Trusting to her luck—something which had never +failed her—she had continued in her determination to keep everything +from Max. Now it would all come as a shock to him, and when he asked +her if it was true she could only bow her head. +</P> + +<P> +She dared not look at Archie—she could not. All her injustice to him +and to Jane; her abandonment of him when a baby; her neglect of him +since, her selfish life of pleasure; her triumph over Max—all came +into review, one picture after another, like the unrolling of a chart. +Even while her hand was on Jane's shoulder, and while comforting words +fell from her lips, her mind and eyes were fixed on the face of the man +whom the doctor was slowly bringing back to life. +</P> + +<P> +Not that her sympathy was withheld from Archie and Jane. It was her +terror that dominated her—a terror that froze her blood and clogged +her veins and dulled every sensibility and emotion. She was like one +lowered into a grave beside a corpse upon which every moment the earth +would fall, entombing the living with the dead. +</P> + +<P> +The man groaned and turned his head, as if in pain. A convulsive +movement of the lips and face followed, and then the eyes partly opened. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy clutched at the coil of rope, staggered to her feet, and braced +herself for the shock. He would rise now, and begin staring about, and +then he would recognize her. The captain knew what was coming; he was +even now planning in his mind the details of the horrible plot of which +Jane had told her! +</P> + +<P> +Captain Holt stooped closer and peered under the half-closed lids. +</P> + +<P> +"Brown eyes," she heard him mutter to himself, "just 's the Swede told +me." She knew their color; they had looked into her own too often. +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John felt about with his hand and drew a small package of +letters from inside the man's shirt. They were tied with a string and +soaked with salt water. This he handed to the captain. +</P> + +<P> +The captain pulled them apart and examined them carefully. +</P> + +<P> +"It's him," he said with a start, "it's Bart! It's all plain now. +Here's my letter," and he held it up. "See the printing at the +top—'Life-Saving Service'? And here's some more—they're all stuck +together. Wait! here's one—fine writing." Then his voice dropped so +that only the doctor could hear: "Ain't that signed 'Lucy'? +Yes—'Lucy'—and it's an old one." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor waved the letters away and again laid his hand on the +sufferer's chest, keeping it close to his heart. The captain bent +nearer. Jane, who, crazed with grief, had been caressing Archie's cold +cheeks, lifted her head as if aware of the approach of some crisis, and +turned to where the doctor knelt beside the rescued man. Lucy leaned +forward with straining eyes and ears. +</P> + +<P> +The stillness of death fell upon the small room. Outside could be heard +the pound and thrash of the surf and the moan of the gale; no human +voice—men and women were talking in whispers. One soul had gone to God +and another life hung by a thread. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor raised his finger. +</P> + +<P> +The man's face twitched convulsively, the lids opened wider, there came +a short, inward gasp, and the jaw dropped. +</P> + +<P> +"He's dead," said the doctor, and rose to his feet. Then he took his +handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the dead man's face. +</P> + +<P> +As the words fell from his lips Lucy caught at the wall, and with an +almost hysterical cry of joy threw herself into Jane's arms. +</P> + +<P> +The captain leaned back against the life-boat and for some moments his +eyes were fixed on the body of his dead son. +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't never loved nothin' all my life, doctor," he said, his voice +choking, "that it didn't go that way." +</P> + +<P> +Doctor John made no reply except with his eyes. Silence is ofttimes +more sympathetic than the spoken word. He was putting his remedies back +into his bag so that he might rejoin Jane. The captain continued: +</P> + +<P> +"All I've got is gone now—the wife, Archie, and now Bart. I counted on +these two. Bad day's work, doctor—bad day's work." Then in a firm +tone, "I'll open the doors now and call in the men; we got to git these +two bodies up to the Station, and then we'll get 'em home somehow." +</P> + +<P> +Instantly all Lucy's terror returned. An unaccountable, unreasoning +panic took possession of her. All her past again rose before her. She +feared the captain now more than she had Bart. Crazed over the loss of +his son he would blurt out everything. Max would hear and know—know +about Archie and Bart and all her life! +</P> + +<P> +Springing to her feet, maddened with an undefinable terror, she caught +the captain's hand as he reached out for the fastenings of the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't—don't tell them who he is! Promise me you won't tell them +anything! Say it's a stranger! You are not sure it's he—I heard you +say so!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not say it's my own son! Why?" He was entirely unconscious of what was +in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +Jane had risen to her feet at the note of agony in Lucy's voice and had +stepped to her side as if to protect her. The doctor stood listening in +amazement to Lucy's outbreak. He knew her reasons, and was appalled at +her rashness. +</P> + +<P> +"No! Don't—DON'T!" Lucy was looking up into the captain's face now, +all her terror in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I can't see what good that'll do!" For the moment he thought that +the excitement had turned her head. "Isaac Polhemus'll know him," he +continued, "soon's he sets his eyes on him. And even if I was mean +enough to do it, which I ain't, these letters would tell. They've got +to go to the Superintendent 'long with everything else found on bodies. +Your name's on some o' 'em and mine's on some others. We'll git 'em +ag'in, but not till Gov'ment see 'em." +</P> + +<P> +These were the letters which had haunted her! +</P> + +<P> +"Give them to me! They're mine!" she cried, seizing the captain's +fingers and trying to twist the letters from his grasp. +</P> + +<P> +A frown gathered on the captain's brow and his voice had an ugly ring +in it: +</P> + +<P> +"But I tell ye the Superintendent's got to have 'em for a while. That's +regulations, and that's what we carry out. They ain't goin' to be +lost—you'll git 'em ag'in." +</P> + +<P> +"He sha'n't have them, I tell you!" Her voice rang now with something +of her old imperious tone. "Nobody shall have them. They're mine—not +yours—nor his. Give them—" +</P> + +<P> +"And break my oath!" interrupted the captain. For the first time he +realized what her outburst meant and what inspired it. +</P> + +<P> +"What difference does that make in a matter like this? Give them to me. +You dare not keep them," she cried, tightening her fingers in the +effort to wrench the letters from his hand. "Sister—doctor—speak to +him! Make him give them to me—I will have them!" +</P> + +<P> +The captain brushed aside her hand as easily as a child would brush +aside a flower. His lips were tight shut, his eyes flashing. +</P> + +<P> +"You want me to lie to the department?" +</P> + +<P> +"YES!" She was beside herself now with fear and rage. "I don't care who +you lie to! You brute—you coward— I want them! I will have them!" +Again she made a spring for the letters. +</P> + +<P> +"See here, you she-devil. Look at me!"—the words came in cold, cutting +tones. "You're the only thing livin', or dead, that ever dared ask +Nathaniel Holt to do a thing like that. And you think I'd do it to +oblige ye? You're rotten as punk—that's what ye are! Rotten from yer +keel to yer top-gallant! and allus have been since I knowed ye!" +</P> + +<P> +Jane started forward and faced the now enraged man. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not, captain—you shall not speak to my sister that way!" she +commanded. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor stopped between them: "You forget that she is a woman. I +forbid you to—" +</P> + +<P> +"I will, I tell ye, doctor! It's true, and you know it." The captain's +voice now dominated the room. +</P> + +<P> +"That's no reason why you should abuse her. You're too much of a man to +act as you do." +</P> + +<P> +"It's because I'm a man that I do act this way. She's done nothin' but +bring trouble to this town ever since she landed in it from school nigh +twenty year ago. Druv out that dead boy of mine lyin' there, and made a +tramp of him; throwed Archie off on Miss Jane; lied to the man who +married her, and been livin' a lie ever since. And now she wants me to +break my oath! Damn her—" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor laid his hand over the captain's mouth. "Stop! And I mean +it!" His own calm eyes were flashing now. "This is not the place for +talk of this kind. We are in the presence of death, and—" +</P> + +<P> +The captain caught the doctor's wrist and held it like a vice. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't stop. I'll have it out—I've lived all the lies I'm goin' to +live! I told you all this fifteen year ago when I thought Bart was +dead, and you wanted me to keep shut, and I did, and you did, too, and +you ain't never opened your mouth since. That's because you're a +man—all four square sides of ye. You didn't want to hurt Miss Jane, +and no more did I. That's why I passed Archie there in the street; +that's why I turned round and looked after him when I couldn't see +sometimes for the tears in my eyes; and all to save that THING there +that ain't worth savin'! By God, when I think of it I want to tear my +tongue out for keepin' still as long as I have!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, who had shrunk back against the wall, now raised her head: +</P> + +<P> +"Coward! Coward!" she muttered. +</P> + +<P> +The captain turned and faced her, his eyes blazing, his rage +uncontrollable: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you're a THING, I tell ye!—and I'll say it ag'in. I used to +think it was Bart's fault. Now I know it warn't. It was yours. You +tricked him, damn ye! Do ye hear? Ye tricked him with yer lies and yer +ways. Now they're over—there'll be no more lies—not while I live! I'm +goin' to strip ye to bare poles so's folks 'round here kin see. Git out +of my way—all of ye! Out, I tell ye!" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor had stepped in front of the infuriated man, his back to the +closed door, his open palm upraised. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not, and you shall not!" he cried. "What you are about do to is +ruin—for Lucy, for Jane, and for little Ellen. You cannot—you shall +not put such a stain upon that child. You love her, you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—too well to let that woman touch her ag'in if I kin help it!" The +fury of the merciless sea was in him now—the roar and pound of the +surf in his voice. "She'll be a curse to the child all her days; she'll +go back on her when she's a mind to just as she did on Archie. There +ain't a dog that runs the streets that would 'a' done that. She didn't +keer then, and she don't keer now, with him a-lyin' dead there. She +ain't looked at him once nor shed a tear. It's too late. All hell can't +stop me! Out of my way, I tell ye, doctor, or I'll hurt ye!" +</P> + +<P> +With a wrench he swung back the doors and flung himself into the light. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, men! Isaac, Green—all of ye—and you over there! I got +something to say, and I don't want ye to miss a word of it! You, too, +Mr. Feilding, and that lady next ye—and everybody else that kin hear! +</P> + +<P> +"That's my son, Barton Holt, lyin' there dead! The one I druv out o' +here nigh twenty year ago. It warn't for playin' cards, but on account +of a woman; and there she stands—Lucy Cobden! That dead boy beside him +is their child—my own grandson, Archie! Out of respect to the best +woman that ever lived, Miss Jane Cobden, I've kep' still. If anybody +ain't satisfied all they got to do is to look over these letters. +That's all!" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, with a wild, despairing look at Max, had sunk to the floor and +lay cowering beneath the lifeboat, her face hidden in the folds of her +cloak. +</P> + +<P> +Jane had shrunk back behind one of the big folding doors and stood +concealed from the gaze of the astonished crowd, many of whom were +pressing into the entrance. Her head was on the doctor's shoulder, her +fingers had tight hold of his sleeve. Doctor John's arms were about her +frail figure, his lips close to her cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, dear—don't," he said softly. "You have nothing to reproach +yourself with. Your life has been one long sacrifice." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but Archie, John! Think of my boy being gone! Oh, I loved him so, +John!" +</P> + +<P> +"You made a man of him, Jane. All he was he owed to you." He was +holding her to him—comforting her as a father would a child. +</P> + +<P> +"And my poor Lucy," Jane moaned on, "and the awful, awful disgrace!" +Her face was still hidden in his shoulder, her frame shaking with the +agony of her grief, the words coming slowly, as if wrung one by one out +of her breaking heart. +</P> + +<P> +"You did your duty, dear—all of it." His lips were close to her ear. +No one else heard. +</P> + +<P> +"And you knew it all these years, John—and you did not tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"It was your secret, dear; not mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know—but I have been so blind—so foolish. I have hurt you so +often, and you have been so true through it all. O John, please—please +forgive me! My heart has been so sore at times—I have suffered so!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, with a quick lifting of her head, as if the thought alarmed her, +she asked in sudden haste: +</P> + +<P> +"And you love me, John, just the same? Say you love me, John!" +</P> + +<P> +He gathered her closer, and his lips touched her cheek: +</P> + +<P> +"I never remember, my darling, when I did not love you. Have you ever +doubted me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, John, no! Never, never! Kiss me again, my beloved. You are all I +have in the world!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tides of Barnegat, by F. 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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: The Tides of Barnegat + +Author: F. Hopkinson Smith + +Posting Date: August 1, 2009 [EBook #4398] +Release Date: August, 2003 +First Posted: January 26, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT *** + + + + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +The Tides Of Barnegat + + +by + +F. Hopkinson Smith + + + + +CONTENTS + + I THE DOCTOR'S GIG + II SPRING BLOSSOMS + III LITTLE TOD FOGARTY + IV ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK + V CAPTAIN NAT'S DECISION + VI A GAME OF CARDS + VII THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT + VIII AN ARRIVAL + IX THE SPREAD OF FIRE + X A LATE VISITOR + XI MORTON COBDEN'S DAUGHTER + XII A LETTER FROM PARIS + XIII SCOOTSY'S EPITHET + XIV HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY + XV A PACKAGE OF LETTERS + XVI THE BEGINNING OF THE EBB + XVII BREAKERS AHEAD + XVIII THE SWEDE'S STORY + XIX THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN + XX THE UNDERTOW + XXI THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT + XXII THE CLAW OF THE SEA-PUSS + + + + +THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT + + +CHAPTER I + +THE DOCTOR'S GIG + + +One lovely spring morning--and this story begins on a spring morning +some fifty years or more ago--a joy of a morning that made one glad to +be alive, when the radiant sunshine had turned the ribbon of a road +that ran from Warehold village to Barnegat Light and the sea to satin, +the wide marshes to velvet, and the belts of stunted pines to bands of +purple--on this spring morning, then, Martha Sands, the Cobdens' nurse, +was out with her dog Meg. She had taken the little beast to the inner +beach for a bath--a custom of hers when the weather was fine and the +water not too cold--and was returning to Warehold by way of the road, +when, calling the dog to her side, she stopped to feast her eyes on the +picture unrolled at her feet. + +To the left of where she stood curved the coast, glistening like a +scimitar, and the strip of yellow beach which divided the narrow bay +from the open sea; to the right, thrust out into the sheen of silver, +lay the spit of sand narrowing the inlet, its edges scalloped with lace +foam, its extreme point dominated by the grim tower of Barnegat Light; +aloft, high into the blue, soared the gulls, flashing like jewels as +they lifted their breasts to the sun, while away and beyond the sails +of the fishing-boats, gray or silver in their shifting tacks, crawled +over the wrinkled sea. + +The glory of the landscape fixed in her mind, Martha gathered her shawl +about her shoulders, tightened the strings of her white cap, smoothed +out her apron, and with the remark to Meg that he'd "never see nothin' +so beautiful nor so restful," resumed her walk. + +They were inseparable, these two, and had been ever since the day she +had picked him up outside the tavern, half starved and with a sore +patch on his back where some kitchen-maid had scalded him. Somehow the +poor outcast brought home to her a sad page in her own history, when +she herself was homeless and miserable, and no hand was stretched out +to her. So she had coddled and fondled him, gaining his confidence day +by day and talking to him by the hour of whatever was uppermost in her +mind. + +Few friendships presented stronger contrasts: She stout and +motherly-looking--too stout for any waistline--with kindly blue eyes, +smooth gray hair--gray, not white--her round, rosy face, framed in a +cotton cap, aglow with the freshness of the morning--a comforting, +coddling-up kind of woman of fifty, with a low, crooning voice, gentle +fingers, and soft, restful hollows about her shoulders and bosom for +the heads of tired babies; Meg thin, rickety, and sneak-eyed, with a +broken tail that hung at an angle, and but one ear (a black-and-tan had +ruined the other)--a sandy-colored, rough-haired, good-for-nothing cur +of multifarious lineage, who was either crouching at her feet or in +full cry for some hole in a fence or rift in a wood-pile where he could +flatten out and sulk in safety. + +Martha continued her talk to Meg. While she had been studying the +landscape he had taken the opportunity to wallow in whatever came +first, and his wet hair was bristling with sand and matted with burrs. + +"Come here, Meg--you measly rascal!" she cried, stamping her foot. +"Come here, I tell ye!" + +The dog crouched close to the ground, waited until Martha was near +enough to lay her hand upon him, and then, with a backward spring, +darted under a bush in full blossom. + +"Look at ye now!" she shouted in a commanding tone. "'Tain't no use o' +my washin' ye. Ye're full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when I +throwed ye in the water. Come out o' that, I tell ye! Now, Meg, +darlin'"--this came in a coaxing tone--"come out like a good dog--sure +I'm not goin' in them brambles to hunt ye!" + +A clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air. A two-wheeled gig drawn +by a well-groomed sorrel horse and followed by a brown-haired Irish +setter was approaching. In it sat a man of thirty, dressed in a long, +mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape falling to the shoulders. On his +head was a soft gray hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above +the lapels of his coat. He had thin, shapely legs, a flat waist, and +square shoulders, above which rose a clean-shaven face of singular +sweetness and refinement. + +At the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked his head from between +the blossoms, twisted his one ear to catch the sound, and with a +side-spring bounded up the road toward the setter. + +"Well, I declare, if it ain't Dr. John Cavendish and Rex!" Martha +exclaimed, raising both hands in welcome as the horse stopped beside +her. "Good-mornin' to ye, Doctor John. I thought it was you, but the +sun blinded me, and I couldn't see. And ye never saw a better nor a +brighter mornin'. These spring days is all blossoms, and they ought to +be. Where ye goin', anyway, that ye're in such a hurry? Ain't nobody +sick up to Cap'n Holt's, be there?" she added, a shade of anxiety +crossing her face. + +"No, Martha; it's the dressmaker," answered the doctor, tightening the +reins on the restless sorrel as he spoke. The voice was low and kindly +and had a ring of sincerity through it. + +"What dressmaker?" + +"Why, Miss Gossaway!" His hand was extended now--that fine, delicately +wrought, sympathetic hand that had soothed so many aching heads. + +"You've said it," laughed Martha, leaning over the wheel so as to press +his fingers in her warm palm. "There ain't no doubt 'bout that skinny +fright being 'Miss,' and there ain't no doubt 'bout her stayin' so. Ann +Gossaway she is, and Ann Gossaway she'll die. Is she took bad?" she +continued, a merry, questioning look lighting up her kindly face, her +lips pursed knowingly. + +"No, only a sore throat" the doctor replied, loosening his coat. + +"Throat!" she rejoined, with a wry look on her face. "Too bad 'twarn't +her tongue. If ye could snip off a bit o' that some day it would help +folks considerable 'round here." + +The doctor laughed in answer, dropped the lines over the dashboard and +leaned forward in his seat, the sun lighting up his clean-cut face. +Busy as he was--and there were few busier men in town, as every +hitching-post along the main street of Warehold village from Billy +Tatham's, the driver of the country stage, to Captain Holt's, could +prove--he always had time for a word with the old nurse. + +"And where have YOU been, Mistress Martha?" he asked, with a smile, +dropping his whip into the socket, a sure sign that he had a few more +minutes to give her. + +"Oh, down to the beach to git some o' the dirt off Meg. Look at +him--did ye ever see such a rapscallion! Every time I throw him in he's +into the sand ag'in wallowin' before I kin git to him." + +The doctor bent his head, and for an instant watched the two dogs: Meg +circling about Rex, all four legs taut, his head jerking from side to +side in his eagerness to be agreeable to his roadside acquaintance; the +agate-eyed setter returning Meg's attentions with the stony gaze of a +club swell ignoring a shabby relative. The doctor smiled thoughtfully. +There was nothing he loved to study so much as dogs--they had a +peculiar humor of their own, he often said, more enjoyable sometimes +than that of men--then he turned to Martha again. + +"And why are you away from home this morning of all others?" he asked. +"I thought Miss Lucy was expected from school to-day?" + +"And so she is, God bless her! And that's why I'm here. I was that +restless I couldn't keep still, and so I says to Miss Jane, 'I'm goin' +to the beach with Meg and watch the ships go by; that's the only thing +that'll quiet my nerves. They're never in a hurry with everybody +punchin' and haulin' them.' Not that there's anybody doin' that to me, +'cept like it is to-day when I'm waitin' for my blessed baby to come +back to me. Two years, doctor--two whole years since I had my arms +round her. Wouldn't ye think I'd be nigh crazy?" + +"She's too big for your arms now, Martha," laughed the doctor, +gathering up his reins. "She's a woman--seventeen, isn't she?" + +"Seventeen and three months, come the fourteenth of next July. But +she's not a woman to me, and she never will be. She's my wee bairn that +I took from her mother's dyin' arms and nursed at my own breast, and +she'll be that wee bairn to me as long as I live. Ye'll be up to see +her, won't ye, doctor?" + +"Yes, to-night. How's Miss Jane?" As he made the inquiry his eyes +kindled and a slight color suffused his cheeks. + +"She'll be better for seein' ye," the nurse answered with a knowing +look. Then in a louder and more positive tone, "Oh, ye needn't stare so +with them big brown eyes o' yourn. Ye can't fool old Martha, none o' +you young people kin. Ye think I go round with my eyelids sewed up. +Miss Jane knows what she wants--she's proud, and so are you; I never +knew a Cobden nor a Cavendish that warn't. I haven't a word to +say--it'll be a good match when it comes off. Where's that Meg? +Good-by, doctor. I won't keep ye a minute longer from MISS Gossaway. +I'm sorry it ain't her tongue, but if it's only her throat she may get +over it. Go 'long, Meg!" + +Dr. Cavendish laughed one of his quiet laughs--a laugh that wrinkled +the lines about his eyes, with only a low gurgle in his throat for +accompaniment, picked up his whip, lifted his hat in mock courtesy to +the old nurse, and calling to Rex, who, bored by Meg's attentions, had +at last retreated under the gig, chirruped to his horse, and drove on. + +Martha watched the doctor and Rex until they were out of sight, walked +on to the top of the low hill, and finding a seat by the roadside--her +breath came short these warm spring days--sat down to rest, the dog +stretched out in her lap. The little outcast had come to her the day +Lucy left Warehold for school, and the old nurse had always regarded +him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading herself that +nothing would happen to her bairn as long as this miserable dog was +well cared for. + +"Ye heard what Doctor John said about her bein' a woman, Meg?" she +crooned, when she had caught her breath. "And she with her petticoats +up to her knees! That's all he knows about her. Ye'd know better than +that, Meg, wouldn't ye--if ye'd seen her grow up like he's done? But +grown up or not, Meg"--here she lifted the dog's nose to get a clearer +view of his sleepy eyes--"she's my blessed baby and she's comin' home +this very day, Meg, darlin'; d'ye hear that, ye little ruffian? And +she's not goin' away ag'in, never, never. There'll be nobody drivin' +round in a gig lookin' after her--nor nobody else as long as I kin help +it. Now git up and come along; I'm that restless I can't sit still," +and sliding the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk toward +Warehold. + +Soon the village loomed in sight, and later on the open gateway of +"Yardley," the old Cobden Manor, with its two high brick posts topped +with white balls and shaded by two tall hemlocks, through which could +be seen a level path leading to an old colonial house with portico, +white pillars supporting a balcony, and a sloping roof with huge +chimneys and dormer windows. + +Martha quickened her steps, and halting at the gate-posts, paused for a +moment with her eyes up the road. It was yet an hour of the time of her +bairn's arrival by the country stage, but her impatience was such that +she could not enter the path without this backward glance. Meg, who had +followed behind his mistress at a snail's pace, also came to a halt +and, as was his custom, picked out a soft spot in the road and sat down +on his haunches. + +Suddenly the dog sprang up with a quick yelp and darted inside the +gate. The next instant a young girl in white, with a wide hat shading +her joyous face, jumped from behind one of the big hemlocks and with a +cry pinioned Martha's arms to her side. + +"Oh, you dear old thing, you! where have you been? Didn't you know I +was coming by the early stage?" she exclaimed in a half-querulous tone. + +The old nurse disengaged one of her arms from the tight clasp of the +girl, reached up her hand until she found the soft cheek, patted it +gently for an instant as a blind person might have done, and then +reassured, hid her face on Lucy's shoulder and burst into tears. The +joy of the surprise had almost stopped her breath. + +"No, baby, no," she murmured. "No, darlin', I didn't. I was on the +beach with Meg. No, no--Oh, let me cry, darlin'. To think I've got you +at last. I wouldn't have gone away, darlin', but they told me you +wouldn't be here till dinner-time. Oh, darlin', is it you? And it's all +true, isn't it? and ye've come back to me for good? Hug me close. Oh, +my baby bairn, my little one! Oh, you precious!" and she nestled the +girl's head on her bosom, smoothing her cheek as she crooned on, the +tears running down her cheeks. + +Before the girl could reply there came a voice calling from the house: +"Isn't she fine, Martha?" A woman above the middle height, young and of +slender figure, dressed in a simple gray gown and without her hat, was +stepping from the front porch to meet them. + +"Too fine, Miss Jane, for her old Martha," the nurse called back. "I've +got to love her all over again. Oh, but I'm that happy I could burst +meself with joy! Give me hold of your hand, darlin'--I'm afraid I'll +lose ye ag'in if ye get out of reach of me." + +The two strolled slowly up the path to meet Jane, Martha patting the +girl's arm and laying her cheek against it as she walked. Meg had +ceased barking and was now sniffing at Lucy's skirts, his bent tail +wagging slowly, his sneaky eyes looking up into Lucy's face. + +"Will he bite, Martha?" she asked, shrinking to one side. She had an +aversion to anything physically imperfect, no matter how lovable it +might be to others. This tattered example struck her as particularly +objectionable. + +"No, darlin'--nothin' 'cept his food," and Martha laughed. + +"What a horrid little beast!" Lucy said half aloud to herself, clinging +all the closer to the nurse. "This isn't the dog sister Jane wrote me +about, is it? She said you loved him dearly--you don't, do you?" + +"Yes, that's the same dog. You don't like him, do you, darlin'?" + +"No, I think he's awful," retorted Lucy in a positive tone. + +"It's all I had to pet since you went away," Martha answered +apologetically. + +"Well, now I'm home, give him away, please. Go away, you dreadful dog!" +she cried, stamping her foot as Meg, now reassured, tried to jump upon +her. + +The dog fell back, and crouching close to Martha's side raised his eyes +appealingly, his ear and tail dragging. + +Jane now joined them. She had stopped to pick some blossoms for the +house. + +"Why, Lucy, what's poor Meg done?" she asked, as she stooped over and +stroked the crestfallen beast's head. "Poor old doggie--we all love +you, don't we?" + +"Well, just please love him all to yourselves, then," retorted Lucy +with a toss of her head. "I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. I +never saw anything so ugly. Get away, you little brute!" + +"Oh, Lucy, dear, don't talk so," replied the older sister in a pitying +tone. "He was half starved when Martha found him and brought him +home--and look at his poor back--" + +"No, thank you; I don't want to look at his poor back, nor his poor +tail, nor anything else poor about him. And you will send him away, +won't you, like a dear good old Martha?" she added, patting Martha's +shoulder in a coaxing way. Then encircling Jane's waist with her arm, +the two sisters sauntered slowly back to the house. + +Martha followed behind with Meg. + +Somehow, and for the first time where Lucy was concerned, she felt a +tightening of her heart-strings, all the more painful because it had +followed so closely upon the joy of their meeting. What had come over +her bairn, she said to herself with a sigh, that she should talk so to +Meg--to anything that her old nurse loved, for that matter? Jane +interrupted her reveries. + +"Did you give Meg a bath, Martha?" she asked over her shoulder. She had +seen the look of disappointment in the old nurse's face and, knowing +the cause, tried to lighten the effect. + +"Yes--half water and half sand. Doctor John came along with Rex shinin' +like a new muff, and I was ashamed to let him see Meg. He's comin' up +to see you to-night, Lucy, darlin'," and she bent forward and tapped +the girl's shoulder to accentuate the importance of the information. + +Lucy cut her eye in a roguish way and twisted her pretty head around +until she could look into Jane's eyes. + +"Who do you think he's coming to see, sister?" + +"Why, you, you little goose. They're all coming--Uncle Ephraim has sent +over every day to find out when you would be home, and Bart Holt was +here early this morning, and will be back to-night." + +"What does Bart Holt look like?"--she had stopped in her walk to pluck +a spray of lilac blossoms. "I haven't seen him for years; I hear he's +another one of your beaux," she added, tucking the flowers into Jane's +belt. "There, sister, that's just your color; that's what that gray +dress needs. Tell me, what's Bart like?" + +"A little like Captain Nat, his father," answered Jane, ignoring Lucy's +last inference, "not so stout and--" + +"What's he doing?" + +"Nothin', darlin', that's any good," broke in Martha from behind the +two. "He's sailin' a boat when he ain't playin' cards or scarin' +everybody down to the beach with his gun, or shyin' things at Meg." + +"Don't you mind anything Martha says, Lucy," interrupted Jane in a +defensive tone. "He's got a great many very good qualities; he has no +mother and the captain has never looked after him. It's a great wonder +that he is not worse than he is." + +She knew Martha had spoken the truth, but she still hoped that her +influence might help him, and then again, she never liked to hear even +her acquaintances criticised. + +"Playing cards! That all?" exclaimed Lucy, arching her eyebrows; her +sister's excuses for the delinquent evidently made no impression on +her. "I don't think playing cards is very bad; and I don't blame him +for throwing anything he could lay his hands on at this little wretch +of Martha's. We all played cards up in our rooms at school. Miss Sarah +never knew anything about it--she thought we were in bed, and it was +just lovely to fool her. And what does the immaculate Dr. John +Cavendish look like? Has he changed any?" she added with a laugh. + +"No," answered Jane simply. + +"Does he come often?" She had turned her head now and was looking from +under her lids at Martha. "Just as he used to and sit around, or has +he--" Here she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, and a laugh bubbled out +from between her lips. + +"Yes, that's just what he does do," cried Martha in a triumphant tone; +"every minute he kin git. And he can't come too often to suit me. I +jest love him, and I'm not the only one, neither, darlin'," she added +with a nod of her head toward Jane. + +"And Barton Holt as well?" persisted Lucy. "Why, sister, I didn't +suppose there would be a man for me to look at when I came home, and +you've got two already! Which one are you going to take?" Here her rosy +face was drawn into solemn lines. + +Jane colored. "You've got to be a great tease, Lucy," she answered as +she leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm not in the back of +the doctor's head, nor he in mine--he's too busy nursing the sick--and +Bart's a boy!" + +"Why, he's twenty-five years old, isn't he?" exclaimed Lucy in some +surprise. + +"Twenty-five years young, dearie--there's a difference, you know. +That's why I do what I can to help him. If he'd had the right +influences in his life and could be thrown a little more with nice +women it would help make him a better man. Be very good to him, please, +even if you do find him a little rough." + +They had mounted the steps of the porch and were now entering the wide +colonial hall--a bare white hall, with a staircase protected by +spindling mahogany banisters and a handrail. Jane passed into the +library and seated herself at her desk. Lucy ran on upstairs, followed +by Martha to help unpack her boxes and trunks. + +When they reached the room in which Martha had nursed her for so many +years--the little crib still occupied one corner--the old woman took +the wide hat from the girl's head and looked long and searchingly into +her eyes. + +"Let me look at ye, my baby," she said, as she pushed Lucy's hair back +from her forehead; "same blue eyes, darlin', same pretty mouth I kissed +so often, same little dimples ye had when ye lay in my arms, but ye've +changed--how I can't tell. Somehow, the face is different." + +Her hands now swept over the full rounded shoulders and plump arms of +the beautiful girl, and over the full hips. + +"The doctor's right, child," she said with a sigh, stepping back a pace +and looking her over critically; "my baby's gone--you've filled out to +be a woman." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +SPRING BLOSSOMS + + +For days the neighbors in and about the village of Warehold had been +looking forward to Lucy's home-coming as one of the important epochs in +the history of the Manor House, quite as they would have done had Lucy +been a boy and the expected function one given in honor of the youthful +heir's majority. Most of them had known the father and mother of these +girls, and all of them loved Jane, the gentle mistress of the home--a +type of woman eminently qualified to maintain its prestige. + +It had been a great house in its day. Built in early Revolutionary +times by Archibald Cobden, who had thrown up his office under the Crown +and openly espoused the cause of the colonists, it had often been the +scene of many of the festivities and social events following the +conclusion of peace and for many years thereafter: the rooms were still +pointed out in which Washington and Lafayette had slept, as well as the +small alcove where the dashing Bart de Klyn passed the night whenever +he drove over in his coach with outriders from Bow Hill to Barnegat and +the sea. + +With the death of Colonel Creighton Cobden, who held a commission in +the War of 1812, all this magnificence of living had changed, and when +Morton Cobden, the father of Jane and Lucy, inherited the estate, but +little was left except the Manor House, greatly out of repair, and some +invested property which brought in but a modest income. On his +death-bed Morton Cobden's last words were a prayer to Jane, then +eighteen, that she would watch over and protect her younger sister, a +fair-haired child of eight, taking his own and her dead mother's place, +a trust which had so dominated Jane's life that it had become the +greater part of her religion. + +Since then she had been the one strong hand in the home, looking after +its affairs, managing their income, and watching over every step of her +sister's girlhood and womanhood. Two years before she had placed Lucy +in one of the fashionable boarding-schools of Philadelphia, there to +study "music and French," and to perfect herself in that "grace of +manner and charm of conversation," which the two maiden ladies who +presided over its fortunes claimed in their modest advertisements they +were so competent to teach. Part of the curriculum was an enforced +absence from home of two years, during which time none of her own +people were to visit her except in case of emergency. + +To-night, the once famous house shone with something of its old-time +color. The candles were lighted in the big bronze candelabra--the ones +which came from Paris; the best glass and china and all the old plate +were brought out and placed on the sideboard and serving-tables; a wood +fire was started (the nights were yet cold), its cheery blaze lighting +up the brass fender and andirons before which many of Colonel Cobden's +cronies had toasted their shins as they sipped their toddies in the old +days; easy-chairs and hair-cloth sofas were drawn from the walls; the +big lamps lighted, and many minor details perfected for the comfort of +the expected guests. + +Jane entered the drawing-room in advance of Lucy and was busying +herself putting the final touches to the apartment,--arranging the +sprays of blossoms over the clock and under the portrait of Morton +Cobden, which looked calmly down on the room from its place on the +walls, when the door opened softly and Martha--the old nurse had for +years been treated as a member of the family--stepped in, bowing and +curtsying as would an old woman in a play, the skirt of her new black +silk gown that Ann Gossaway had made for her held out between her plump +fingers, her mob-cap with its long lace strings bobbing with every +gesture. With her rosy cheeks, silver-rimmed spectacles, self-satisfied +smile, and big puffy sleeves, she looked as if she might have stepped +out of one of the old frames lining the walls. + +"What do ye think of me, Miss Jane? I'm proud as a peacock--that I am!" +she cried, twisting herself about. "Do ye know, I never thought that +skinny dressmaker could do half as well. Is it long enough?" and she +craned her head in the attempt to see the edge of the skirt. + +"Fits you beautifully, Martha. You look fine," answered Jane in all +sincerity, as she made a survey of the costume. "How does Lucy like it?" + +"The darlin' don't like it at all; she says I look like a pall-bearer, +and ye ought to hear her laughin' at the cap. Is there anything the +matter with it? The pastor's wife's got one, anyhow, and she's a year +younger'n me." + +"Don't mind her, Martha--she laughs at everything; and how good it is +to hear her! She never saw you look so well," replied Jane, as she +moved a jar from a table and placed it on the mantel to hold the +blossoms she had picked in the garden. "What's she doing upstairs so +long?" + +"Prinkin'--and lookin' that beautiful ye wouldn't know her. But the +width and the thickness of her"--here the wrinkled fingers measured the +increase with a half circle in the air--"and the way she's plumped +out--not in one place, but all over--well, I tell ye, ye'd be +astonished! She knows it, too, bless her heart! I don't blame her. Let +her git all the comfort she kin when she's young--that's the time for +laughin'--the cryin' always comes later." + +No part of Martha's rhapsody over Lucy described Jane. Not in her best +moments could she have been called beautiful--not even to-night when +Lucy's home-coming had given a glow to her cheeks and a lustre to her +eyes that nothing else had done for months. Her slender figure, almost +angular in its contour with its closely drawn lines about the hips and +back; her spare throat and neck, straight arms, thin wrists and +hands--transparent hands, though exquisitely wrought, as were those of +all her race--all so expressive of high breeding and refinement, +carried with them none of the illusions of beauty. The mould of the +head, moreover, even when softened by her smooth chestnut hair, worn +close to her ears and caught up in a coil behind, was too severe for +accepted standards, while her features wonderfully sympathetic as they +were, lacked the finer modeling demanded in perfect types of female +loveliness, the eyebrows being almost straight, the cheeks sunken, with +little shadows under the cheek-bones, and the lips narrow and often +drawn. + +And yet with all these discrepancies and, to some minds, blemishes +there was a light in her deep gray eyes, a melody in her voice, a charm +in her manner, a sureness of her being exactly the sort of woman one +hoped she would be, a quick responsiveness to any confidence, all so +captivating and so satisfying that 'those who knew her forgot her +slight physical shortcomings and carried away only the remembrance of +one so much out of the common and of so distinguished a personality +that she became ever after the standard by which they judged all good +women. + +There were times, too--especially whenever Lucy entered the room or her +name was mentioned--that there shone through Jane's eyes a certain +instantaneous kindling of the spirit which would irradiate her whole +being as a candle does a lantern--a light betokening not only +uncontrollable tenderness but unspeakable pride, dimmed now and then +when some word or act of her charge brought her face to face with the +weight of the responsibility resting upon her--a responsibility far +outweighing that which most mothers would have felt. This so dominated +Jane's every motion that it often robbed her of the full enjoyment of +the companionship of a sister so young and so beautiful. + +If Jane, to quote Doctor John, looked like a lily swaying on a slender +stem, Lucy, when she bounded into the room to-night, was a full-blown +rose tossed by a summer breeze. She came in with throat and neck bare; +a woman all curves and dimples, her skin as pink as a shell; plump as a +baby, and as fair, and yet with the form of a wood-nymph; dressed in a +clinging, soft gown, the sleeves caught up at the shoulders revealing +her beautiful arms, a spray of blossoms on her bosom, her blue eyes +dancing with health, looking twenty rather than seventeen; glad of her +freedom, glad of her home and Jane and Martha, and of the lights and +blossoms and the glint on silver and glass, and of all that made life +breathable and livable. + +"Oh, but isn't it just too lovely to be at home!" she cried as she +skipped about. "No lights out at nine, no prayers, no getting up at six +o'clock and turning your mattress and washing in a sloppy little +washroom. Oh, I'm so happy! I can't realize it's all true." As she +spoke she raised herself on her toes so that she could see her face in +the mirror over the mantel. "Why, do you know, sister," she rattled on, +her eyes studying her own face, "that Miss Sarah used to make us learn +a page of dictionary if we talked after the silence bell!" + +"You must know the whole book by heart, then, dearie," replied Jane +with a smile, as she bent over a table and pushed back some books to +make room for a bowl of arbutus she held in her hand. + +"Ah, but she didn't catch us very often. We used to stuff up the cracks +in the doors so she couldn't hear us talk and smother our heads in the +pillows. Jonesy, the English teacher, was the worst." She was still +looking in the glass, her fingers busy with the spray of blossoms on +her bosom. "She always wore felt slippers and crept around like a cat. +She'd tell on anybody. We had a play one night in my room after lights +were out, and Maria Collins was Claude Melnotte and I was Pauline. +Maria had a mustache blackened on her lips with a piece of burnt cork +and I was all fixed up in a dressing-gown and sash. We never heard +Jonesy till she put her hand on the knob; then we blew out the candle +and popped into bed. She smelled the candle-wick and leaned over and +kissed Maria good-night, and the black all came off on her lips, and +next day we got three pages apiece--the mean old thing! How do I look, +Martha? Is my hair all right?" Here she turned her head for the old +woman's inspection. + +"Beautiful, darlin'. There won't one o' them know ye; they'll think +ye're a real livin' princess stepped out of a picture-book." Martha had +not taken her eyes from Lucy since she entered the room. + +"See my little beau-catchers," she laughed, twisting her head so that +Martha could see the tiny Spanish curls she had flattened against her +temples. "They are for Bart Holt, and I'm going to cut sister out. Do +you think he'll remember me?" she prattled on, arching her neck. + +"It won't make any difference if he don't," Martha retorted in a +positive tone. "But Cap'n Nat will, and so will the doctor and Uncle +Ephraim and--who's that comin' this early?" and the old nurse paused +and listened to a heavy step on the porch. "It must be the cap'n +himself; there ain't nobody but him's got a tread like that; ye'd think +he was trampin' the deck o' one of his ships." + +The door of the drawing-room opened and a bluff, hearty, round-faced +man of fifty, his iron-gray hair standing straight up on his head like +a shoe-brush, dressed in a short pea-jacket surmounted by a low sailor +collar and loose necktie, stepped cheerily into the room. + +"Ah, Miss Jane!" Somehow all the neighbors, even the most intimate, +remembered to prefix "Miss" when speaking to Jane. "So you've got this +fly-away back again? Where are ye? By jingo! let me look at you. Why! +why! why! Did you ever! What have you been doing to yourself, lassie, +that you should shed your shell like a bug and come out with wings like +a butterfly? Why you're the prettiest thing I've seen since I got home +from my last voyage." + +He had Lucy by both bands now, and was turning her about as if she had +been one of Ann Gossaway's models. + +"Have I changed, Captain Holt?" + +"No--not a mite. You've got a new suit of flesh and blood on your +bones, that's all. And it's the best in the locker. Well! Well! WELL!" +He was still twisting her around. "She does ye proud, Martha," he +called to the old nurse, who was just leaving the room to take charge +of the pantry, now that the guests had begun to arrive. "And so ye're +home for good and all, lassie?" + +"Yes--isn't it lovely?" + +"Lovely? That's no name for it. You'll be settin' the young fellers +crazy 'bout here before they're a week older. Here come two of 'em now." + +Lucy turned her head quickly, just as the doctor and Barton Holt +reached the door of the drawing-room. The elder of the two, Doctor +John, greeted Jane as if she had been a duchess, bowing low as he +approached her, his eyes drinking in her every movement; then, after a +few words, remembering the occasion as being one in honor of Lucy, he +walked slowly toward the young girl. + +"Why, Lucy, it's so delightful to get you back!" he cried, shaking her +hand warmly. "And you are looking so well. Poor Martha has been on pins +and needles waiting for you. I told her just how it would be--that +she'd lose her little girl--and she has," and he glanced at her +admiringly. "What did she say when she saw you?" + +"Oh, the silly old thing began to cry, just as they all do. Have you +seen her dog?" + +The answer jarred on the doctor, although he excused her in his heart +on the ground of her youth and her desire to appear at ease in talking +to him. + +"Do you mean Meg?" he asked, scanning her face the closer. + +"I don't know what she calls him--but he's the ugliest little beast I +ever saw." + +"Yes--but so amusing. I never get tired of watching him. What is left +of him is the funniest thing alive. He's better than he looks, though. +He and Rex have great times together." + +"I wish you would take him, then. I told Martha this morning that he +mustn't poke his nose into my room, and he won't. He's a perfect +fright." + +"But the dear old woman loves him," he protested with a tender tone in +his voice, his eyes fixed on Lucy. + +He had looked into the faces of too many young girls in his +professional career not to know something of what lay at the bottom of +their natures. What he saw now came as a distinct surprise. + +"I don't care if she does," she retorted; "no, I don't," and she knit +her brow and shook her pretty head as she laughed. + +While they stood talking Bart Holt, who had lingered at the threshold, +his eyes searching for the fair arrival, was advancing toward the +centre of the room. Suddenly he stood still, his gaze fixed on the +vision of the girl in the clinging dress, with the blossoms resting on +her breast. The curve of her back, the round of the hip; the way her +moulded shoulders rose above the lace of her bodice; the bare, full +arms tapering to the wrists;--the color, the movement, the grace of it +all had taken away his breath. With only a side nod of recognition +toward Jane, he walked straight to Lucy and with an "Excuse me," +elbowed the doctor out of the way in his eagerness to reach the girl's +side. The doctor smiled at the young man's impetuosity, bent his head +to Lucy, and turned to where Jane was standing awaiting the arrival of +her other guests. + +The young man extended his hand. "I'm Bart Holt," he exclaimed; "you +haven't forgotten me, Miss Lucy, have you? We used to play together. +Mighty glad to see you--been expecting you for a week." + +Lucy colored slightly and arched her head in a coquettish way. His +frankness pleased her; so did the look of unfeigned admiration in his +eyes. + +"Why, of course I haven't forgotten you, Mr. Holt. It was so nice of +you to come," and she gave him the tips of her fingers--her own eyes +meanwhile, in one comprehensive glance, taking in his round head with +its closely cropped curls, searching brown eyes, wavering mouth, broad +shoulders, and shapely body, down to his small, well-turned feet. The +young fellow lacked the polish and well-bred grace of the doctor, just +as he lacked his well-cut clothes and distinguished manners, but there +was a sort of easy effrontery and familiar air about him that some of +his women admirers encouraged and others shrank from. Strange to say, +this had appealed to Lucy before he had spoken a word. + +"And you've come home for good now, haven't you?" His eyes were still +drinking in the beauty of the girl, his mind neither on his questions +nor her answers. + +"Yes, forever and ever," she replied, with a laugh that showed her +white teeth. + +"Did you like it at school?" It was her lips now that held his +attention and the little curves under her dimpled chin. He thought he +had never seen so pretty a mouth and chin. + +"Not always; but we used to have lots of fun," answered the girl, +studying him in return--the way his cravat was tied and the part of his +hair. She thought he had well-shaped ears and that his nose and +eyebrows looked like a picture she had in her room upstairs. + +"Come and tell me about it. Let's sit down here," he continued as he +drew her to a sofa and stood waiting until she took her seat. + +"Well, I will for a moment, until they begin to come in," she answered, +her face all smiles. She liked the way he behaved towards her--not +asking her permission, but taking the responsibility and by his manner +compelling a sort of obedience. "But I can't stay," she added. "Sister +won't like it if I'm not with her to shake hands with everybody." + +"Oh, she won't mind me; I'm a great friend of Miss Jane's. Please go +on; what kind of fun did you have? I like to hear about girls' scrapes. +We had plenty of them at college, but I couldn't tell you half of +them." He had settled himself beside her now, his appropriating eyes +still taking in her beauty. + +"Oh, all kinds," she replied as she bent her head and glanced at the +blossoms on her breast to be assured of their protective covering. + +"But I shouldn't think you could have much fun with the teachers +watching you every minute," said Bart, moving nearer to her and turning +his body so he could look squarely into her eyes. + +"Yes, but they didn't find out half that was going on." Then she added +coyly, "I don't know whether you can keep a secret--do you tell +everything you hear?" + +"Never tell anything." + +"How do I know?" + +"I'll swear it." In proof he held up one hand and closed both eyes in +mock reverence as if he were taking an oath. He was getting more +interested now in her talk; up to this time her beauty had dazzled him. +"Never! So help me--" he mumbled impressively. + +"Well, one day we were walking out to the park--Now you're sure you +won't tell sister, she's so easily shocked?" The tone was the same, but +the inflection was shaded to closer intimacy. + +Again Bart cast up his eyes. + +"And all the girls were in a string with Miss Griggs, the Latin +teacher, in front, and we all went in a cake shop and got a big piece +of gingerbread apiece. We were all eating away hard as we could when we +saw Miss Sarah coming. Every girl let her cake go, and when Miss Sarah +got to us the whole ten pieces were scattered along the sidewalk." + +Bart looked disappointed over the mild character of the scrape. From +what he had seen of her he had supposed her adventures would be +seasoned with a certain spice of deviltry. + +"I wouldn't have done that, I'd have hidden it in my pocket," he +replied, sliding down on the sofa until his head rested on the cushion +next her own. + +"We tried, but she was too close. Poor old Griggsey got a dreadful +scolding. She wasn't like Miss Jones--she wouldn't tell on the girls." + +"And did they let any of the fellows come to see you?" Bart asked. + +"No; only brothers and cousins once in a long while. Maria Collins +tried to pass one of her beaux, Max Feilding, off as a cousin, but Miss +Sarah went down to see him and poor Maria had to stay upstairs." + +"I'd have got in," said Bart with some emphasis, rousing himself from +his position and twisting his body so he could again look squarely in +her face. This escapade was more to his liking. + +"How?" asked Lucy in a tone that showed she not only quite believed it, +but rather liked him the better for saying so. + +"Oh I don't know. I'd have cooked up some story." He was leaning over +now, toying with the lace that clung to Lucy's arms. "Did you ever have +any one of your own friends treated in that way?" + +Jane's voice cut short her answer. She had seen the two completely +absorbed in each other, to the exclusion of the other guests who were +now coming in, and wanted Lucy beside her. + +The young girl waved her fan gayly in answer, rose to her feet, turned +her head close to Bart's, pointed to the incoming guests, whispered +something in his ear that made him laugh, listened while he whispered +to her in return, and in obedience to the summons crossed the room to +meet a group of the neighbors, among them old Judge Woolworthy, in a +snuff-colored coat, high black stock, and bald head, and his bustling +little wife. Bart's last whisper to Lucy was in explanation of the +little wife's manner--who now, all bows and smiles, was shaking hands +with everybody about her. + +Then came Uncle Ephraim Tipple, and close beside him walked his spouse, +Ann, in a camel's-hair shawl and poke-bonnet, the two preceded by Uncle +Ephraim's stentorian laugh, which had been heard before their feet had +touched the porch outside. Mrs. Cromartin now bustled in, accompanied +by her two daughters--slim, awkward girls, both dressed alike in high +waists and short frocks; and after them the Bunsbys, father, mother, +and son--all smiles, the last a painfully thin young lawyer, in a low +collar and a shock of whitey-brown hair, "looking like a patent +window-mop resting against a wall," so Lucy described him afterward to +Martha when she was putting her to bed; and finally the Colfords and +Bronsons, young and old, together with Pastor Dellenbaugh, the +white-haired clergyman who preached in the only church in Warehold. + +When Lucy had performed her duty and the several greetings were over, +and Uncle Ephraim had shaken the hand of the young hostess in true +pump-handle fashion, the old man roaring with laughter all the time, as +if it were the funniest thing in the world to find her alive; and the +good clergyman in his mildest and most impressive manner had said she +grew more and more like her mother every day--which was a flight of +imagination on the part of the dear man, for she didn't resemble her in +the least; and the two thin girls had remarked that it must be so +"perfectly blissful" to get home; and the young lawyer had complimented +her on her wonderful, almost life-like resemblance to her grand-father, +whose portrait hung in the court-house--and which was nearer the +truth--to all of which the young girl replied in her most gracious +tones, thanking them for their kindness in coming to see her and for +welcoming her so cordially--the whole of Lucy's mind once more reverted +to Bart. + +Indeed, the several lobes of her brain had been working in opposition +for the past hour. While one-half of her mind was concocting polite +speeches for her guests the other was absorbed in the fear that Bart +would either get tired of waiting for her return and leave the sofa, or +that some other girl friend of his would claim him and her delightful +talk be at an end. + +To the young girl fresh from school Bart represented the only thing in +the room that was entirely alive. The others talked platitudes and +themselves. He had encouraged her to talk of HERSELF and of the things +she liked. He had, too, about him an assurance and dominating +personality which, although it made her a little afraid of him, only +added to his attractiveness. + +While she stood wondering how many times the white-haired young lawyer +would tell her it was so nice to have her back, she felt a slight +pressure on her arm and turned to face Bart. + +"You are wanted, please, Miss Lucy; may I offer you my arm? Excuse me, +Bunsby--I'll give her to you again in a minute." + +Lucy slipped her arm into Bart's, and asked simply, "What for?" + +"To finish our talk, of course. Do you suppose I'm going to let that +tow-head monopolize you?" he answered, pressing her arm closer to his +side with his own. + +Lucy laughed and tapped Bart with her fan in rebuke, and then there +followed a bit of coquetry in which the young girl declared that he was +"too mean for anything, and that she'd never seen anybody so conceited, +and if he only knew, she might really prefer the 'tow head' to his +own;" to which Bart answered that his only excuse was that he was so +lonely he was nearly dead, and that he had only come to save his +life--the whole affair culminating in his conducting her back to the +sofa with a great flourish and again seating himself beside her. + +"I've been watching you," he began when he had made her comfortable +with a small cushion behind her shoulders and another for her pretty +feet. "You don't act a bit like Miss Jane." As he spoke he leaned +forward and flicked an imaginary something from her bare wrist with +that air which always characterized his early approaches to most women. + +"Why?" Lucy asked, pleased at his attentions and thanking him with a +more direct look. + +"Oh, I don't know. You're more jolly, I think. I don't like girls who +turn out to be solemn after you know them a while; I was afraid you +might. You know it's a long time since I saw you." + +"Why, then, sister can't be solemn, for everybody says you and she are +great friends," she replied with a light laugh, readjusting the lace of +her bodice. + +"So we are; nobody about here I think as much of as I do of your +sister. She's been mighty good to me. But you know what I mean: I mean +those don't-touch-me kind of girls who are always thinking you mean a +lot of things when you're only trying to be nice and friendly to them. +I like to be a brother to a girl and to go sailing with her, and +fishing, and not have her bother me about her feet getting a little bit +wet, and not scream bloody murder when the boat gives a lurch. That's +the kind of girl that's worth having." + +"And you don't find them?" laughed Lucy, looking at him out of the +corners of her eyes. + +"Well, not many. Do you mind little things like that?" + +As he spoke his eyes wandered over her bare shoulders until they rested +on the blossoms, the sort of roaming, critical eyes that often cause a +woman to wonder whether some part of her toilet has not been carelessly +put together. Then he added, with a sudden lowering of his voice: +"That's a nice posy you've got. Who sent it?" and he bent his head as +if to smell the cluster on her bosom. + +Lucy drew back and a slight flush suffused her cheek; his audacity +frightened her. She was fond of admiration, but this way of expressing +it was new to her. The young man caught the movement and recovered +himself. He had ventured on a thin spot, as was his custom, and the +sound of the cracking ice had warned him in time. + +"Oh, I see, they're apple blossoms," he added carelessly as he +straightened up. "We've got a lot in our orchard. You like flowers, I +see." The even tone and perfect self-possession of the young man +reassured her. + +"Oh, I adore them; don't you?" Lucy answered in a relieved, almost +apologetic voice. She was sorry she had misjudged him. She liked him +rather the better now for her mistake. + +"Well, that depends. Apple blossoms never looked pretty to me before; +but then it makes a good deal of difference where they are," answered +Bart with a low chuckle. + +Jane had been watching the two and had noticed. Bart's position and +manner. His easy familiarity of pose offended her. Instinctively she +glanced about the room, wondering if any of her guests had seen it. +That Lucy did not resent it surprised her. She supposed her sister's +recent training would have made her a little more fastidious. + +"Come, Lucy," she called gently, moving toward her, "bring Bart over +here and join the other girls." + +"All right, Miss Jane, we'll be there in a minute," Bart answered in +Lucy's stead. Then he bent his head and said in a low voice: + +"Won't you give me half those blossoms?" + +"No; it would spoil the bunch." + +"Please--" + +"No, not a single one. You wouldn't care for them, anyway." + +"Yes, I would." Here he stretched out his hand and touched the blossoms +on her neck. + +Lucy ducked her head in merry glee, sprang up, and with a triumphant +curtsy and a "No, you don't, sir--not this time," joined her sister, +followed by art. + +The guests were now separated into big and little groups. Uncle Ephraim +and the judge were hob-nobbing around the fireplace, listening to Uncle +Ephraim's stories and joining in the laughter which every now and then +filled the room. Captain Nat was deep in a discussion with Doctor John +over some seafaring matter, and Jane and Mrs. Benson were discussing a +local charity with Pastor Dellenbaugh. + +The younger people being left to themselves soon began to pair off, the +white-haired young lawyer disappearing with the older Miss Cromartin +and Bart soon following with Lucy:--the outer porch and the long walk +down the garden path among the trees, despite the chilliness of the +night, seemed to be the only place in which they could be comfortable. + +During a lull in the discussion of Captain Nat's maritime news and +while Mrs. Benson was talking to the pastor, Doctor John seized the +opportunity to seat himself again by Jane. + +"Don't you think Lucy improved?" she asked, motioning the doctor to a +place beside her. + +"She's much more beautiful than I thought she would be," he answered in +a hesitating way, looking toward Lucy, and seating himself in his +favorite attitude, hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the other and +hanging straight beside its fellow; only a man like the doctor, of more +than usual repose and of a certain elegance of form, Jane always said, +could sit this way any length of time and be comfortable and +unconscious of his posture. Then he added slowly, and as if he had +given the subject some consideration, "You won't keep her long, I'm +afraid." + +"Oh, don't say that," Jane cried with a nervous start. "I don't know +what I would do if she should marry." + +"That don't sound like you, Miss Jane. You would be the first to deny +yourself. You are too good to do otherwise." He spoke with a slight +quiver in his voice, and yet with an emphasis that showed he believed +it. + +"No; it is you who are good to think so," she replied in a softer tone, +bending her head as she spoke, her eyes intent on her fan. "And now +tell me," she added quickly, raising her eyes to his as if to bar any +further tribute he might be on the point of paying to her--"I hear your +mother takes greatly to heart your having refused the hospital +appointment." + +"Yes, I'm afraid she does. Mother has a good many new-fashioned notions +nowadays." He laughed--a mellow, genial laugh; more in the spirit of +apology than of criticism. + +"And you don't want to go?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his. + +"Want to go? No, why should I? There would be nobody to look after the +people here if I went away. You don't want me to leave, do you?" he +added suddenly in an anxious tone. + +"Nobody does, doctor," she replied, parrying the question, her face +flushing with pleasure. + +Here Martha entered the room hurriedly and bending over Jane's +shoulder, whispered something in her ear. The doctor straightened +himself and leaned back out of hearing. + +"Well, but I don't think she will take cold," Jane whispered in return, +looking up into Martha's face. "Has she anything around her?" + +"Yes, your big red cloak; but the child's head is bare and there's +mighty little on her neck, and she ought to come in. The wind's begun +to blow and it's gettin' cold." + +"Where is she?" Jane continued, her face showing her surprise at +Martha's statement. + +"Out by the gate with that dare-devil. He don't care who he gives cold. +I told her she'd get her death, but she won't mind me." + +"Why, Martha, how can you talk so!" Jane retorted, with a disapproving +frown. Then raising her voice so that the doctor could be brought into +the conversation, she added in her natural tone, "Whom did you say she +was with?" + +"Bart Holt," cried Martha aloud, nodding to the doctor as if to get his +assistance in saving her bairn from possible danger. + +Jane colored slightly and turned to Doctor John. + +"You go please, doctor, and bring them all in, or you may have some new +patients on your hands." + +The doctor looked from one to the other in doubt as to the cause of his +selection, but Jane's face showed none of the anxiety in Martha's. + +"Yes, certainly," he answered simply; "but I'll get myself into a +hornet's nest. These young people don't like to be told what's good for +them," he added with a laugh, rising from his seat. "And after that +you'll permit me to slip away without telling anybody, won't you? My +last minute has come," and he glanced at his watch. + +"Going so soon? Why, I wanted you to stay for supper. It will be ready +in a few minutes." Her voice had lost its buoyancy now. She never +wanted him to go. She never let him know it, but it pained her all the +same. + +"I would like to, but I cannot." All his heart was in his eyes as he +spoke. + +"Someone ill?" she asked. + +"Yes, Fogarty's child. The little fellow may develop croup before +morning. I saw him to-day, and his pulse was not right, he's a sturdy +little chap with a thick neck, and that kind always suffers most. If +he's worse Fogarty is to send word to my office," he added, holding out +his hand in parting. + +"Can I help?" Jane asked, retaining the doctor's hand in hers as if to +get the answer. + +"No, I'll watch him closely. Good-night," and with a smile he bent his +head and withdrew. + +Martha followed the doctor to the outer door, and then grumbling her +satisfaction went back to the pantry to direct the servants in +arranging upon the small table in the supper-room the simple +refreshments which always characterized the Cobdens' entertainments. + +Soon the girls and their beaux came trooping in to join their elders on +the way to the supper-room. Lucy hung back until the last (she had not +liked the doctor's interference), Jane's long red cloak draped from her +shoulders, the hood hanging down her back, her cheeks radiant, her +beautiful blond hair ruffled with the night wind, an aureole of gold +framing her face. Bart followed close behind, a pleased, almost +triumphant smile playing about his lips. + +He had carried his point. The cluster of blossoms which had rested upon +Lucy's bosom was pinned to the lapel of his coat. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE TOD FOGARTY + + +With the warmth of Jane's parting grasp lingering in his own Doctor +John untied the mare, sprang into his gig, and was soon clear of the +village and speeding along the causeway that stretched across the salt +marshes leading past his own home to the inner beach beyond. As he +drove slowly through his own gate, so as to make as little noise as +possible, the cottage, blanketed under its clinging vines, seemed in +the soft light of the low-lying moon to be fast asleep. Only one eye +was open; this was the window of his office, through which streamed the +glow of a lamp, its light falling on the gravel path and lilac bushes +beyond. + +Rex gave a bark of welcome and raced beside the wheels. + +"Keep still, old dog! Down, Rex! Been lonely, old fellow?" + +The dog in answer leaped in the air as his master drew rein, and with +eager springs tried to reach his hands, barking all the while in short +and joyful yelps. + +Doctor John threw the lines across the dash-board, jumped from the gig, +and pushing open the hall door--it was never locked--stepped quickly +into his office, and turning up the lamp, threw himself into a chair at +his desk. The sorrel made no attempt to go to the stable--both horse +and man were accustomed to delays--sometimes of long hours and +sometimes of whole nights. + +The appointments and fittings of the office--old-fashioned and +practical as they were--reflected in a marked degree the aims and +tastes of the occupant. While low bookcases stood against the walls +surmounted by rows of test-tubes, mortars and pestles, cases of +instruments, and a line of bottles labelled with names of various +mixtures (in those days doctors were chemists as well as physicians), +there could also be found a bust of the young Augustus; one or two +lithographs of Heidelberg, where he had studied; and some line +engravings in black frames--one a view of Oxford with the Thames +wandering by, another a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, and still +another of Nell Gwynn. Scattered about the room were easy-chairs and +small tables piled high with books, a copy of Tacitus and an early +edition of Milton being among them, while under the wide, low window +stood a narrow bench crowded with flowering plants in earthen pots, the +remnants of the winter's bloom. There were also souvenirs of his +earlier student life--a life which few of his friends in Warehold, +except Jane Cobden, knew or cared anything about--including a pair of +crossed foils and two boxing-gloves; these last hung over a portrait of +Macaulay. + +What the place lacked was the touch of a woman's hand in vase, flower, +or ornament--a touch that his mother, for reasons of her own, never +gave and which no other woman had yet dared suggest. + +For an instant the doctor sat with his elbows on the desk in deep +thought, the light illuminating his calm, finely chiselled features and +hands--those thin, sure hands which could guide a knife within a hair's +breadth of instant death--and leaning forward, with an indrawn sigh +examined some letters lying under his eye. Then, as if suddenly +remembering, he glanced at the office slate, his face lighting up as he +found it bare of any entry except the date. + +Rex had been watching his master with ears cocked, and was now on his +haunches, cuddling close, his nose resting on the doctor's knee. Doctor +John laid his hand on the dog's head and smoothing the long, silky +ears, said with a sigh of relief, as he settled himself in his chair: + +"Little Tod must be better, Rex, and we are going to have a quiet +night." + +The anxiety over his patients relieved, his thoughts reverted to Jane +and their talk. He remembered the tone of her voice and the quick way +in which she had warded off his tribute to her goodness; he recalled +her anxiety over Lucy; he looked again into the deep, trusting eyes +that gazed into his as she appealed to him for assistance; he caught +once more the poise of the head as she listened to his account of +little Tod Fogarty's illness and heard her quick offer to help, and +felt for the second time her instant tenderness and sympathy, never +withheld from the sick and suffering, and always so generous and +spontaneous. + +A certain feeling of thankfulness welled up in his heart. Perhaps she +had at last begun to depend upon him--a dependence which, with a woman +such as Jane, must, he felt sure, eventually end in love. + +With these thoughts filling his mind, he settled deeper in his chair. +These were the times in which he loved to think of her--when, with pipe +in mouth, he could sit alone by his fire and build castles in the +coals, every rosy mountain-top aglow with the love he bore her; with no +watchful mother's face trying to fathom his thoughts; only his faithful +dog stretched at his feet. + +Picking up his brierwood, lying on a pile of books on his desk, and +within reach of his hand, he started to fill the bowl, when a scrap of +paper covered with a scrawl written in pencil came into view. He turned +it to the light and sprang to his feet. + +"Tod worse," he said to himself. "I wonder how long this has been here." + +The dog was now beside him looking up into the doctor's eyes. It was +not the first time that he had seen his master's face grow suddenly +serious as he had read the tell-tale slate or had opened some note +awaiting his arrival. + +Doctor John lowered the lamp, stepped noiselessly to the foot of the +winding stairs that led to the sleeping rooms above--the dog close at +his heels, watching his every movement--and called gently: + +"Mother! mother, dear!" He never left his office when she was at home +and awake without telling her where he was going. + +No one answered. + +"She is asleep. I will slip out without waking her. Stay where you are, +Rex--I will be back some time before daylight," and throwing his +night-cloak about his shoulders, he started for his gig. + +The dog stopped with his paws resting on the outer edge of the top step +of the porch, the line he was not to pass, and looked wistfully after +the doctor. His loneliness was to continue, and his poor master to go +out into the night alone. His tail ceased to wag, only his eyes moved. + +Once outside Doctor John patted the mare's neck as if in apology and +loosened the reins. "Come, old girl," he said; "I'm sorry, but it can't +be helped," and springing into the gig, he walked the mare clear of the +gravel beyond the gate, so as not to rouse his mother, touched her +lightly with the whip, and sent her spinning along the road on the way +to Fogarty's. + +The route led toward the sea, branching off within the sight of the +cottage porch, past the low, conical ice-houses used by the fishermen +in which to cool their fish during the hot weather, along the +sand-dunes, and down a steep grade to the shore. The tide was making +flood, and the crawling surf spent itself in long shelving reaches of +foam. These so packed the sand that the wheels of the gig hardly made +an impression upon it. Along this smooth surface the mare trotted +briskly, her nimble feet wet with the farthest reaches of the incoming +wash. + +As he approached the old House of Refuge, black in the moonlight and +looking twice its size in the stretch of the endless beach, he noticed +for the hundredth time how like a crouching woman it appeared, with its +hipped roof hunched up like a shoulder close propped against the dune +and its overhanging eaves but a draped hood shading its thoughtful +brow; an illusion which vanished when its square form, with its wide +door and long platform pointing to the sea, came into view. + +More than once in its brief history the doctor had seen the volunteer +crew, aroused from their cabins along the shore by the boom of a gun +from some stranded vessel, throw wide its door and with a wild cheer +whirl the life-boat housed beneath its roof into the boiling surf, and +many a time had he helped to bring back to life the benumbed bodies +drawn from the merciless sea by their strong arms. + +There were other houses like it up and down the coast. Some had +remained unused for years, desolate and forlorn, no unhappy ship having +foundered or struck the breakers within their reach; others had been in +constant use. The crews were gathered from the immediate neighborhood +by the custodian, who was the only man to receive pay from the +Government. If he lived near by he kept the key; if not, the nearest +fisherman held it. Fogarty, the father of the sick child, and whose +cabin was within gunshot of this house, kept the key this year. No +other protection was given these isolated houses and none was needed. +These black-hooded Sisters of the Coast, keeping their lonely vigils, +were as safe from beach-combers and sea-prowlers as their white-capped +namesakes would have been threading the lonely suburbs of some city. + +The sound of the mare's feet on the oyster-shell path outside his cabin +brought Fogarty, a tall, thin, weather-beaten fisherman, to the door. +He was still wearing his hip-boots and sou'wester--he was just in from +the surf--and stood outside the low doorway with a lantern. Its light +streamed over the sand and made wavering patterns about the mare's feet. + +"Thought ye'd never come, Doc," he whispered, as he threw the blanket +over the mare. "Wife's nigh crazy. Tod's fightin' for all he's worth, +but there ain't much breath left in him. I was off the inlet when it +come on." + +The wife, a thick-set woman in a close-fitting cap, her arms bared to +the elbow, her petticoats above the tops of her shoes, met him inside +the door. She had been crying and her eyelids were still wet and her +cheeks swollen. The light of the ship's lantern fastened to the wall +fell upon a crib in the corner, on which lay the child, his short +curls, tangled with much tossing, smoothed back from his face. The +doctor's ears had caught the sound of the child's breathing before he +entered the room. + +"When did this come on?" Doctor John asked, settling down beside the +crib upon a stool that the wife had brushed off with her apron. + +"'Bout sundown, sir," she answered, her tear-soaked eyes fixed on +little Tod's face. Her teeth chattered as she spoke and her arms were +tight pressed against her sides, her fingers opening and shutting in +her agony. Now and then in her nervousness she would wipe her forehead +with the back of her wrist as if it were wet, or press her two fingers +deep into her swollen cheek. + +Fogarty had followed close behind the doctor and now stood looking down +at the crib with fixed eyes, his thin lips close shut, his square jaw +sunk in the collar of his shirt. There were no dangers that the sea +could unfold which this silent surfman had not met and conquered, and +would again. Every fisherman on the coast knew Fogarty's pluck and +skill, and many of them owed their lives to him. To-night, before this +invisible power slowly closing about his child he was as powerless as a +skiff without oars caught in the swirl of a Barnegat tide. + +"Why didn't you let me know sooner, Fogarty? You understood my +directions?" Doctor John asked in a surprised tone. "You shouldn't have +left him without letting me know." It was only when his orders were +disobeyed and life endangered that he spoke thus. + +The fisherman turned his head and was about to reply when the wife +stepped in front of him. + +"My husband got ketched in the inlet, sir," she said in an apologetic +tone, as if to excuse his absence. "The tide set ag'in him and he had +hard pullin' makin' the p'int. It cuts in turrible there, you know, +doctor. Tod seemed to be all right when he left him this mornin'. I had +husband's mate take the note I wrote ye. Mate said nobody was at home +and he laid it under your pipe. He thought ye'd sure find it there when +ye come in." + +Doctor John was not listening to her explanations; he was leaning over +the rude crib, his ear to the child's breast. Regaining his position, +he smoothed the curls tenderly from the forehead of the little fellow, +who still lay with eyes closed, one stout brown hand and arm clear of +the coverlet, and stood watching his breathing. Every now and then a +spasm of pain would cross the child's face; the chubby hand would open +convulsively and a muffled cry escape him. Doctor John watched his +breathing for some minutes, laid his hand again on the child's +forehead, and rose from the stool. + +"Start up that fire, Fogarty," he said in a crisp tone, turning up his +shirt-cuffs, slipping off his evening coat, and handing the garment to +the wife, who hung it mechanically over a chair, her eyes all the time +searching Doctor John's face for some gleam of hope. + +"Now get a pan," he continued, "fill it with water and some corn-meal, +and get me some cotton cloth--half an apron, piece of an old petticoat, +anything, but be quick about it." + +The woman, glad of something to do, hastened to obey. Somehow, the +tones of his voice had put new courage into her heart. Fogarty threw a +heap of driftwood on the smouldering fire and filled the kettle; the +dry splinters crackled into a blaze. + +The noise aroused the child. + +The doctor held up his finger for silence and again caressed the boy's +forehead. Fogarty, with a fresh look of alarm in his face, tiptoed back +of the crib and stood behind the restless sufferer. Under the doctor's +touch the child once more became quiet. + +"Is he bad off?" the wife murmured when the doctor moved to the fire +and began stirring the mush she was preparing. "The other one went this +way; we can't lose him. You won't lose him, will ye, doctor, dear? I +don't want to live if this one goes. Please, doctor--" + +The doctor looked into the wife's eyes, blurred with tears, and laid +his hand tenderly on her shoulder. + +"Keep a good heart, wife," he said; "we'll pull him through. Tod is a +tough little chap with plenty of fight in him yet. I've seen them much +worse. It will soon be over; don't worry." + +Mrs. Fogarty's eyes brightened and even the fisherman's grim face +relaxed. Silent men in grave crises suffer most; the habit of their +lives precludes the giving out of words that soothe and heal; when +others speak them, they sink into their thirsty souls like drops of +rain after a long drought. It was just such timely expressions as these +that helped Doctor John's patients most--often their only hope hung on +some word uttered with a buoyancy of spirit that for a moment stifled +all their anxieties. + +The effect of the treatment began to tell upon the little sufferer--his +breathing became less difficult, the spasms less frequent. The doctor +whispered the change to the wife, sitting close at his elbow, his +impassive face brightening as he spoke; there was an oven chance now +for the boy's life. + +The vigil continued. + +No one moved except Fogarty, who would now and then tiptoe quickly to +the hearth, add a fresh log to the embers, and as quickly move back to +his position behind the child's crib. The rising and falling of the +blaze, keeping rhythm, as it were, to the hopes and fears of the group, +lighted up in turn each figure in the room. First the doctor sitting +with hands resting on his knees, his aquiline nose and brow clearly +outlined against the shadowy background in the gold chalk of the +dancing flames, his black evening clothes in strong contrast to the +high white of the coverlet, framing the child's face like a nimbus. +Next the bent body of the wife, her face in half-tones, her stout +shoulders in high relief, and behind, swallowed up in the gloom, out of +reach of the fire-. gleam, the straight, motionless form of the +fisherman, standing with folded arms, grim and silent, his unseen eyes +fixed on his child. + +Far into the night, and until the gray dawn streaked the sky, this +vigil continued; the doctor, assisted by Fogarty and the wife, changing +the poultices, filling the child's lungs with hot steam by means of a +paper funnel, and encouraging the mother by his talk. At one time he +would tell her in half-whispered tones of a child who had recovered and +who had been much weaker than this one. Again he would turn to Fogarty +and talk of the sea, of the fishing outside the inlet, of the big +three-masted schooner which had been built by the men at Tom's River, +of the new light they thought of building at Barnegat to take the place +of the old one--anything to divert their minds and lessen their +anxieties, stopping only to note the sound of every cough the boy gave +or to change the treatment as the little sufferer struggled on fighting +for his life. + +When the child dozed no one moved, no word was spoken. Then in the +silence there would come to their ears above the labored breathing of +the boy the long swinging tick of the clock, dull and ominous, as if +tolling the minutes of a passing life; the ceaseless crunch of the sea, +chewing its cud on the beach outside or the low moan of the outer bar +turning restlessly on its bed of sand. + +Suddenly, and without warning, and out of an apparent sleep, the child +started up from his pillow with staring eyes and began beating the air +for breath. + +The doctor leaned quickly forward, listened for a moment, his ear to +the boy's chest, and said in a quiet, restrained voice: + +"Go into the other room, Mrs. Fogarty, and stay there till I call you." +The woman raised her eyes to his and obeyed mechanically. She was worn +out, mind and body, and had lost her power of resistance. + +As the door shut upon her Doctor John sprang from the stool, caught the +lamp from the wall, handed it to Fogarty, and picking the child up from +the crib, laid it flat upon his knees. + +He now slipped his hand into his pocket and took from it a leather case +filled with instruments. + +"Hold the light, Fogarty," he said in a firm, decided tone, "and keep +your nerve. I thought he'd pull through without it, but he'll strangle +if I don't." + +"What ye goin' to do--not cut him?" whispered the fisherman in a +trembling voice. + +"Yes. It's his only chance. I've seen it coming on for the last +hour--no nonsense now. Steady, old fellow. It'll be over in a minute. +... There, my boy, that'll help you. Now, Fogarty, hand me that cloth. +... All right, little man; don't cry; it's all over. Now open the door +and let your wife in," and he laid the child back on the pillow. + +When the doctor took the blanket from the sorrel tethered outside +Fogarty's cabin and turned his horse's head homeward the sails of the +fishing-boats lying in a string on the far horizon flashed silver in +the morning sun, His groom met him at the stable door, and without a +word led the mare into the barn. + +The lamp in his study was still burning in yellow mockery of the rosy +dawn. He laid his case of instruments on the desk, hung his cloak and +hat to a peg in the closet, and ascended the staircase on the way to +his bedroom. As he passed his mother's open door she heard his step. + +"Why, it's broad daylight, son," she called in a voice ending in a yawn. + +"Yes, mother." + +"Where have you been?" + +"To see little Tod Fogarty," he answered simply. + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"Croup." + +"Is he going to die?" + +"No, not this time." + +"Well, what did you stay out all night for?" The voice had now grown +stronger, with a petulant tone through it. + +"Well, I could hardly help it. They are very simple people, and were so +badly frightened that they were helpless. It's the only child they have +left to them--the last one died of croup." + +"Well, are you going to turn nurse for half the paupers in the county? +All children have croup, and they don't all die!" The petulant voice +had now developed into one of indignation. + +"No, mother, but I couldn't take any risks. This little chap is worth +saving." + +There came a pause, during which the tired man waited patiently. + +"You were at the Cobdens'?" + +"Yes; or I should have reached Fogarty's sooner." + +"And Miss Jane detained you, of course." + +"No, mother." + +"Good-night, John." + +"Say rather 'Good-day,' mother," he answered with a smile and continued +on to his room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK + + +The merrymakings at Yardley continued for weeks, a new impetus and +flavor being lent them by the arrival of two of Lucy's friends--her +schoolmate and bosom companion, Maria Collins, of Trenton, and Maria's +devoted admirer, Max Feilding, of Walnut Hill, Philadelphia. + +Jane, in her joy over Lucy's home-coming, and in her desire to meet her +sister's every wish, gladly welcomed the new arrivals, although Miss +Collins, strange to say, had not made a very good impression upon her. +Max she thought better of. He was a quiet, well-bred young fellow; +older than either Lucy or Maria, and having lived abroad a year, knew +something of the outside world. Moreover, their families had always +been intimate in the old days, his ancestral home being always open to +Jane's mother when a girl. + +The arrival of these two strangers only added to the general gayety. +Picnics were planned to the woods back of Warehold to which the young +people of the town were invited, and in which Billy Tatham with his +team took a prominent part. Sailing and fishing parties outside of +Barnegat were gotten up; dances were held in the old parlor, and even +tableaux were arranged under Max's artistic guidance. In one of these +Maria wore a Spanish costume fashioned out of a white lace shawl +belonging to Jane's grand-mother draped over her head and shoulders, +and made the more bewitching by a red japonica fixed in her hair, and +Lucy appeared as a dairy-maid decked out in one of Martha's caps, +altered to fit her shapely head. + +The village itself was greatly stirred. + +"Have you seen them two fly-up-the-creeks?" Billy Tatham, the +stage-driver, asked of Uncle Ephraim Tipple as he was driving him down +to the boat-landing. + +"No, what do they look like?" + +"The He-one had on a two-inch hat with a green ribbon and wore a white +bob-tail coat that 'bout reached to the top o' his pants. Looks like he +lived on water-crackers and milk, his skin's that white. The She-one +had a set o' hoops on her big as a circus tent. Much as I could do to +git her in the 'bus--as it was, she come in sideways. And her trunk! +Well, it oughter been on wheels--one o' them travellin' houses. I +thought one spell I'd take the old plug out the shafts and hook on to +it and git it up that-a-way." + +"Some of Lucy's chums, I guess," chuckled Uncle Ephraim. "Miss Jane +told me they were coming. How long are they going to stay?" + +"Dunno. Till they git fed up and fattened, maybe. If they was mine I'd +have killin' time to-day." + +Ann Gossaway and some of her cronies also gave free rein to their +tongues. + +"Learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did they?" broke out the +dressmaker. (Lucy had been the only young woman in Warehold who had +ever enjoyed that privilege.) "Wearin' each other's hats, rollin' round +in the sand, and hollerin' so you could hear 'em clear to the +lighthouse. If I had my way I'd finish 'em, And that's where they'll +git if they don't mind, and quick, too!" + +The Dellenbaughs, Cromartins, and Bunsbys, being of another class, +viewed the young couple's visit in a different light. "Mr. Feilding has +such nice hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger Miss +Cromartin said, and "Miss Collins is too sweet for anything." Prim Mr. +Bunsby, having superior notions of life and deportment, only shook his +head. He looked for more dignity, he said; but then this Byronic young +man had not been invited to any of the outings. + +In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was the central figure. Her +beauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation and +conventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and +the way she wore them, all added to her popularity. In the swing and +toss of her freedom, her true temperament developed. She was like a +summer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving the +air she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as for +the new bound it gave to her blood. Just as she loved the sunlight for +its warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. So, too, +when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in the +beauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance, +would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in great +draughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking in +the honey of their petals. + +This was also true of her voice--a rich, full, vibrating voice, that +dominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her. When +she sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own +overcharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul, +as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody--because, too, she +could not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart +and could find their only outlet through the lips. + +Bart was her constant companion. Under his instructions she had learned +to hold the tiller in sailing in and out of the inlet; to swim over +hand; to dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and to join in +all his outdoor sports. Lucy had been his constant inspiration in all +of this. She had surveyed the field that first night of their meeting +and had discovered that the young man's personality offered the only +material in Warehold available for her purpose. With him, or someone +like him--one who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick and strong +and skilful (and Bart was all of these)--the success of her summer +would be assured. Without him many of her plans could not be carried +out. + +And her victory over him had been an easy one. Held first by the spell +of her beauty and controlled later by her tact and stronger will, the +young man's effrontery--almost impudence at times--had changed to a +certain respectful subservience, which showed itself in his constant +effort to please and amuse her. When they were not sailing they were +back in the orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking together +nobody knew where. Often Bart would call for her immediately after +breakfast, and the two would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day, +Lucy arranging the details of the outing, and Bart entering into them +with a dash and an eagerness which, to a man of his temperament, +cemented the bond between them all the closer. Had they been two fabled +denizens of the wood--she a nymph and he a dryad--they could not have +been more closely linked with sky and earth. + +As for Jane, she watched the increasing intimacy with alarm. She had +suddenly become aroused to the fact that Lucy's love affair with Bart +was going far beyond the limits of prudence. The son of Captain +Nathaniel Holt, late of the Black Ball Line of packets, would always be +welcome as a visitor at the home, the captain being an old and tried +friend of her father's; but neither Bart's education nor prospects, +nor, for that matter, his social position--a point which usually had +very little weight with Jane--could possibly entitle him to ask the +hand of the granddaughter of Archibald Cobden in marriage. She began to +regret that she had thrown them together. Her own ideas of reforming +him had never contemplated any such intimacy as now existed between the +young man and her sister. The side of his nature which he had always +shown her had been one of respectful attention to her wishes; so much +so that she had been greatly encouraged in her efforts to make +something more of him than even his best friends predicted could be +done; but she had never for one instant intended that her friendly +interest should go any further, nor could she have conceived of such an +issue. + +And yet Jane did nothing to prevent the meetings and outings of the +young couple, even after Maria's and Max's departure. + +When Martha, in her own ever-increasing anxiety, spoke of the growing +intimacy she looked grave, but she gave no indication of her own +thoughts. Her pride prevented her discussing the situation with the old +nurse and her love for Lucy from intervening in her pleasures. + +"She has been cooped up at school so long, Martha, dear," she answered +in extenuation, "that I hate to interfere in anything she wants to do. +She is very happy; let her alone. I wish, though, she would return some +of the calls of these good people who have been so kind to her. Perhaps +she will if you speak to her. But don't worry about Bart; that will +wear itself out. All young girls must have their love-affairs." + +Jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity when she spoke about +"wearing itself out," and Martha had gone to her room more dissatisfied +than before. This feeling became all the more intense when, the next +day, from her window she watched Bart tying on Lucy's hat, puffing out +the big bow under her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings. +Lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward Bart's, her pretty +lips near his own. There was a knot or a twist, or a collection of +knots and twists, or perhaps Bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passed +before the hat could be fastened to suit either of them. Martha's head +had all this time been thrust out of the easement, her gaze apparently +fixed on a birdcage hung from a hook near the shutter. + +Bart caught her eye and whispered to Lucy that that "old spy-cat" was +watching them; whereupon Lucy faced about, waved her hand to the old +nurse, and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out of sight, +followed by Bart carrying a shawl for them to sit upon. + +After that Martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, kept watch, so +far as she could, upon their movements, without, as she thought, +betraying herself: making excuses to go to the village when they two +went off together in that direction; traversing the orchard, ostensibly +looking for Meg when she knew all the time that the dog was sound +asleep in the woodshed; or yielding to a sudden desire to give the +rascal a bath whenever Lucy announced that she and Bart were going to +spend the morning down by the water. + +As the weeks flew by and Lucy had shown no willingness to assume her +share of any of the responsibilities of the house,--any that interfered +with her personal enjoyment,--Jane became more and more restless and +unhappy. The older village people had shown her sister every attention, +she said to herself,--more than was her due, considering her +youth,--and yet Lucy had never crossed any one of their thresholds. She +again pleaded with the girl to remember her social duties and to pay +some regard to the neighbors who had called upon her and who had shown +her so much kindness; to which the happy-hearted sister had laughed +back in reply: + +"What for, you dear sister? These old fossils don't want to see me, and +I'm sure I don't want to see them. Some of them give me the shivers, +they are so prim." + +It was with glad surprise, therefore, that Jane heard Lucy say in +Martha's hearing one bright afternoon: + +"Now, I'm going to begin, sister, and you won't have to scold me any +more. Everyone of these old tabbies I will take in a row: Mrs. +Cavendish first, and then the Cromartins, and the balance of the bunch +when I can reach them. I am going to Rose Cottage to see Mrs. Cavendish +this very afternoon." + +The selection of Mrs. Cavendish as first on her list only increased +Jane's wonder. Rose Cottage lay some two miles from Warehold, near the +upper end of the beach, and few of their other friends lived near it. +Then again, Jane knew that Lucy had not liked the doctor's calling her +into the house the night of her arrival, and had heretofore made one +excuse after another when urged to call on his mother. Her delight, +therefore, over Lucy's sudden sense of duty was all the more keen. + +"I'll go with you, darling," she answered, slipping her arm about +Lucy's waist, "and we'll take Meg for a walk." + +So they started, Lucy in her prettiest frock and hat and Jane with her +big red cloak over her arm to protect the young girl from the breeze +from the sea, which in the early autumn was often cool, especially if +they should sit out on Mrs. Cavendish's piazza. + +The doctor's mother met them on the porch. She had seen them enter the +garden gate, and had left her seat by the window, and was standing on +the top step to welcome them. Rex, as usual, in the doctor's absence, +did the honors of the office. He loved Jane, and always sprang straight +at her, his big paws resting on her shoulders. These courtesies, +however, he did not extend to Meg. The high-bred setter had no other +salutation for the clay-colored remnant than a lifting of his nose, a +tightening of his legs, and a smothered growl when Meg ventured too +near his lordship. + +"Come up, my dear, and let me look at you," were Mrs. Cavendish's first +words of salutation to Lucy. "I hear you have quite turned the heads of +all the gallants in Warehold. John says you are very beautiful, and you +know the doctor is a good judge, is he not, Miss Jane?" she added, +holding out her hands to them both. "And he's quite right; you are just +like your dear mother, who was known as the Rose of Barnegat long +before you were born. Shall we sit here, or will you come into my +little salon for a cup of tea?" It was always a salon to Mrs. +Cavendish, never a "sitting-room." + +"Oh, please let me sit here," Lucy answered, checking a rising smile at +the word, "the view is so lovely," and without further comment or any +reference to the compliments showered upon her, she took her seat upon +the top step and began to play with Rex, who had already offered to +make friends with her, his invariable habit with well-dressed people. + +Jane meanwhile improved the occasion to ask the doctor's mother about +the hospital they were building near Barnegat, and whether she and one +or two of the other ladies at Warehold would not be useful as visitors, +and, perhaps, in case of emergency, as nurses. + +While the talk was in progress Lucy sat smoothing Rex's silky ears, +listening to every word her hostess spoke, watching her gestures and +the expressions that crossed her face, and settling in her mind for all +time, after the manner of young girls, what sort of woman the doctor's +mother might be; any opinions she might have had two years before being +now outlawed by this advanced young woman in her present mature +judgment. + +In that comprehensive glance, with the profound wisdom of her seventeen +summers to help her, she had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Cavendish +was a high-strung, nervous, fussy little woman of fifty, with an +outward show of good-will and an inward intention to rip everybody up +the back who opposed her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of her +son, and determined, if she could manage it, to break off his +attachment for Jane, no matter at what cost. This last Lucy caught from +a peculiar look in the little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornful +curve of the lower lip as she listened to Jane's talk about the +hospital, all of which was lost on "plain Jane Cobden," as the doctor's +mother invariably called her sister behind her back. + +Then the young mind-reader turned her attention to the house and +grounds and the buildings lying above and before her, especially to the +way the matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over the roof +and dormers. Later on she listened to Mrs. Cavendish's description of +its age and ancestry: How it had come down to her from her grandfather, +whose large estate was near Trenton, where as a girl she had spent her +life; how in those days it was but a small villa to which old Nicholas +Erskine, her great-uncle, would bring his guests when the August days +made Trenton unbearable; and how in later years under the big trees +back of the house and over the lawn--"you can see them from where you +sit, my dear"--tea had been served to twenty or more of "the first +gentlemen and ladies of the land." + +Jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and so had every other +visitor at Rose Cottage, but to Lucy it was only confirmation of her +latter-day opinion of her hostess. Nothing, however, could be more +gracious than the close attention which the young girl gave Mrs. +Cavendish's every word when the talk was again directed to her, bending +her pretty head and laughing at the right time--a courtesy which so +charmed the dear lady that she insisted on giving first Lucy, and then +Jane, a bunch of roses from her "own favorite bush" before the two +girls took their leave. + +With these evidences of her delight made clear, Lucy pushed Rex from +her side--he had become presuming and had left the imprint of his dusty +paw upon her spotless frock--and with the remark that she had other +visits to pay, her only regret being that this one was so short, she +got up from her seat on the step, called Meg, and stood waiting for +Jane with some slight impatience in her manner. + +Jane immediately rose from her chair. She had been greatly pleaded at +the impression Lucy had made. Her manner, her courtesy, her respect for +the older woman, her humoring her whims, show her to be the daughter of +a Cobden. As to her own place during the visit, she had never given it +a thought. She would always be willing to act as foil to her +accomplished, brilliant sister if by so doing she could make other +people love Lucy the more. + +As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs. Cavendish preceding +them, Jane lingered for a moment and gave a hurried glance about her. +There stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown himself so +often when tired out. There, too, was the closet where he hung his coat +and hat, and the desk covered with books and papers. A certain feeling +of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession of her, as when +one enters a sanctuary in the absence of the priest. For an instant she +passed her hand gently over the leather back of the chair where his +head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then her eyes wandered over +the room, noting each appointment in detail. Suddenly a sense of +injustice rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of beauty had +ever been added to these plain surroundings; even the plants in the +boxes by the windows looked half faded. With a quick glance at the open +door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, leaned over, and +with the feeling of a devotee laying an offering on the altar, placed +the flower hurried on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs. +Cavendish. + +Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every now and then turned to +the sea. When she and Jane had reached the cross-road that branched off +toward the beach--it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's windows--Lucy +said: + +"The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay any more visits, +sister. Suppose I go to the beach and give Meg a bath. You won't mind, +will you? Come, Meg!" + +"Oh, how happy you will make him!" cried Jane. "But you are not dressed +warm enough, dearie. You know how cool it gets toward evening. Here, +take my cloak. Perhaps I'd better go with you--" + +"No, do you keep on home. I want to see if the little wretch will be +contented with me alone. Good-by," and without giving her sister time +to protest, she called to Meg, and with a wave of her hand, the red +cloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the beach, Meg bounding +after her. + +Jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes on the graceful figure +skipping along the road, her head and shoulders in silhouette against +the blue sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of the +sand-dune. All the mother-love in her heart welled up in her breast. +She was so proud of her, so much in love with her, so thankful for her! +All these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon be over and +Bart and the others like him out of Lucy's mind and heart. Why worry +about it? Some great strong soul would come by and by and take this +child in his arms and make a woman of her. Some strong soul-- + +She stopped short in her walk and her thoughts went back to the red +rose lying on the doctor's desk. + +"Will he know?" she said to herself; "he loves flowers so, and I don't +believe anybody ever puts one on his desk. Poor fellow! how hard he +works and how good he is to everybody! Little Tod would have died but +for his tenderness." Then, with a prayer in her heart and a new light +in her eyes, she kept on her way. + +Lucy, as she bounded along the edge of the bluff, Meg scurrying after +her, had never once lost sight of her sister's slender figure. When a +turn in the road shut her from view, she crouched down behind a +sand-dune, waited until she was sure Jane would not change her mind and +join her, and then folding the cloak over her arm, gathered up her +skirts and ran with all her speed along the wet sand to the House of +Refuge. As she reached its side, Bart Holt stepped out into the +afternoon light. + +"I thought you'd never come, darling," he said, catching her in his +arms and kissing her. + +"I couldn't help it, sweetheart. I told sister I was going to see Mrs. +Cavendish, and she was so delighted she said she would go, too." + +"Where is she?" he interrupted, turning his head and looking anxiously +up the beach. + +"Gone home. Oh, I fixed that. I was scared to death for a minute, but +you trust me when I want to get off." + +"Why didn't you let her take that beast of a dog with her? We don't +want him," he rejoined, pointing to Meg, who had come to a sudden +standstill at the sight of Bart. + +"Why, you silly! That's how I got away. She thought I was going to give +him a bath. How long have you been waiting, my precious?" Her hand was +on his shoulder now, her eyes raised to his. + +"Oh, 'bout a year. It really seems like a year, Luce" (his pet name for +her), "when I'm waiting for you. I was sure something was up. Wait till +I open the door." The two turned toward the house. + +"Why! can we get in? I thought Fogarty, the fisherman, had the key," +she asked, with a tone of pleasant surprise in her voice. + +"So he has," he laughed. "Got it now hanging up behind his clock. I +borrowed it yesterday and had one made just like it. I'm of age." This +came with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of triumph. + +Lucy smiled. She liked his daring; she liked, too, his resources. When +a thing was to be done, Bart always found the way to do it. She waited +until he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, her hand in +his. + +"Now, come inside," he cried, swinging wide the big doors. "Isn't it a +jolly place?" He slipped his arm about her and drew her to him. "See, +there's the stove with the kindling-wood all ready to light when +anything comes ashore, and up on that shelf are life-preservers; and +here's a table and some stools and a lantern--two of 'em; and there's +the big life-boat, all ready to push out. Good place to come Sundays +with some of the fellows, isn't it? Play all night here, and not a soul +would find you out," he chuckled as he pointed to the different things. +"You didn't think, now, I was going to have a cubby-hole like this to +hide you in where that old spot-cat Martha can't be watching us, did +you?" he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing her with a +sudden intensity. + +Lucy slipped from his arms and began examining everything with the +greatest interest. She had never seen anything but the outside of the +house before and she always wondered what it contained, and as a child +had stood up on her toes and tried to peep in through the crack of the +big door. When she had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, and +wondered whether the fire could be lighted quick enough, and pictured +in her mind the half-drowned people huddled around it in their +sea-drenched clothes, she moved to the door. Bart wanted her to sit +down inside, but she refused. + +"No, come outside and lie on the sand. Nobody comes along here," she +insisted. "Oh, see how beautiful the sea is! I love that green," and +drawing Jane's red cloak around her, she settled herself on the sand, +Bart throwing himself at her feet. + +The sun was now nearing the horizon, and its golden rays fell across +their faces. Away off on the sky-line trailed the smoke of an incoming +steamer; nearer in idled a schooner bound in to Barnegat Inlet with +every sail set. At their feet the surf rose sleepily under the gentle +pressure of the incoming tide, its wavelets spreading themselves in +widening circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant girl. + +As they sat and talked, filled with the happiness of being alone, their +eyes now on the sea and now looking into each other's, Meg, who had +amused himself by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the sand-snipe +and digging holes in the sand for imaginary muskrats, lifted his head +and gave a short yelp. Bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit of +driftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches. The +narrowness of the escape silenced the dog and sent him to the rear with +drooping tail and ears. + +Bart should have minded Meg's warning. A broad beach in the full glare +of the setting sun, even when protected by a House of Refuge, is a poor +place to be alone in. + +A woman was passing along the edge of the bluffs, carrying a basket in +one hand and a green umbrella in the other; a tall, thin, angular +woman, with the eye of a ferret. It was Ann Gossaway's day for visiting +the sick, and she had just left Fogarty's cabin, where little Tod, with +his throat tied up in red flannel, had tried on her mitts and played +with her spectacles. Miss Gossaway had heard Meg's bark and had been +accorded a full view of Lucy's back covered by Jane's red cloak, with +Bart sitting beside her, their shoulders touching. + +Lovers with their heads together interested the gossip no longer, +except as a topic to talk about. Such trifles had these many years +passed out of the dress-maker's life. + +So Miss Gossaway, busy with her own thoughts, kept on her way unnoticed +by either Lucy or Bart. + +When she reached the cross-road she met Doctor John driving in. He +tightened the reins on the sorrel and stopped. + +"Lovely afternoon, Miss Gossaway. Where are you from--looking at the +sunset?" + +"No, I ain't got no time for spoonin'. I might be if I was Miss Jane +and Bart Holt. Just see 'em a spell ago squattin' down behind the House +o' Refuge. She wouldn't look at me. I been to Fogarty's; she's on my +list this week, and it's my day for visitin', fust in two weeks. That +two-year-old of hers is all right ag'in after your sewing him up; +they'll never get over tellin' how you set up all night with him. You +ought to hear Mrs. Fogarty go on--'Oh, the goodness of him!'" and she +mimicked the good woman's dialect. "'If Tod'd been his own child he +couldn't a-done more for him.' That's the way she talks. I heard, +doctor, ye never left him till daylight. You're a wonder." + +The doctor touched his hat and drove on. + +Miss Gossaway's sharp, rasping voice and incisive manner of speaking +grated upon him. He liked neither her tone nor the way in which she +spoke of the mistress of Yardley. No one else dared as much. If Jane +was really on the beach and with Bart, she had some good purpose in her +mind. It may have been her day for visiting, and Bart, perhaps, had +accompanied her. But why had Miss Gossaway not met Miss Cobden at +Fogarty's, his being the only cabin that far down the beach? Then his +face brightened. Perhaps, after all, it was Lucy whom she had seen. He +had placed that same red cloak around her shoulders the night of the +reception at Yardley--and when she was with Bart, too. + +Mrs. Cavendish was sitting by her window when the doctor entered his +own house. She rose, and putting down her book, advanced to meet him. + +"You should have come earlier, John," she said with a laugh; "such a +charming girl and so pretty and gracious. Why, I was quite overcome. +She is very different from her sister. What do you think Miss Jane +wants to do now? Nurse in the new hospital when it is built! Pretty +position for a lady, isn't it?" + +"Any position she would fill would gain by her presence," said the +doctor gravely. "Have they been gone long?" he asked, changing the +subject. He never discussed Jane Cobden with his mother if he could +help it. + +"Oh, yes, some time. Lucy must have kept on home, for I saw Miss Jane +going toward the beach alone." + +"Are you sure, mother?" There was a note of anxiety in his voice. + +"Yes, certainly. She had that red cloak of hers with her and that +miserable little dog; that's how I know. She must be going to stay +late. You look tired, my son; have you had a hard day?" added she, +kissing him on the cheek. + +"Yes, perhaps I am a little tired, but I'll be all right. Have you +looked at the slate lately? I'll go myself," and he turned and entered +his office. + +On the slate lay the rose. He picked it up and held it to his nose in a +preoccupied way. + +"One of mother's," he said listlessly, laying it back among his papers. +"She so seldom does that sort of thing. Funny that she should have +given it to me to-day; and after Miss Jane's visit, too." Then he shut +the office door, threw himself into his chair, and buried his face in +his hands. He was still there when his mother called him to supper. + +When Lucy reached home it was nearly dark. She came alone, leaving Bart +at the entrance to the village. At her suggestion they had avoided the +main road and had crossed the marsh by the foot-path, the dog bounding +on ahead and springing at the nurse, who stood in the gate awaiting +Lucy's return. + +"Why, he's as dry as a bone!" Martha cried, stroking Meg's rough hair +with her plump hand. "He didn't get much of a bath, did he?" + +"No, I couldn't get him into the water. Every time I got my hand on him +he'd dart away again." + +"Anybody on the beach, darlin'?" + +"Not a soul except Meg and the sandsnipe." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +CAPTAIN NAT'S DECISION + + +When Martha, with Meg at her heels, passed Ann Gossaway's cottage the +next morning on her way to the post-office--her daily custom--the +dressmaker, who was sitting in the window, one eye on her needle and +the other on the street, craned her head clear of the calico curtain +framing the sash and beckoned to her. + +This perch of Ann Gossaway's was the eyrie from which she swept the +village street, bordered with a double row of wide-spreading elms and +fringed with sloping grassy banks spaced at short intervals by +hitching-posts and horse-blocks. Her own cottage stood somewhat nearer +the flagged street path than the others, and as the garden fences were +low and her lookout flanked by two windows, one on each end of her +corner, she could not only note what went on about the fronts of her +neighbors' houses, but much of what took place in their back yards. +From this angle, too, she could see quite easily, and without more than +twisting her attenuated neck, the whole village street from the +Cromartins' gate to the spire of the village church, as well as +everything that passed up and down the shadow-flecked road: which +child, for instance, was late for school, and how often, and what it +wore and whether its clothes were new or inherited from an elder +sister; who came to the Bronsons' next door, and how long they stayed, +and whether they brought anything with them or carried anything away; +the peddler with his pack; the gunner on his way to the marshes, his +two dogs following at his heels in a leash; Dr. John Cavendish's gig, +and whether it was about to stop at Uncle Ephraim Tipple's or keep on, +as usual, and whirl into the open gate of Cobden Manor; Billy Tatham's +passenger list, as the ricketty stage passed with the side curtains up, +and the number of trunks and bags, and the size of them, all indicative +of where they were bound and for how long; details of village life--no +one of which concerned her in the least--being matters of profound +interest to Miss Gossaway. + +These several discoveries she shared daily with a faded old mother who +sat huddled up in a rocking-chair by the stove, winter and summer, +whether it had any fire in it or not. + +Uncle Ephraim Tipple, in his outspoken way, always referred to these +two gossips as the "spiders." "When the thin one has sucked the life +out of you," he would say with a laugh, "she passes you on to her old +mother, who sits doubled up inside the web, and when she gets done +munching there isn't anything left but your hide and bones." + +It was but one of Uncle Ephraim's jokes. The mother was only a forlorn, +half-alive old woman who dozed in her chair by the hour--the relict of +a fisherman who had gone to sea in his yawl some twenty years before +and who had never come back. The daughter, with the courage of youth, +had then stepped into the gap and had alone made the fight for bread. +Gradually, as the years went by the roses in her cheeks--never too +fresh at any time--had begun to fade, her face and figure to shrink, +and her brow to tighten. At last, embittered by her responsibilities +and disappointments, she had lost faith in human kind and had become a +shrew. Since then her tongue had swept on as relentlessly as a scythe, +sparing neither flower nor noxious weed, a movement which it was wise, +sometimes, to check. + +When, therefore, Martha, with Meg now bounding before her, caught sight +of Ann Gossaway's beckoning hand thrust out of the low window of her +cottage--the spider-web referred to by Uncle Ephraim--she halted in her +walk, lingered a moment as if undecided, expressed her opinion of the +dressmaker to Meg in an undertone, and swinging open the gate with its +ball and chain, made her way over the grass-plot and stood outside the +window, level with the sill. + +"Well, it ain't none of my business, of course, Martha Sands," Miss +Gossaway began, "and that's just what I said to mother when I come +home, but if I was some folks I'd see my company in my parlor, long as +I had one, 'stead of hidin' down behind the House o' Refuge. I said to +mother soon's I got in, 'I'm goin' to tell Martha Sands fust minute I +see her. She ain't got no idee how them girls of hers is carryin' on or +she'd stop it.' That's what I said, didn't I, mother?" + +Martha caught an inarticulate sound escaping from a figure muffled in a +blanket shawl, but nothing else followed. + +"I thought fust it was you when I heard that draggle-tail dog of yours +barkin', but it was only Miss Jane and Bart Holt." + +"Down on the beach! When?" asked Martha. She had not understood a word +of Miss Gossaway's outburst. + +"Why, yesterday afternoon, of course--didn't I tell ye so? I'd been +down to Fogarty's; it's my week. Miss Jane and Bart didn't see +me--didn't want to. Might a' been a pair of scissors, they was that +close together." + +"Miss Jane warn't on the beach yesterday afternoon," said Martha in a +positive tone, still in the dark. + +"She warn't, warn't she? Well, I guess I know Miss Jane Cobden. She and +Bart was hunched up that close you couldn't get a bodkin 'tween 'em. +She had that red cloak around her and the hood up ever her head. Not +know her, and she within ten feet o' me? Well, I guess I got my eyes +left, ain't I?" + +Martha stood stunned. She knew now who it was. She had taken the red +cloak from Lucy's shoulders the evening before. Then a cold chill crept +over her as she remembered the lie Lucy had told--"not a soul on the +beach but Meg and the sandsnipe." For an instant she stood without +answering. But for the window-sill on which her hand rested she would +have betrayed her emotion in the swaying of her body. She tried to +collect her thoughts. To deny Jane's identity too positively would only +make the situation worse. If either one of the sisters were to be +criticised Jane could stand it best. + +"You got sharp eyes and ears, Ann Gossaway, nobody will deny you them, +but still I don't think Miss Jane was on the beach yesterday." + +"Don't think, don't you? Maybe you think I can't tell a cloak from a +bed blanket, never havin' made one, and maybe ye think I don't know my +own clo'es when I see 'em on folks. I made that red cloak for Miss Jane +two years ago, and I know every stitch in it. Don't you try and teach +Ann Gossaway how to cut and baste or you'll git worsted," and the +gossip looked over her spectacles at Martha and shook her side-curls in +a threatening way. + +Miss Gossaway had no love for the old nurse. There had been a time when +Martha "weren't no better'n she oughter be, so everybody said," when +she came to the village, and the dressmaker never let a chance slip to +humiliate the old woman. Martha's open denunciation of the dressmaker's +vinegar tongue had only increased the outspoken dislike each had for +the other. She saw now, to her delight, that the incident which had +seemed to be only a bit of flotsam that had drifted to her shore and +which but from Martha's manner would have been forgotten by her the +next day, might be a fragment detached from some floating family wreck. +Before she could press the matter to an explanation Martha turned +abruptly on her heel, called Meg, and with the single remark, "Well, I +guess Miss Jane's of age," walked quickly across the grass-plot and out +of the gate, the ball and chain closing it behind her with a clang. + +Once on the street Martha paused with her brain on fire. The lie which +Lucy had told frightened her. She knew why she had told it, and she +knew, too, what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of gossip got +abroad in the village. She was no longer the gentle, loving nurse with +the soft caressing hand, but a woman of purpose. The sudden terror +aroused in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip and bracing +her shoulders as if the better to withstand some expected shock. + +She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; forgot +everything, in fact, except the safety of the child she loved. That +Lucy had neglected and even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way +even when she was in the house, and that she had received only cool +indifference in place of loyal love, had greatly grieved her, but it +had not lessened the idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn. +Hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain trying to account for +the change which had come over the girl during two short years of +school. She had until now laid this change to her youth, her love of +admiration, and had forgiven it. Now she understood it; it was that boy +Bart. He had a way with him. He had even ingratiated himself into Miss +Jane's confidence. And now this young girl had fallen a victim to his +wiles. That Lucy should lie to her, of all persons, and in so calm and +self-possessed a manner; and about Bart, of all men--sent a shudder +through her heart, that paled her cheek and tightened her lips. Once +before she had consulted Jane and had been rebuffed. Now she would +depend upon herself. + +Retracing her steps and turning sharply to the right, she ordered Meg +home in a firm voice, watched the dog slink off and then walked +straight down a side road to Captain Nat Holt's house. That the captain +occupied a different station in life from herself did not deter her. +She felt at the moment that the honor of the Cobden name lay in her +keeping. The family had stood by her in her trouble; now she would +stand by them. + +The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper. He was in his +shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his straight hair standing straight out +like the bristles of a shoe-brush. Since the death of his wife a few +years before he had left the service, and now spent most of his days at +home, tending his garden and enjoying his savings. He was a man of +positive character and generally had his own way in everything. It was +therefore with some astonishment that he heard Martha say when she had +mounted the porch steps and pushed open the front door, her breath +almost gone in her hurried walk, "Come inside." + +Captain Holt threw down his paper and rising hurriedly from his chair, +followed her into the sitting-room. The manner of the nurse surprised +him. He had known her for years, ever since his old friend, Lucy's +father, had died, and the tones of her voice, so different from her +usual deferential air, filled him with apprehension. + +"Ain't nobody sick, is there, Martha?" + +"No, but there will be. Are ye alone?" + +"Yes." + +"Then shut that door behind ye and sit down. I've got something to say." + +The grizzled, weather-beaten man who had made twenty voyages around +Cape Horn, and who was known as a man of few words, and those always of +command, closed the door upon them, drew down the shade on the sunny +side of the room and faced her. He saw now that something of more than +usual importance absorbed her. + +"Now, what is it?" he asked. His manner had by this time regained +something of the dictatorial tone he always showed those beneath him in +authority. + +"It's about Bart. You've got to send him away." She had not moved from +her position in the middle of the room. + +The captain changed color and his voice lost its sharpness. + +"Bart! What's he done now?" + +"He sneaks off with our Lucy every chance he gets. They were on the +beach yesterday hidin' behind the House o' Refuge with their heads +together. She had on Miss Jane's red cloak, and Ann Gossaway thought it +was Miss Jane, and I let it go at that." + +The captain looked at Martha incredulously for a moment, and then broke +into a loud laugh as the absurdity of the whole thing burst upon him. +Then dropping back a step, he stood leaning against the old-fashioned +sideboard, his elbows behind him, his large frame thrust toward her. + +"Well, what if they were--ain't she pretty enough?" he burst out. "I +told her she'd have 'em all crazy, and I hear Bart ain't done nothin' +but follow in her wake since he seen her launched." + +Martha stepped closer to the captain and held her fist in his face. + +"He's got to stop it. Do ye hear me?" she shouted. "If he don't +there'll be trouble, for you and him and everybody. It's me that's +crazy, not him." + +"Stop it!" roared the captain, straightening up, the glasses on the +sideboard ringing with his sudden lurch. "My boy keep away from the +daughter of Morton Cobden, who was the best friend I ever had and to +whom I owe more than any man who ever lived! And this is what you +traipsed up here to tell me, is it, you mollycoddle?" + +Again Martha edged nearer; her body bent forward, her eyes searching +his--so close that she could have touched his face with her knuckles. + +"Hold your tongue and stop talkin' foolishness," she blazed out, the +courage of a tigress fighting for her young in her eyes, the same bold +ring in her voice. "I tell ye, Captain Holt, it's got to stop short +off, and NOW! I know men; have known 'em to my misery. I know when +they're honest and I know when they ain't, and so do you, if you would +open your eyes. Bart don't mean no good to my bairn. I see it in his +face. I see it in the way he touches her hand and ties on her bonnet. +I've watched him ever since the first night he laid eyes on her. He +ain't a man with a heart in him; he's a sneak with a lie in his mouth. +Why don't he come round like any of the others and say where he's goin' +and what he wants to do instead of peepin' round the gate-posts +watchin' for her and sendin' her notes on the sly, and makin' her lie +to me, her old nurse, who's done nothin' but love her? Doctor John +don't treat Miss Jane so--he loves her like a man ought to love a woman +and he ain't got nothin' to hide--and you didn't treat your wife so. +There's something here that tells me"--and she laid her hand on her +bosom--"tells me more'n I dare tell ye. I warn ye now ag'in. Send him +to sea--anywhere, before it is too late. She ain't got no mother; she +won't mind a word I say; Miss Jane is blind as a bat; out with him and +NOW!" + +The captain straightened himself up, and with his clenched fist raised +above his head like a hammer about to strike, cried: + +"If he harmed the daughter of Morton Cobden I'd kill him!" The words +jumped hot from his throat with a slight hissing sound, his eyes still +aflame. + +"Well, then, stop it before it gets too late. I walk the floor nights +and I'm scared to death every hour I live." Then her voice broke. +"Please, captain, please," she added in a piteous tone. "Don't mind me +if I talk wild, my heart is breakin', and I can't hold in no longer," +and she burst into a paroxysm of tears. + +The captain leaned against the sideboard again and looked down upon the +floor as if in deep thought. Martha's tears did not move him. The tears +of few women did. He was only concerned in getting hold of some +positive facts upon which he could base his judgment. + +"Come, now," he said in an authoritative voice, "let me get that chair +and set down and then I'll see what all this amounts to. Sounds like a +yarn of a horse-marine." As he spoke he crossed the room and, dragging +a rocking-chair from its place beside the wall, settled himself in it. +Martha found a seat upon the sofa and turned her tear-stained face +toward him. + +"Now, what's these young people been doin' that makes ye so almighty +narvous?" he continued, lying back in his chair and looking at her from +under his bushy eyebrows, his fingers supporting his forehead. + +"Everything. Goes out sailin' with her and goes driftin' past with his +head in her lap. Fogarty's man who brings fish to the house told me." +She had regained something of her old composure now. + +"Anything else?" The captain's voice had a relieved, almost +condescending tone in it. He had taken his thumb and forefinger from +his eyebrow now and sat drumming with his stiffened knuckles on the arm +of the rocker. + +"Yes, a heap more--ain't that enough along with the other things I've +told ye?" Martha's eyes were beginning to blaze again. + +"No, that's just as it ought to be. Boys and girls will be boys and +girls the world over." The tone of the captain's voice indicated the +condition of his mind. He had at last arrived at a conclusion. Martha's +head was muddled because of her inordinate and unnatural love for the +child she had nursed. She had found a spookship in a fog bank, that was +all. Jealousy might be at the bottom of it or a certain nervous +fussiness. Whatever it was it was too trivial for him to waste his time +over. + +The captain rose from his chair, crossed the sitting-room, and opened +the door leading to the porch, letting in the sunshine. Martha followed +close at his heels. + +"You're runnin' on a wrong tack, old woman, and first thing ye know +ye'll be in the breakers," he said, with his hand on the knob. "Ease +off a little and don't be too hard on 'em. They'll make harbor all +right. You're makin' more fuss than a hen over one chicken. Miss Jane +knows what she's about. She's got a level head, and when she tells me +that my Bart ain't good enough to ship alongside the daughter of Morton +Cobden, I'll sign papers for him somewhere else, and not before. I'll +have to get you to excuse me now; I'm busy. Good-day," and picking up +his paper, he re-entered the house and closed the door upon her. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A GAME OF CARDS + + +Should Miss Gossaway have been sitting at her lookout some weeks after +Martha's interview with Captain Nat Holt, and should she have watched +the movements of Doctor John's gig as it rounded into the open gate of +Cobden Manor, she must have decided that something out of the common +was either happening or about to happen inside Yardley's hospitable +doors. Not only was the sorrel trotting at her best, the doctor +flapping the lines along her brown back, his body swaying from side to +side with the motion of the light vehicle, but as he passed her house +he was also consulting the contents of a small envelope which he had +taken from his pocket. + +"Please come early," it read. "I have something important to talk over +with you." + +A note of this character signed with so adorable a name as "Jane +Cobden" was so rare in the doctor's experience that he had at once +given up his round of morning visits and, springing into his waiting +gig, had started to answer it in person. + +He was alive with expectancy. What could she want with him except to +talk over some subject that they had left unfinished? As he hurried on +there came into his mind half a dozen matters, any one of which it +would have been a delight to revive. He knew from the way she worded +the note that nothing had occurred since he had seen her--within the +week, in fact--to cause her either annoyance or suffering. No; it was +only to continue one of their confidential talks, which were the joy of +his life. + +Jane was waiting for him in the morning-room. Her face lighted up as he +entered and took her hand, and immediately relaxed again into an +expression of anxiety. + +All his eagerness vanished. He saw with a sinking of the heart, even +before she had time to speak, that something outside of his own +affairs, or hers, had caused her to write the note. + +"I came at once," he said, keeping her hand in his. "You look troubled; +what has happened?" + +"Nothing yet," she answered, leading him to the sofa, "It is about +Lucy. She wants to go away for the winter." + +"Where to?" he asked. He had placed a cushion at her back and had +settled himself beside her. + +"To Trenton, to visit her friend Miss Collins and study music. She says +Warehold bores her." + +"And you don't want her to go?" + +"No; I don't fancy Miss Collins, and I am afraid she has too strong an +influence over Lucy. Her personality grates on me; she is so +boisterous, and she laughs so loud; and the views she holds are +unaccountable to me in so young a girl. She seems to have had no home +training whatever. Why Lucy likes her, and why she should have selected +her as an intimate friend, has always puzzled me." She spoke with her +usual frankness and with that directness which always characterized her +in matters of this kind. "I had no one else to talk to and am very +miserable about it all. You don't mind my sending for you, do you?" + +"Mind! Why do you ask such a question? I am never so happy as when I am +serving you." + +That she should send for him at all was happiness. Not sickness this +time, nor some question of investment, nor the repair of the barn or +gate or out-buildings--but Lucy, who lay nearest her heart! That was +even better than he had expected. + +"Tell me all about it, so I can get it right," he continued in a +straightforward tone--the tone of the physician, not the lover. She had +relied on him, and he intended to give her the best counsel of which he +was capable. The lover could wait. + +"Well, she received a letter a week ago from Miss Collins, saying she +had come to Trenton for the winter and had taken some rooms in a house +belonging to her aunt, who would live with her. She wants to be within +reach of the same music-teacher who taught the girls at Miss Parkham's +school. She says if Lucy will come it will reduce the expenses and they +can both have the benefit of the tuition. At first Lucy did not want to +go at all, now she insists, and, strange to say, Martha encourages her." + +"Martha wants her to leave?" he asked in surprise. + +"She says so." + +The doctor's face assumed a puzzled expression. He could account for +Lucy's wanting the freedom and novelty of the change, but that Martha +should be willing to part with her bairn for the winter mystified him. +He knew nothing of the flirtation, of course, and its effect on the old +nurse, and could not, therefore, understand Martha's delight in Lucy's +and Bart's separation. + +"You will be very lonely," he said, and a certain tender tone developed +in his voice. + +"Yes, dreadfully so, but I would not mind if I thought it was for her +good. But I don't think so. I may be wrong, and in the uncertainty I +wanted to talk it over with you. I get so desolate sometimes. I never +seemed to miss my father so much as now. Perhaps it is because Lucy's +babyhood and childhood are over and she is entering upon womanhood with +all the dangers it brings. And she frightens me so sometimes," she +continued after a slight pause. "She is different; more self-willed, +more self-centred. Besides, her touch has altered. She doesn't seem to +love me as she did--not in the same way." + +"But she could never do anything else but love you," he interrupted +quickly, speaking for himself as well as Lucy, his voice vibrating +under his emotions. It was all he could do to keep his hands from her +own; her sending for him alone restrained him. + +"I know that, but it is not in the old way. It used to be 'Sister, +darling, don't tire yourself,' or 'Sister, dear, let me go upstairs for +you,' or 'Cuddle close here, and let us talk it all out together.' +There is no more of that. She goes her own way, and when I chide her +laughs and leaves me alone until I make some new advance. Help me, +please, and with all the wisdom you can give me; I have no one else in +whom I can trust, no one who is big enough to know what should be done. +I might have talked to Mr. Dellenbaugh about it, but he is away." + +"No; talk it all out to me," he said simply. "I so want to help +you"--his whole heart was going out to her in her distress. + +"I know you feel sorry for me." She withdrew her hand gently so as not +to hurt him; she too did not want to be misunderstood--having sent for +him. "I know how sincere your friendship is for me, but put all that +aside. Don't let your sympathy for me cloud your judgment. What shall I +do with Lucy? Answer me as if you were her father and mine," and she +looked straight into his eyes. + +The doctor tightened the muscles of his throat, closed his teeth, and +summoned all his resolution. If he could only tell her what was in his +heart how much easier it would all be! For some moments he sat +perfectly still, then he answered slowly--as her man of business would +have done: + +"I should let her go." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"Because she will find out in that way sooner than in any other how to +appreciate you and her home. Living in two rooms and studying music +will not suit Lucy. When the novelty wears off she will long for her +home, and when she comes back it will be with a better appreciation of +its comforts. Let her go, and make her going as happy as you can." + +And so Jane gave her consent--it is doubtful whether Lucy would have +waited for it once her mind was made up--and in a week she was off, +Doctor John taking her himself as far as the Junction, and seeing her +safe on the road to Trenton. Martha was evidently delighted at the +change, for the old nurse's face was wreathed in smiles that last +morning as they all stood out by the gate while Billy Tatham loaded +Lucy's trunks and boxes. Only once did a frown cross her face, and that +was when Lucy leaned over and whispering something in Bart's ear, +slipped a small scrap of paper between his fingers. Bart crunched it +tight and slid his hand carelessly into his pocket, but the gesture did +not deceive the nurse: it haunted her for days thereafter. + +As the weeks flew by and the letters from Trenton told of the +happenings in Maria's home, it became more and more evident to Jane +that the doctor's advice had been the wisest and best. Lucy would often +devote a page or more of her letters to recalling the comforts of her +own room at Yardley, so different from what she was enduring at +Trenton, and longing for them to come again. Parts of these letters +Jane read to the doctor, and all of them to Martha, who received them +with varying comment. It became evident, too, that neither the +excitement of Bart's letters, nor the visits of the occasional school +friends who called upon them both, nor the pursuit of her new +accomplishment, had satisfied the girl. + +Jane was not surprised, therefore, remembering the doctor's almost +prophetic words, to learn of the arrival of a letter from Lucy begging +Martha to come to her at once for a day or two. The letter was enclosed +in one to Bart and was handed to the nurse by that young man in person. +As he did so he remarked meaningly that Miss Lucy wanted Martha's visit +to be kept a secret from everybody but Miss Jane, "just as a surprise," +but Martha answered in a positive tone that she had no secrets from +those who had a right to know them, and that he could write Lucy she +was coming next day, and that Jane and everybody else who might inquire +would know of it before she started. + +She rather liked Bart's receiving the letter. As long as that young man +kept away from Trenton and confined himself to Warehold, where she +could keep her eyes on him, she was content. + +To Jane Martha said: "Oh, bless the darlin'! She can't do a day longer +without her Martha. I'll go in the mornin'. It's a little pettin' she +wants--that's all." + +So the old nurse bade Meg good-by, pinned her big gray shawl about her, +tied on her bonnet, took a little basket with some delicacies and a pot +of jelly, and like a true Mother Hubbard, started off, while Jane, +having persuaded herself that perhaps "the surprise" was meant for her, +and that she might be welcoming two exiles instead of one the following +night, began to put Lucy's room in order and to lay out the many pretty +things she loved, especially the new dressing-gown she had made for +her, lined with blue silk--her favorite color. + +All that day and evening, and far into the next afternoon, Jane went +about the house with the refrain of an old song welling up into her +heart--one that had been stifled for months. The thought of the +round-about way in which Lucy had sent for Martha did not dull its +melody. That ruse, she knew, came from the foolish pride of youth, the +pride that could not meet defeat. Underneath it she detected, with a +thrill, the love of home; this, after all, was what her sister could +not do without. It was not Bart this time. That affair, as she had +predicted and had repeatedly told Martha, had worn itself out and had +been replaced by her love of music. She had simply come to herself once +more and would again be her old-time sister and her child. Then, +too--and this sent another wave of delight tingling through her--it had +all been the doctor's doing! But for his advice she would never have +let Lucy go. + +Half a dozen times, although the November afternoon was raw and chilly, +with the wind fresh from the sea and the sky dull, she was out on the +front porch without shawl or hat, looking down the path, covered now +with dead leaves, and scanning closely every team that passed the gate, +only to return again to her place by the fire, more impatient than ever. + +Meg's quick ear first caught the grating of the wheels. Jane followed +him with a cry of joyous expectation, and flew to the door to meet the +stage, which for some reason--why, she could not tell--had stopped for +a moment outside the gate, dropping only one passenger, and that one +the nurse. + +"And Lucy did not come, Martha!" Jane exclaimed, with almost a sob in +her voice. She had reached her side now, followed by Meg, who was +springing straight at the nurse in the joy of his welcome. + +The old woman glanced back at the stage, as if afraid of being +overheard, and muttered under her breath: + +"No, she couldn't come." + +"Oh, I am so disappointed! Why not?" + +Martha did not answer. She seemed to have lost her breath. Jane put her +arm about her and led her up the path. Once she stumbled, her step was +so unsteady, and she would have fallen but for Jane's assistance. + +The two had now reached the hand-railing of the porch. Here Martha's +trembling foot began to feel about for the step. Jane caught her in her +arms. + +"You're ill, Martha!" she cried in alarm. "Give me the bag. What's the +matter?" + +Again Martha did not answer. + +"Tell me what it is." + +"Upstairs! Upstairs!" Martha gasped in reply. "Quick!" + +"What has happened?" + +"Not here; upstairs." + +They climbed the staircase together, Jane half carrying the fainting +woman, her mind in a whirl. + +"Where were you taken ill? Why did you try to come home? Why didn't +Lucy come with you?" + +They had reached the door of Jane's bedroom now, Martha clinging to her +arm. + +Once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the door, put her bands +to her face as if she would shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank +slowly to the floor. + +"It is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands, "not me--not--" + +"Who?" + +"Oh, I can't say it!" + +"Lucy?" + +"Yes" + +"Not ill?" + +"No; worse!" + +"Oh, Martha! Not dead?" + +"O God, I wish she were!" + +An hour passed--an hour of agony, of humiliation and despair. + +Again the door opened and Jane stepped out--slowly, as if in pain, her +lips tight drawn, her face ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into +deeper hollows, the eyes burning. Only the mouth preserved its lines, +but firmer, more rigid, more severe, as if tightened by the strength of +some great resolve. In her hand she held a letter. + +Martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her head still in her +palms. She had ceased sobbing and was quite still, as if exhausted. + +Jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the servants, and +dropping the letter to the floor below, said: + +"Take that to Captain Holt's. When he comes bring him upstairs here +into my sitting-room." + +Before the servant could reply there came a knock at the front door. +Jane knew its sound--it was Doctor John's. Leaning far over, grasping +the top rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to the +servant in a low, restrained voice: + +"If that is Dr. Cavendish, please say to him that Martha is just home +from Trenton, greatly fatigued, and I beg him to excuse me. When the +doctor has driven away, you can take the letter." + +She kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she heard the tones of his +voice through the open hall door and caught the note of sorrow that +tinged them. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry! Poor Martha!" she heard him say. "She is getting too +old to go about alone. Please tell Miss Jane she must not hesitate to +send for me if I can be of the slightest service." Then she re-entered +the room where Martha lay and closed the door. + +Another and louder knock now broke the stillness of the chamber and +checked the sobs of the nurse; Captain Holt had met Jane's servant as +he was passing the gate. He stopped for an instant in the hall, slipped +off his coat, and walked straight upstairs, humming a tune as he came. +Jane heard his firm tread, opened the door of their room, and she and +Martha crossed the hall to a smaller apartment where Jane always +attended to the business affairs of the house. The captain's face was +wreathed in a broad smile as he extended his hand to Jane in welcome. + +"It's lucky ye caught me, Miss Jane. I was just goin' out, and in a +minute I'd been gone for the night. Hello, Mother Martha! I thought +you'd gone to Trenton." + +The two women made no reply to his cheery salutation, except to motion +him to a seat. Then Jane closed the door and turned the key in the lock. + +When the captain emerged from the chamber he stepped out alone. His +color was gone, his eyes flashing, his jaw tight set. About his mouth +there hovered a savage, almost brutal look, the look of a bulldog who +bares his teeth before he tears and strangles--a look his men knew when +someone of them purposely disobeyed his orders. For a moment he stood +as if dazed. All he remembered clearly was the white, drawn face of a +woman gazing at him with staring, tear-drenched eyes, the slow dropping +of words that blistered as they fell, and the figure of the nurse +wringing her hands and moaning: "Oh, I told ye so! I told ye so! Why +didn't ye listen?" With it came the pain of some sudden blow that +deadened his brain and stilled his heart. + +With a strong effort, like one throwing off a stupor, he raised his +head, braced his shoulders, and strode firmly along the corridor and +down the stairs on his way to the front door. Catching up his coat, he +threw it about him, pulled his hat on, with a jerk, slamming the front +door, plunged along through the dry leaves that covered the path, and +so on out to the main road. Once beyond the gate he hesitated, looked +up and down, turned to the right and then to the left, as if in doubt, +and lunged forward in the direction of the tavern. + +It was Sunday night, and the lounging room was full. One of the inmates +rose and offered him a chair--he was much respected in the village, +especially among the rougher class, some of whom had sailed with +him--but he only waved his hand in thanks. + +"I don't want to sit down; I'm looking for Bart. Has he been here?" The +sound came as if from between closed teeth. + +"Not as I know of, cap'n," answered the landlord; "not since sundown, +nohow." + +"Do any of you know where he is?" The look in the captain's eyes and +the sharp, cutting tones of his voice began to be noticed. + +"Do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back in a chair against the +wall. + +"Yes." + +"Well, I kin tell ye where to find him," + +"Where?" + +"Down on the beach in the Refuge shanty. He and the boys have a deck +there Sunday nights. Been at it all fall--thought ye knowed it." + +Out into the night again, and without a word of thanks, down the road +and across the causeway to the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless +thrash of the rising sea. He followed no path, picked out no road. +Stumbling along in the half-gloom of the twilight, he could make out +the heads of the sand-dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat +against their cheeks. Soon he reached the prow of the old wreck with +its shattered timbers and the water-holes left by the tide. These he +avoided, but the smaller objects he trampled upon and over as he strode +on, without caring where he stepped or how often he stumbled. Outlined +against the sand-hills, bleached white under the dull light, he looked +like some evil presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful was +his unceasing, persistent stride. + +When the House of Refuge loomed up against the gray froth of the surf +he stopped and drew breath. Bending forward, he scanned the beach +ahead, shading his eyes with his hand as he would have done on his own +ship in a fog. He could make out now some streaks of yellow light +showing through the cracks one above the other along the side of the +house and a dull patch of red. He knew what it meant. Bart and his +fellows were inside, and were using one of the ship lanterns to see by. + +This settled in his mind, the captain strode on, but at a slower pace. +He had found his bearings, and would steer with caution. + +Hugging the dunes closer, he approached the house from the rear. The +big door was shut and a bit of matting had been tacked over the one +window to deaden the light. This was why the patch of red was dull. He +stood now so near the outside planking that he could hear the laughter +and talk of those within. By this time the wind had risen to half a +gale and the moan on the outer bar could be heard in the intervals of +the pounding surf. The captain crept under the eaves of the roof and +listened. He wanted to be sure of Bart's voice before he acted. + +At this instant a sudden gust of wind burst in the big door, +extinguishing the light of the lantern, and Bart's voice rang out: + +"Stay where you are, boys! Don't touch the cards. I know the door, and +can fix it; it's only the bolt that's slipped." + +As Bart passed out into the gloom the captain darted forward, seized +him with a grip of steel, dragged him clear of the door, and up the +sand-dunes out of hearing. Then he flung him loose and stood facing the +cowering boy. + +"Now stand back and keep away from me, for I'm afraid I'll kill you!" + +"What have I done?" cringed Bart, shielding his face with his elbow as +if to ward off a blow. The suddenness of the attack had stunned him. + +"Don't ask me, you whelp, or I'll strangle you. Look at me! That's what +you been up to, is it?" + +Bart straightened himself, and made some show of resistance. His breath +was coming back to him. + +"I haven't done anything--and if I did--" + +"You lie! Martha's back from Trenton and Lucy told her. You never +thought of me. You never thought of that sister of hers whose heart +you've broke, nor of the old woman who nursed her like a mother. You +thought of nobody but your stinkin' self. You're not a man! You're a +cur! a dog! Don't move! Keep away from me, I tell ye, or I may lose +hold of myself." + +Bart was stretching out his hands now as if in supplication. He had +never seen his father like this--the sight frightened him. + +"Father, will you listen--" he pleaded. + +"I'll listen to nothin'--" + +"Will you, please? It's not all my fault. She ought to have kept out of +my way--" + +"Stop! Take that back! You'd blame HER, would ye--a child just out of +school, and as innocent as a baby? By God, you'll do right by her or +you'll never set foot inside my house again!" + +Bart faced his father again. + +"I want to tell you the whole story before you judge me. I want to--" + +"You'll tell me nothin'! Will you act square with her?" + +"I must tell you first. You wouldn't understand unless--" + +"You won't? That's what you mean--you mean you WON'T! Damn ye!" The +captain raised his clenched fist, quivered for an instant as if +struggling against something beyond his control, dropped it slowly to +his side and whirling suddenly, strode back up the beach. + +Bart staggered back against the planking, threw out his hand to keep +from falling, and watched his father's uncertain, stumbling figure +until he was swallowed up in the gloom. The words rang in his ears like +a knell. The realization of his position and what it meant, and might +mean, rushed over him. For an instant he leaned heavily against the +planking until he had caught his breath. Then, with quivering lips and +shaking legs, he walked slowly back into the house, shutting the big +door behind him. + +"Boys," he said with a forced smile, "who do you think's been outside? +My father! Somebody told him, and he's just been giving me hell for +playing cards on Sunday." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT + + +Before another Sunday night had arrived Warehold village was alive with +two important pieces of news. + +The first was the disappearance of Bart Holt. + +Captain Nat, so the story ran, had caught him carousing in the House of +Refuge on Sunday night with some of his boon companions, and after a +stormy interview in which the boy pleaded for forgiveness, had driven +him out into the night. Bart had left town the next morning at daylight +and had shipped as a common sailor on board a British bark bound for +Brazil. No one had seen him go--not even his companions of the night +before. + +The second announcement was more startling. + +The Cobden girls were going to Paris. Lucy Cobden had developed an +extraordinary talent for music during her short stay in Trenton with +her friend Maria Collins, and Miss Jane, with her customary +unselfishness and devotion to her younger sister, had decided to go +with her. They might be gone two years or five--it depended on Lucy's +success. Martha would remain at Yardley and take care of the old home. + +Bart's banishment coming first served as a target for the fire of the +gossip some days before Jane's decision had reached the ears of the +villagers. + +"I always knew he would come to no good end," Miss Gossaway called out +to a passer-by from her eyrie; "and there's more like him if their +fathers would look after 'em. Guess sea's the best place for him." + +Billy Tatham, the stage-driver, did not altogether agree with the +extremist. + +"You hearn tell, I s'pose, of how Captain Nat handled his boy t'other +night, didn't ye?" he remarked to the passenger next to him on the +front seat. "It might be the way they did things 'board the Black Ball +Line, but 'tain't human and decent, an' I told Cap'n Nat so to-day. +Shut his door in his face an' told him he'd kill him if he tried to +come in, and all because he ketched him playin' cards on Sunday down on +the beach. Bart warn't no worse than the others he run with, but ye +can't tell what these old sea-dogs will do when they git riled. I guess +it was the rum more'n the cards. Them fellers used to drink a power o' +rum in that shanty. I've seen 'em staggerin' home many a Monday mornin' +when I got down early to open up for my team. It's the rum that riled +the cap'n, I guess. He wouldn't stand it aboard ship and used to put +his men in irons, I've hearn tell, when they come aboard drunk. What +gits me is that the cap'n didn't know them fellers met there every +night they could git away, week-days as well as Sundays. Everybody +'round here knew it 'cept him and the light-keeper, and he's so durned +lazy he never once dropped on to 'em. He'd git bounced if the Gov'ment +found out he was lettin' a gang run the House o' Refuge whenever they +felt like it. Fogarty, the fisherman's, got the key, or oughter have +it, but the light-keeper's responsible, so I hearn tell. Git-up, +Billy," and the talk drifted into other channels. + +The incident was soon forgotten. One young man more or less did not +make much difference in Warehold. As to Captain Nat, he was known to be +a scrupulously honest, exact man who knew no law outside of his duty. +He probably did it for the boy's good, although everybody agreed that +he could have accomplished his purpose in some more merciful way. + +The other sensation--the departure of the two Cobden girls, and their +possible prolonged stay abroad--did not subside so easily. Not only did +the neighbors look upon the Manor House as the show-place of the +village, but the girls themselves were greatly beloved, Jane being +especially idolized from Warehold to Barnegat and the sea. To lose +Jane's presence among them was a positive calamity entailing a sorrow +that most of her neighbors could not bring themselves to face. No one +could take her place. + +Pastor Dellenbaugh, when he heard the news, sank into his study chair +and threw up his hands as if to ward off some blow. + +"Miss Jane going abroad!" he cried; "and you say nobody knows when she +will come back! I can't realize it! We might as well close the school; +no one else in the village can keep it together." + +The Cromartins and the others all expressed similar opinions, the +younger ladies' sorrow being aggravated when they realized that with +Lucy away there would be no one to lead in their merrymakings. + +Martha held her peace; she would stay at home, she told Mrs. +Dellenbaugh, and wait for their return and look after the place. Her +heart was broken with the loneliness that would come, she moaned, but +what was best for her bairn she was willing to bear. It didn't make +much difference either way; she wasn't long for this world. + +The doctor's mother heard the news with ill-concealed satisfaction. + +"A most extraordinary thing has occurred here, my dear," she said to +one of her Philadelphia friends who was visiting her--she was too +politic to talk openly to the neighbors. "You have, of course, met that +Miss Cobden who lives at Yardley--not the pretty one--the plain one. +Well, she is the most quixotic creature in the world. Only a few weeks +ago she wanted to become a nurse in the public hospital here, and now +she proposes to close her house and go abroad for nobody knows how +long, simply because her younger sister wants to study music, as if a +school-girl couldn't get all the instruction of that kind here that is +necessary. Really, I never heard of such a thing." + +To Mrs. Benson, a neighbor, she said, behind her hand and in strict +confidence: "Miss Cobden is morbidly conscientious over trifles. A fine +woman, one of the very finest we have, but a little too strait-laced, +and, if I must say it, somewhat commonplace, especially for a woman of +her birth and education." + +To herself she said: "Never while I live shall Jane Cobden marry my +John! She can never help any man's career. She has neither the worldly +knowledge, nor the personal presence, nor the money." + +Jane gave but one answer to all inquiries--and there were many. + +"Yes, I know the move is a sudden one," she would say, "but it is for +Lucy's good, and there is no one to go with her but me." No one saw +beneath the mask that hid her breaking heart. To them the drawn face +and the weary look in her eyes only showed her grief at leaving home +and those who loved her: to Mrs. Cavendish it seemed part of Jane's +peculiar temperament. + +Nor could they watch her in the silence of the night tossing on her +bed, or closeted with Martha in her search for the initial steps that +had led to this horror. Had the Philadelphia school undermined her own +sisterly teachings or had her companions been at fault? Perhaps it was +due to the blood of some long-forgotten ancestor, which in the cycle of +years had cropped out in this generation, poisoning the fountain of her +youth. Bart, she realized, had played the villain and the ingrate, but +yet it was also true that Bart, and all his class, would have been +powerless before a woman of a different temperament. Who, then, had +undermined this citadel and given it over to plunder and disgrace? Then +with merciless exactness she searched her own heart. Had it been her +fault? What safeguard had she herself neglected? Wherein had she been +false to her trust and her promise to her dying father? What could she +have done to avert it? These ever-haunting, ever-recurring doubts +maddened her. + +One thing she was determined upon, cost what it might--to protect her +sister's name. No daughter of Morton Cobden's should be pointed at in +scorn. For generations no stain of dishonor had tarnished the family +name. This must be preserved, no matter who suffered. In this she was +sustained by Martha, her only confidante. + +Doctor John heard the news from Jane's lips before it was known to the +villagers. He had come to inquire after Martha. + +She met him at the porch entrance, and led him into the drawing-room, +without a word of welcome. Then shutting the door, she motioned him to +a seat opposite her own on the sofa. The calm, determined way with +which this was done--so unusual in one so cordial--startled him. He +felt that something of momentous interest, and, judging from Jane's +face, of serious import, had happened. He invariably took his cue from +her face, and his own spirits always rose or fell as the light in her +eyes flashed or dimmed. + +"Is there anything the matter?" he asked nervously. "Martha worse?" + +"No, not that; Martha is around again--it is about Lucy and me." The +voice did not sound like Jane's. + +The doctor looked at her intently, but he did not speak. Jane +continued, her face now deathly pale, her words coming slowly. + +"You advised me some time ago about Lucy's going to Trenton, and I am +glad I followed it. You thought it would strengthen her love for us all +and teach her to love me the better. It has--so much so that hereafter +we will never be separated. I hope now you will also approve of what I +have just decided upon. Lucy is going abroad to live, and I am going +with her." + +As the words fell from her lips her eyes crept up to his face, watching +the effect of her statement. It was a cold, almost brutal way of +putting it, she knew, but she dared not trust herself with anything +less formal. + +For a moment he sat perfectly still, the color gone from his cheeks, +his eyes fixed on hers, a cold chill benumbing the roots of his hair. +The suddenness of the announcement seemed to have stunned him. + +"For how long?" he asked in a halting voice. + +"I don't know. Not less than two years; perhaps longer." + +"TWO YEARS? Is Lucy ill?" + +"No; she wants to study music, and she couldn't go alone." + +"Have you made up your mind to this?" he asked, in a more positive +tone. His self-control was returning now. + +"Yes." + +Doctor John rose from his chair, paced the room slowly for a moment, +and crossing to the fireplace with his back to Jane, stood under her +father's portrait, his elbows on the mantel, his head in his hand. +interwoven with the pain which the announcement had given him was the +sharper sorrow of her neglect of him. In forming her plans she had +never once thought of her lifelong friend. + +"Why did you not tell me something of this before?" The inquiry was not +addressed to Jane, but to the smouldering coals. "How have I ever +failed you? What has my daily life been but an open book for you to +read, and here you leave me for years, and never give me a thought." + +Jane started in her seat. + +"Forgive me, my dear friend!" she answered quickly in a voice full of +tenderness. "I did not mean to hurt you. It is not that I love all my +friends here the less--and you know how truly I appreciate your own +friendship--but only that I love my sister more; and my duty is with +her. I only decided last night. Don't turn your back on me. Come and +sit by me, and talk to me," she pleaded, holding out her hand. "I need +all your strength." As she spoke the tears started to her eyes and her +voice sank almost to a whisper. + +The doctor lifted his head from his palm and walked quickly toward her. +The suffering in her voice had robbed him of all resentment. + +"Forgive me, I did not mean it. Tell me," he said, in a sudden burst of +tenderness--all feeling about himself had dropped away--"why must you +go so soon? Why not wait until spring?" He had taken his seat beside +her now and sat looking into her eyes. + +"Lucy wants to go at once," she replied, in a tone as if the matter did +not admit of any discussion. + +"Yes, I know. That's just like her. What she wants she can never wait a +minute for, but she certainly would sacrifice some pleasure of her own +to please you. If she was determined to be a musician it would be +different, but it is only for her pleasure, and as an accomplishment." +He spoke earnestly and impersonally, as he always did when she +consulted him on any of her affairs, He was trying, too, to wipe from +her mind all remembrance of his impatience. + +Jane kept her eyes on the carpet for a moment, and then said quietly, +and he thought in rather a hopeless tone: + +"It is best we go at once." + +The doctor looked at her searchingly--with the eye of a scientist, this +time, probing for a hidden meaning. + +"Then there is something else you have not told me; someone is annoying +her, or there is someone with whom you are afraid she will fall in +love. Who is it? You know how I could help in a matter of that kind." + +"No; there is no one." + +Doctor John leaned back thoughtfully and tapped the arm of the sofa +with his fingers. He felt as if a door had been shut in his face. + +"I don't understand it," he said slowly, and in a baffled tone. "I have +never known you to do a thing like this before. It is entirely unlike +you. There is some mystery you are keeping from me. Tell me, and let me +help." + +"I can tell you nothing more. Can't you trust me to do my duty in my +own way?" She stole a look at him as she spoke and again lowered her +eyelids. + +"And you are determined to go?" he asked in his former cross-examining +tone. + +"Yes." + +Again the doctor kept silence. Despite her assumed courage and +determined air, his experienced eye caught beneath it all the shrinking +helplessness of the woman. + +"Then I, too, have reached a sudden resolve," he said in a manner +almost professional in its precision. "You cannot and shall not go +alone." + +"Oh, but Lucy and I can get along together," she exclaimed with nervous +haste. "There is no one we could take but Martha, and she is too old. +Besides she must look after the house while we are away." + +"No; Martha will not do. No woman will do. I know Paris and its life; +it is not the place for two women to live in alone, especially so +pretty and light-hearted a woman as Lucy." + +"I am not afraid." + +"No, but I am," he answered in a softened voice, "very much afraid." It +was no longer the physician who spoke, but the friend. + +"Of what?" + +"Of a dozen things you do not understand, and cannot until you +encounter them," he replied, smoothing her hand tenderly. + +"Yes, but it cannot be helped. There is no one to go with us." This +came with some positiveness, yet with a note of impatience in her voice. + +"Yes, there is," he answered gently. + +"Who?" she asked slowly, withdrawing her hand from his caress, an +undefined fear rising in her mind. + +"Me. I will go with you." + +Jane looked at him with widening eyes. She knew now. She had caught his +meaning in the tones of his voice before he had expressed it, and had +tried to think of some way to ward off what she saw was coming, but she +was swept helplessly on. + +"Let us go together, Jane," he burst out, drawing closer to her. All +reserve was gone. The words which had pressed so long for utterance +could no longer be held back. "I cannot live here alone without you. +You know it, and have always known it. I love you so--don't let us live +apart any more. If you must go, go as my wife." + +A thrill of joy ran through her. Her lips quivered. She wanted to cry +out, to put her arms around his neck, to tell him everything in her +heart. Then came a quick, sharp pain that stifled every other thought. +For the first time the real bitterness of the situation confronted her. +This phase of it she had not counted upon. + +She shrank back a little. "Don't ask me that!" she moaned in a tone +almost of pain. "I can stand anything now but that. Not now--not now!" + +Her hand was still under his, her fingers lying limp, all the pathos of +her suffering in her face: determination to do her duty, horror over +the situation, and above them all her overwhelming love for him. + +He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. + +"You love me, Jane, don't you?" + +"Yes, more than all else in the world," she answered simply. "Too +well"--and her voice broke--"to have you give up your career for me or +mine." + +"Then why should we live apart? I am willing to do as much for Lucy as +you would. Let me share the care and responsibility. You needn't, +perhaps, be gone more than a year, and then we will all come back +together, and I take up my work again. I need you, my beloved. Nothing +that I do seems of any use without you. You are my great, strong light, +and have always been since the first day I loved you. Let me help bear +these burdens. You have carried them so long alone." + +His face lay against hers now, her hand still clasped tight in his. For +an instant she did not answer or move; then she straightened a little +and lifted her cheek from his. + +"John," she said--it was the first time in all her life she had called +him thus--"you wouldn't love me if I should consent. You have work to +do here and I now have work to do on the other side. We cannot work +together; we must work apart. Your heart is speaking, and I love you +for it, but we must not think of it now. It may come right some +time--God only knows! My duty is plain--I must go with Lucy. Neither +you nor my dead father would love me if I did differently." + +"I only know that I love you and that you love me and nothing else +should count," he pleaded impatiently. "Nothing else shall count. There +is nothing you could do would make me love you less. You are practical +and wise about all your plans. Why has this whim of Lucy's taken hold +of you as it has? And it is only a whim; Lucy will want something else +in six months. Oh, I cannot--cannot let you go. I'm so desolate without +you--my whole life is yours--everything I do is for you. O Jane, my +beloved, don't shut me out of your life! I will not let you go without +me!" His voice vibrated with a certain indignation, as if he had been +unjustly treated. She raised one hand and laid it on his forehead, +smoothing his brow as a mother would that of a child. The other still +lay in his. + +"Don't, John," she moaned, in a half-piteous tone. "Don't! Don't talk +so! I can only bear comforting words to-day. I am too wretched--too +utterly broken and miserable. Please! please, John!" + +He dropped her hand and leaning forward put both of his own to his +head. He knew how strong was her will and how futile would be his +efforts to change her mind unless her conscience agreed. + +"I won't," he answered, as a strong man answers who is baffled. "I did +not mean to be impatient or exacting." Then he raised his head and +looked steadily into her eyes. "What would you have me do, then?" + +"Wait." + +"But you give me no promise." + +"No, I cannot--not now. I am like one staggering along, following a dim +light that leads hither and thither, and which may any moment go out +and leave me in utter darkness." + +"Then there is something you have not told me?" + +"O John! Can't you trust me?" + +"And yet you love me?" + +"As my life, John." + +When he had gone and she had closed the door upon him, she went back to +the sofa where the two had sat together, and with her hands clasped +tight above her head, sank down upon its cushions. The tears came like +rain now, bitter, blinding tears that she could not check. + +"I have hurt him," she moaned. "He is so good, and strong, and helpful. +He never thinks of himself; it is always of me--me, who can do nothing. +The tears were in his eyes--I saw them. Oh, I've hurt him--hurt him! +And yet, dear God, thou knowest I could not help it." + +Maddened with the pain of it all she sprang up, determined to go to him +and tell him everything. To throw herself into his arms and beg +forgiveness for her cruelty and crave the protection of his strength. +Then her gaze fell upon her father's portrait! The cold, steadfast eyes +were looking down upon her as if they could read her very soul. "No! +No!" she sobbed, putting her hands over her eyes as if to shut out some +spectre she had not the courage to face. "It must not be--it CANNOT +be," and she sank back exhausted. + +When the paroxysm was over she rose to her feet, dried her eyes, +smoothed her hair with both hands, and then, with lips tight pressed +and faltering steps, walked upstairs to where Martha was getting Lucy's +things ready for the coming journey. Crossing the room, she stood with +her elbows on the mantel, her cheeks tight pressed between her palms, +her eyes on the embers. Martha moved from the open trunk and stood +behind her. + +"It was Doctor John, wasn't it?" she asked in a broken voice that told +of her suffering. + +"Yes," moaned Jane from between her hands. + +"And ye told him about your goin'?" + +"Yes, Martha." Her frame was shaking with her sobs. + +"And about Lucy?" + +"No, I could not." + +Martha leaned forward and laid her hand on Jane's shoulder. + +"Poor lassie!" she said, patting it softly. "Poor lassie! That was the +hardest part. He's big and strong and could 'a' comforted ye. My heart +aches for ye both!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +AN ARRIVAL + + +With the departure of Jane and Lucy the old homestead took on that +desolate, abandoned look which comes to most homes when all the life +and joyousness have gone from them. Weeds grew in the roadway between +the lilacs, dandelions flaunted themselves over the grass-plots; the +shutters of the porch side of the house were closed, and the main gate +always thrown wide day and night in ungoverned welcome, was seldom +opened except to a few intimate friends of the old nurse. + +At first Pastor Dellenbaugh had been considerate enough to mount the +long path to inquire for news of the travelers and to see how Martha +was getting along, but after the receipt of the earlier letters from +Jane telling of their safe arrival and their sojourn in a little +village but a short distance out of Paris, convenient to the great +city, even his visits ceased. Captain Holt never darkened the door; nor +did he ever willingly stop to talk to Martha when he met her on the +road. She felt the slight, and avoided him when she could. This +resulted in their seldom speaking to each other, and then only in the +most casual way. She fancied he might think she wanted news of Bart, +and so gave him no opportunity to discuss him or his whereabouts; but +she was mistaken. The captain never mentioned his name to friend or +stranger. To him the boy was dead for all time. Nor had anyone of his +companions heard from him since that stormy night on the beach. + +Doctor John's struggle had lasted for months, but he had come through +it chastened and determined. For the first few days he went about his +work as one in a dream, his mind on the woman he loved, his hand +mechanically doing its duty. Jane had so woven herself into his life +that her sudden departure had been like the upwrenching of a plant, +tearing out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all his +sustenance and strength. The inconsistencies of her conduct especially +troubled him. If she loved him--and she had told him that she did, and +with their cheeks touching--how could she leave him in order to indulge +a mere whim of her sister's? And if she loved him well enough to tell +him so, why had she refused to plight him her troth? Such a course was +unnatural, and out of his own and everyone else's experience. Women who +loved men with a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could give +her, and the love he knew she could give him, never permitted such +trifles to come between them and their life's happiness. What, he asked +himself a thousand times, had brought this change? + +As the months went by these doubts and speculations one by one passed +out of his mind, and only the image of the woman he adored, with all +her qualities--loyalty to her trust, tenderness over Lucy and +unquestioned love for himself--rose clear. No, he would believe in her +to the end! She was still all he had in life. If she would not be his +wife she should be his friend. That happiness was worth all else to him +in the world. His was not to criticise, but to help. Help as SHE wanted +it; preserving her standard of personal honor, her devotion to her +ideals, her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust. + +Mrs. Cavendish had seen the change in her son's demeanor and had +watched him closely through his varying moods, but though she divined +their cause she had not sought to probe his secret. + +His greatest comfort was in his visits to Martha. He always dropped in +to see her when he made his rounds in the neighborhood; sometimes every +day, sometimes once a week, depending on his patients and their +condition--visits which were always prolonged when a letter came from +either of the girls, for at first Lucy wrote to the old nurse as often +as did Jane. Apart from this the doctor loved the patient caretaker, +both for her loyalty and for her gentleness. And she loved him in +return; clinging to him as an older woman clings to a strong man, +following his advice (he never gave orders) to the minutest detail when +something in the management or care of house or grounds exceeded her +grasp. Consulting him, too, and this at Jane's special +request--regarding any financial complications which needed prompt +attention, and which, but for his services, might have required Jane's +immediate return to disentangle. She loved, too, to talk of Lucy and of +Miss Jane's goodness to her bairn, saying she had been both a sister +and a mother to her, to which the doctor would invariably add some +tribute of his own which only bound the friendship the closer. + +His main relief, however, lay in his work, and in this he became each +day more engrossed. He seemed never to be out of his gig unless at the +bedside of some patient. So long and wearing had the routes +become--often beyond Barnegat and as far as Westfield--that the sorrel +gave out, and he was obliged to add another horse to his stable. His +patients saw the weary look in his eyes--as of one who had often looked +on sorrow--and thought it was the hard work and anxiety over them that +had caused it. But the old nurse knew better. + +"His heart's breakin' for love of her," she would say to Meg, looking +down into his sleepy eyes--she cuddled him more than ever these +days--"and I don't wonder. God knows how it'll all end." + +Jane wrote to him but seldom; only half a dozen letters in all during +the first year of her absence among them one to tell him of their safe +arrival, another to thank him for his kindness to Martha, and a third +to acknowledge the receipt of a letter of introduction to a student +friend of his who was now a prominent physician in Paris, and who might +be useful in case either of them fell ill. He had written to his friend +at the same time, giving the address of the two girls, but the +physician had answered that he had called at the street and number, but +no one knew of them. The doctor reported this to Jane in his next +letter, asking her to write to his friend so that he might know of +their whereabouts should they need his services, for which Jane, in a +subsequent letter, thanked him, but made no mention of sending to his +friend should occasion require. These subsequent letters said very +little about their plans and carefully avoided all reference to their +daily life or to Lucy's advancement in her studies, and never once set +any time for their coming home. He wondered at her neglect of him, and +when no answer came to his continued letters, except at long intervals, +he could contain himself no longer, and laid the whole matter before +Martha. + +"She means nothing, doctor, dear," she had answered, taking his hand +and looking up into his troubled face. "Her heart is all right; she's +goin' through deep waters, bein' away from everybody she loves--you +most of all. Don't worry; keep on lovin' her, ye'll never have cause to +repent it." + +That same night Martha wrote to Jane, giving her every detail of the +interview, and in due course of time handed the doctor a letter in +which Jane wrote: "He MUST NOT stop writing to me; his letters are all +the comfort I have"--a line not intended for the doctor's eyes, but +which the good soul could not keep from him, so eager was she to +relieve his pain. + +Jane's letter to him in answer to his own expressing his unhappiness +over her neglect was less direct, but none the less comforting to him. +"I am constantly moving about," the letter ran, "and have much to do +and cannot always answer your letters, so please do not expect them too +often. But I am always thinking of you and your kindness to dear +Martha. You do for me when you do for her." + +After this it became a settled habit between them, he writing by the +weekly steamer, telling her every thought of his life, and she replying +at long intervals. In these no word of love was spoken on her side; nor +was any reference made to their last interview. But this fact did not +cool the warmth of his affection nor weaken his faith. She had told him +she loved him, and with her own lips. That was enough--enough from a +woman like Jane. He would lose faith when she denied it in the same +way. In the meantime she was his very breath and being. + +One morning two years after Jane's departure, while the doctor and his +mother sat at breakfast, Mrs. Cavendish filling the tea-cups, the +spring sunshine lighting up the snow-white cloth and polished silver, +the mail arrived and two letters were laid at their respective plates, +one for the doctor and the other for his mother. + +As Doctor John glanced at the handwriting his face flushed, and his +eyes danced with pleasure. With eager, trembling fingers he broke the +seal and ran his eyes hungrily over the contents. It had been his habit +to turn to the bottom of the last page before he read the preceding +ones, so that he might see the signature and note the final words of +affection or friendship, such as "Ever your friend," or "Affectionately +yours," or simply "Your friend," written above Jane's name. These were +to him the thermometric readings of the warmth of her heart. + +Half way down the first page--before he had time to turn the leaf--he +caught his breath in an effort to smother a sudden outburst of joy. +Then with a supreme effort he regained his self-control and read the +letter to the end. (He rarely mentioned Jane's name to his mother, and +he did not want his delight over the contents of the letter to be made +the basis of comment.) + +Mrs. Cavendish's outburst over the contents of her own envelope broke +the silence and relieved his tension. + +"Oh, how fortunate!" she exclaimed. "Listen, John; now I really have +good news for you. You remember I told you that I met old Dr. Pencoyd +the last time I was in Philadelphia, and had a long talk with him. I +told him how you were buried here and how hard you worked and how +anxious I was that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to write +to me, and he has. Here's his letter. He says he is getting too old to +continue his practice alone, that his assistant has fallen ill, and +that if you will come to him at once he will take you into partnership +and give you half his practice. I always knew something good would come +out of my last visit to Philadelphia. Aren't you delighted, my son?" + +"Yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor, laughing. He was more +than delighted--brimming over with happiness, in fact--but not over his +mother's news; it was the letter held tight in his grasp that was +sending electric thrills through him. "A fine old fellow is Dr. +Pencoyd--known him for years," he continued; "I attended his lectures +before I went abroad. Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut Street, +stuffed full of family portraits and old mahogany furniture, and not a +comfortable chair or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeen +waist-coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. Oh, yes, same old fellow. +Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't you rather have the sunlight +dance in upon you as it does here and catch a glimpse of the sea +through the window than to look across at your neighbors' back walls +and white marble steps?" It was across that same sea that Jane was +coming, and the sunshine would come with her! + +"Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse this without +looking into it?" she argued, eyeing him through her gold-rimmed +glasses. "Go and see him, and then you can judge. It's his practice you +want, not his house." + +"No; that's just what I don't want. I've got too much practice now. +Somehow I can't keep my people well. No, mother, dear, don't bother +your dear head over the old doctor and his wants. Write him that I am +most grateful, but that the fact is I need an assistant myself, and if +he will be good enough to send someone down here, I'll keep him busy +every hour of the day and night. Then, again," he continued, a more +serious tone in his voice, "I couldn't possibly leave here now, even if +I wished to, which I do not." + +Mrs. Cavendish eyed him intently. She had expected just such a refusal +Nothing that she ever planned for his advancement did he agree to. + +"Why not?" she asked, with some impatience. + +"The new hospital is about finished, and I am going to take charge of +it." + +"Do they pay you for it?" she continued, in an incisive tone. + +"No, I don't think they will, nor can. It's not, that kind of a +hospital," answered the doctor gravely. + +"And you will look after these people just as you do after Fogarty and +the Branscombs, and everybody else up and down the shore, and never +take a penny in pay!" she retorted with some indignation. + +"I am afraid I will, mother. A disappointing son, am I not? But there's +no one to blame but yourself, old lady," and with a laugh he rose from +his seat, Jane's letter in his hand, and kissed his mother on the cheek. + +"But, John, dear," she exclaimed in a pleading petulance as she looked +into his face, still holding on to the sleeve of his coat to detain him +the longer, "just think of this letter of Pencoyd's; nothing has ever +been offered you better than this. He has the very best people in +Philadelphia on his list, and you would get--" + +The doctor slipped his hand under his mother's chin, as he would have +done to a child, and said with a twinkle in his eye--he was very happy +this morning: + +"That's precisely my case--I've got the very best people in three +counties on my list. That's much better than the old doctor." + +"Who are they, pray?" She was softening under her son's caress. + +"Well, let me think. There's the distinguished Mr. Tatham, who attends +to the transportation of the cities of Warehold and Barnegat; and the +Right Honorable Mr. Tipple, and Mrs. and Miss Gossaway, renowned for +their toilets--" + +Mrs. Cavendish bit her lip. When her son was in one of these moods it +was all she could do to keep her temper. + +"And the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley, and--" + +Mrs. Cavendish looked up. The name had an aristocratic sound, but it +was unknown to her. + +"Who is she?" + +"Why, don't you know the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley?" inquired the doctor, +with a quizzical smile. + +"No, I never heard of her." + +"Well, she's just moved into Warehold. Poor woman, she hasn't been out +of bed for years! She's the wife of the new butcher, and--" + +"The butcher's wife?" + +"The butcher's wife, my dear mother, a most delightful old person, who +has brought up three sons, and each one a credit to her." + +Mrs. Cavendish let go her hold on the doctor's sleeve and settled back +in her chair. + +"And you won't even write to Dr. Pencoyd?" she asked in a disheartened +way, as if she knew he would refuse. + +"Oh, with pleasure, and thank him most kindly, but I couldn't leave +Barnegat; not now. Not at any time, so far as I can see." + +"And I suppose when Jane Cobden comes home in a year or so she will +work with you in the hospital. She wanted to turn nurse the last time I +talked to her." This special arrow in her maternal quiver, poisoned +with her jealousy, was always ready. + +"I hope so," he replied, with a smile that lighted up his whole face; +"only it will not be a year. Miss Jane will be here on the next +steamer." + +Mrs. Cavendish put down her tea-cup and looked at her son in +astonishment. The doctor still kept his eyes on her face. + +"Be here by the next steamer! How do you know?" + +The doctor held up the letter. + +"Lucy will remain," he added. "She is going to Germany to continue her +studies." + +"And Jane is coming home alone?" + +"No, she brings a little child with her, the son of a friend, she +writes. She asks that I arrange to have Martha meet them at the dock." + +"Somebody, I suppose, she has picked up out of the streets. She is +always doing these wild, unpractical things. Whose child is it?" + +"She doesn't say, but I quite agree with you that it was helpless, or +she wouldn't have protected it." + +"Why don't Lucy come with her?" + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders. + +"And I suppose you will go to the ship to meet her?" + +The doctor drew himself up, clicked his heels together with the air of +an officer saluting his superior--really to hide his joy--and said with +mock gravity, his hand on his heart: + +"I shall, most honorable mother, be the first to take her ladyship's +hand as she walks down the gangplank." Then he added, with a tone of +mild reproof in his voice: "What a funny, queer old mother you are! +Always worrying yourself over the unimportant and the impossible," and +stooping down, he kissed her again on the cheek and passed out of the +room on the way to his office. + +"That woman always comes up at the wrong moment," Mrs. Cavendish said +to herself in a bitter tone. "I knew he had received some word from +her, I saw it in his face. He would have gone to Philadelphia but for +Jane Cobden." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE SPREAD OF FIRE + + +The doctor kept his word. His hand was the first that touched Jane's +when she came down the gangplank, Martha beside him, holding out her +arms for the child, cuddling it to her bosom, wrapping her shawl about +it as if to protect it from the gaze of the inquisitive. + +"O doctor! it was so good of you!" were Jane's first words. It hurt her +to call him thus, but she wanted to establish the new relation clearly. +She had shouldered her cross and must bear its weight alone and in her +own way. "You don't know what it is to see a face from home! I am so +glad to get here. But you should not have left your people; I wrote +Martha and told her so. All I wanted you to do was to have her meet me +here. Thank you, dear friend, for coming." + +She had not let go his hand, clinging to him as a timid woman in +crossing a narrow bridge spanning an abyss clings to the strong arm of +a man. + +He helped her to the dock as tenderly as if she had been a child; +asking her if the voyage had been a rough one, whether she had been ill +in her berth, and whether she had taken care of the baby herself, and +why she had brought no nurse with her. She saw his meaning, but she did +not explain her weakness or offer any explanation of the cause of her +appearance or of the absence of a nurse. In a moment she changed the +subject, asking after his mother and his own work, and seemed +interested in what he told her about the neighbors. + +When the joy of hearing her voice and of looking into her dear face +once more had passed, his skilled eyes probed the deeper. He noted with +a sinking at the heart the dark circles under the drooping lids, the +drawn, pallid skin and telltale furrows that had cut their way deep +into her cheeks. Her eyes, too, had lost their lustre, and her step +lacked the spring and vigor of her old self. The diagnosis alarmed him. +Even the mould of her face, so distinguished, and to him so beautiful, +had undergone a change; whether through illness, or because of some +mental anguish, he could not decide. + +When he pressed his inquiries about Lucy she answered with a +half-stifled sigh that Lucy had decided to remain abroad for a year +longer; adding that it had been a great relief to her, and that at +first she had thought of remaining with her, but that their affairs, as +he knew, had become so involved at home that she feared their means of +living might be jeopardized if she did not return at once. The child, +however, would be a comfort to both Martha and herself until Lucy came. +Then she added in a constrained voice: + +"Its mother would not, or could not care for it, and so I brought it +with me." + +Once at home and the little waif safely tucked away in the crib that +had sheltered Lucy in the old days, the neighbors began to flock in; +Uncle Ephraim among the first. + +"My, but I'm glad you're back!" he burst out. "Martha's been lonelier +than a cat in a garret, and down at our house we ain't much better. And +so that Bunch of Roses is going to stay over there, is she, and set +those Frenchies crazy?" + +Pastor Dellenbaugh took both of Jane's hands into his own and looking +into her face, said: + +"Ah, but we've missed you! There has been no standard, my dear Miss +Jane, since you've been gone. I have felt it, and so has everyone in +the church. It is good to have you once more with us." + +Mrs. Cavendish could hardly conceal her satisfaction, although she was +careful what she said to her son. Her hope was that the care of the +child would so absorb Jane that John would regain his freedom and be no +longer subservient to Miss Cobden's whims. + +"And so Lucy is to stay in Paris?" she said, with one of her sweetest +smiles. "She is so charming and innocent, that sweet sister of yours, +my dear Miss Jane, and so sympathetic. I quite lost my heart to her. +And to study music, too? A most noble accomplishment, my dear. My +grandmother, who was an Erskine, you know, played divinely on the harp, +and many of my ancestors, especially the Dagworthys, were accomplished +musicians. Your sister will look lovely bending over a harp. My +grandmother had her portrait painted that way by Peale, and it still +hangs in the old house in Trenton. And they tell me you have brought a +little angel with you to bring up and share your loneliness? How +pathetic, and how good of you!" + +The village women--they came in groups--asked dozens of questions +before Jane had had even time to shake each one by the hand. Was Lucy +so in love with the life abroad that she would never come back? was she +just as pretty as ever? what kind of bonnets were being worn? etc., etc. + +The child in Martha's arms was, of course, the object of special +attention. They all agreed that it was a healthy, hearty, and most +beautiful baby; just the kind of a child one would want to adopt if one +had any such extraordinary desires. + +This talk continued until they had gained the highway, when they also +agreed--and this without a single dissenting voice--that in all the +village Jane Cobden was the only woman conscientious enough to want to +bring up somebody else's child, and a foreigner at that, when there +were any quantity of babies up and down the shore that could be had for +the asking. The little creature was, no doubt, helpless, and appealed +to Miss Jane's sympathies, but why bring it home at all? Were there not +places enough in France where it could be brought up? etc., etc. This +sort of gossip went on for days after Jane's return, each dropper-in at +tea-table or village gathering having some view of her own to express, +the women doing most of the talking. + +The discussion thus begun by friends was soon taken up by the sewing +societies and church gatherings, one member in good standing remarking +loud enough to be heard by everybody: + +"As for me, I ain't never surprised at nothin' Jane Cobden does. She's +queerer than Dick's hat-band, and allus was, and I've knowed her ever +since she used to toddle up to my house and I baked cookies for her. +I've seen her many a time feed the dog with what I give her, just +because she said he looked hungry, which there warn't a mite o' truth +in, for there ain't nothin' goes hungry round my place, and never was. +She's queer, I tell ye." + +"Quite true, dear Mrs. Pokeberry," remarked Pastor Dellenbaugh in his +gentlest tone--he had heard the discussion as he was passing through +the room and had stopped to listen--"especially when mercy and kindness +is to be shown. Some poor little outcast, no doubt, with no one to take +care of it, and so this grand woman brings it home to nurse and +educate. I wish there were more Jane Cobdens in my parish. Many of you +talk good deeds, and justice, and Christian spirit; here is a woman who +puts them into practice." + +This statement having been made during the dispersal of a Wednesday +night meeting, and in the hearing of half the congregation, furnished +the key to the mystery, and so for a time the child and its new-found +mother ceased to be an active subject of discussion. + +Ann Gossaway, however, was not satisfied. The more she thought of the +pastor's explanation the more she resented it as an affront to her +intelligence. + +"If folks wants to pick up stray babies," she shouted to her old mother +on her return home one night, "and bring 'em home to nuss, they oughter +label 'em with some sort o' pedigree, and not keep the village +a-guessin' as to who they is and where they come from. I don't believe +a word of this outcast yarn. Guess Miss Lucy is all right, and she +knows enough to stay away when all this tomfoolery's goin' on. She +doesn't want to come back to a child's nussery." To all of which her +mother nodded her head, keeping it going like a toy mandarin long after +the subject of discussion had been changed. + +Little by little the scandal spread: by innuendoes; by the wise +shakings of empty heads; by nods and winks; by the piecing out of +incomplete tattle. For the spread of gossip is like the spread of fire: +First a smouldering heat--some friction of ill-feeling, perhaps, over a +secret sin that cannot be smothered, try as we may; next a hot, +blistering tongue of flame creeping stealthily; then a burst of +scorching candor and the roar that ends in ruin. Sometimes the victim +is saved by a dash of honest water--the outspoken word of some brave +friend. More often those who should stamp out the burning brand stand +idly by until the final collapse and then warm themselves at the blaze. + +Here in Warehold it began with some whispered talk: Bart Holt had +disappeared; there was a woman in the case somewhere; Bart's exile had +not been entirely caused by his love of cards and drink. Reference was +also made to the fact that Jane had gone abroad but a short time AFTER +Bart's disappearance, and that knowing how fond she was of him, and how +she had tried to reform him, the probability was that she had met him +in Paris. Doubts having been expressed that no woman of Jane Cobden's +position would go to any such lengths to oblige so young a fellow as +Bart Holt, the details of their intimacy were passed from mouth to +mouth, and when this was again scouted, reference was made to Miss +Gossaway, who was supposed to know more than she was willing to tell. +The dressmaker denied all responsibility for the story, but admitted +that she had once seen them on the beach "settin' as close together as +they could git, with the red cloak she had made for Miss Jane wound +about 'em. + +"'Twarn't none o' my business, and I told Martha so, and 'tain't none +o' my business now, but I'd rather die than tell a lie or scandalize +anybody, and so if ye ask me if I saw 'em I'll have to tell ye I did. I +don't believe, howsomever, that Miss Jane went away to oblige that +good-for-nothin' or that she's ever laid eyes on him since. Lucy is +what took her. She's one o' them flyaways. I see that when she was +home, and there warn't no peace up to the Cobdens' house till they'd +taken her somewheres where she could git all the runnin' round she +wanted. As for the baby, there ain't nobody knows where Miss Jane +picked that up, but there ain't no doubt but what she loves it same's +if it was her own child. She's named it Archie, after her grandfather, +anyhow. That's what Martha and she calls it. So they're not ashamed of +it." + +When the fire had spent itself, only one spot remained unscorched: this +was the parentage of little Archie. That mystery still remained +unsolved. Those of her own class who knew Jane intimately admired her +kindness of heart and respected her silence; those who did not soon +forgot the boy's existence. + +The tavern loungers, however, some of whom only knew the Cobden girls +by reputation, had theories of their own; theories which were +communicated to other loungers around other tavern stoves, most of whom +would not have known either of the ladies on the street. The fact that +both women belonged to a social stratum far above them gave additional +license to their tongues; they could never be called in question by +anybody who overheard, and were therefore safe to discuss the situation +at their will. Condensed into illogical shape, the story was that Jane +had met a foreigner who had deserted her, leaving her to care for the +child alone; that Lucy had refused to come back to Warehold, had taken +what money was coming to her, and, like a sensible woman, had stayed +away. That there was not the slightest foundation for this slander did +not lessen its acceptance by a certain class; many claimed that it +offered the only plausible solution to the mystery, and must, +therefore, be true. + +It was not long before the echoes of these scandals reached Martha's +ears. The gossips dare not affront Miss Jane with their suspicions, but +Martha was different. If they could irritate her by speaking lightly of +her mistress, she might give out some information which would solve the +mystery. + +One night a servant of one of the neighbors stopped Martha on the road +and sent her flying home; not angry, but terrified. + +"They're beginnin' to talk," she broke out savagely, as she entered +Jane's room, her breath almost gone from her run to the house. "I +laughed at it and said they dare not one of 'em say it to your face or +mine, but they're beginnin' to talk." + +"Is it about Barton Holt? have they heard anything from him?" asked +Jane. The fear of his return had always haunted her. + +"No, and they won't. He'll never come back here ag'in. The captain +would kill him." + +"It isn't about Lucy, then, is it?" cried Jane, her color going. + +Martha shook her head in answer to save her breath. + +"Who, then?" cried Jane, nervously. "Not Archie?" + +"Yes, Archie and you." + +"What do they say?" asked Jane, her voice fallen to a whisper. + +"They say it's your child, and that ye're afraid to tell who the father +is." + +Jane caught at the chair for support and then sank slowly into her seat. + +"Who says so?" she gasped. + +"Nobody that you or I know; some of the beach-combers and +hide-by-nights, I think, started it. Pokeberry's girl told me; her +brother works in the shipyard." + +Jane sat looking at Martha with staring eyes. + +"How dare they--" + +"They dare do anything, and we can't answer back. That's what's goin' +to make it hard. It's nobody's business, but that don't satisfy 'em. +I've been through it meself; I know how mean they can be." + +"They shall never know--not while I have life left in me," Jane +exclaimed firmly. + +"Yes, but that won't keep 'em from lyin'." + +The two sat still for some minutes, Martha gazing into vacancy, Jane +lying back in her chair, her eyes closed. One emotion after another +coursed through her with lightning rapidity--indignation at the charge, +horror at the thought that any of her friends might believe it, +followed by a shivering fear that her father's good name, for all her +care and suffering, might be smirched at last. + +Suddenly there arose the tall image of Doctor John, with his frank, +tender face. What would he think of it, and how, if he questioned her, +could she answer him? Then there came to her that day of parting in +Paris. She remembered Lucy's willingness to give up the child forever, +and so cover up all traces of her sin, and her own immediate +determination to risk everything for her sister's sake. As this last +thought welled up in her mind and she recalled her father's dying +command, her brow relaxed. Come what might, she was doing her duty. +This was her solace and her strength. + +"Cruel, cruel people!" she said to Martha, relaxing her hands. "How can +they be so wicked? But I am glad it is I who must take the brunt of it +all. If they would treat me so, who am innocent, what would they do to +my poor Lucy?" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A LATE VISITOR + + +These rumors never reached the doctor. No scandalmonger ever dared talk +gossip to him. When he first began to practise among the people of +Warehold, and some garrulous old dame would seek to enrich his visit by +tittle-tattle about her neighbors, she had never tried it a second +time. Doctor John of Barnegat either received the news in silence or +answered it with some pleasantry; even Ann Gossaway held her peace +whenever the doctor had to be called in to prescribe for her +oversensitive throat. + +He was aware that Jane had laid herself open to criticism in bringing +home a child about which she had made no explanation, but he never +spoke of it nor allowed anyone to say so to him. He would have been +much happier, of course, if she had given him her confidence in this as +she had in many other matters affecting her life; but he accepted her +silence as part of her whole attitude toward him. Knowing her as he +did, he was convinced that her sole incentive was one of loving +kindness, both for the child and for the poor mother whose sin or whose +poverty she was concealing. In this connection, he remembered how in +one of her letters to Martha she had told of the numberless waifs she +had seen and how her heart ached for them; especially in the hospitals +which she had visited and among the students. He recalled that he +himself had had many similar experiences in his Paris days, in which a +woman like Jane Cobden would have been a veritable angel of mercy. + +Mrs. Cavendish's ears were more easily approached by the gossips of +Warehold and vicinity; then, again she was always curious over the +inmates of the Cobden house, and any little scraps of news, reliable or +not, about either Jane or her absent sister were eagerly listened to. +Finding it impossible to restrain herself any longer, she had seized +the opportunity one evening when she and her son were sitting together +in the salon, a rare occurrence for the doctor, and only possible when +his patients were on the mend. + +"I'm sorry Jane Cobden was so foolish as to bring home that baby," she +began. + +"Why?" said the doctor, without lifting his eyes from the book he was +reading. + +"Oh, she lays herself open to criticism. It is, of course, but one of +her eccentricities, but she owes something to her position and birth +and should not invite unnecessary comment." + +"Who criticises her?" asked the doctor, his eyes still on the pages. + +"Oh, you can't tell; everybody is talking about it. Some of the gossip +is outrageous, some I could not even repeat." + +"I have no doubt of it," answered the doctor quietly. "All small places +like Warehold and Barnegat need topics of conversation, and Miss Jane +for the moment is furnishing one of them. They utilize you, dear +mother, and me, and everybody else in the same way. But that is no +reason why we should lend our ears or our tongues to spread and +encourage it." + +"I quite agree with you, my son, and I told the person who told me how +foolish and silly it was, but they will talk, no matter what you say to +them." + +"What do they say?" asked the doctor, laying down his book and rising +from his chair. + +"Oh, all sorts of things. One rumor is that Captain Holt's son, Barton, +the one that quarrelled with his father and who went to sea, could tell +something of the child, if he could be found." + +The doctor laughed. "He can be found," he answered. "I saw his father +only last week, and he told me Bart was in Brazil. That is some +thousand of miles from Paris, but a little thing like that in geography +doesn't seem to make much difference to some of our good people. Why do +you listen to such nonsense?" he added as he kissed her tenderly and, +with a pat on her cheek, left the room for his study. His mother's talk +had made but little impression upon him. Gossip of this kind was always +current when waifs like Archie formed the topic; but it hurt nobody, he +said to himself--nobody like Jane. + +Sitting under his study lamp looking up some complicated case, his +books about him, Jane's sad face came before him. "Has she not had +trouble enough," he said to himself, "parted from Lucy and with her +unsettled money affairs, without having to face these gnats whose sting +she cannot ward off?" With this came the thought of his own +helplessness to comfort her. He had taken her at her word that night +before she left for Paris, when she had refused to give him her promise +and had told him to wait, and he was still ready to come at her call; +loving her, watching ever her, absorbed in every detail of her daily +life, and eager to grant her slightest wish, and yet he could not but +see that she had, since her return, surrounded herself with a barrier +which he could neither understand nor break down whenever he touched on +their personal relations. + +Had he loved her less he would, in justice to himself, have faced all +her opposition and demanded an answer--Yes or No--as to whether she +would yield to his wishes. But his generous nature forbade any such +stand and his reverence for her precluded any such mental attitude. + +Lifting his eyes from his books and gazing dreamily into the space +before him, he recalled, with a certain sinking of the heart, a +conversation which had taken place between Jane and himself a few days +after her arrival--an interview which had made a deep impression upon +him. The two, in the absence of Martha--she had left the room for a +moment--were standing beside the crib watching the child's breathing. +Seizing the opportunity, one he had watched for, he had told her how +much he had missed her during the two years, and how much happier his +life was now that he could touch her hand and listen to her voice. She +had evaded his meaning, making answer that his pleasure, was nothing +compared to her own when she thought how safe the baby would be in his +hands; adding quickly that she could never thank him enough for +remaining in Barnegat and not leaving her helpless and without a +"physician." The tone with which she pronounced the word had hurt him. +He thought he detected a slight inflection, as if she were making a +distinction between his skill as an expert and his love as a man, but +he was not sure. + +Still gazing into the shadows before him, his unread book in his hand, +he recalled a later occasion when she appeared rather to shrink from +him than to wish to be near him, speaking to him with downcast eyes and +without the frank look in her face which was always his welcome. On +this day she was more unstrung and more desolate than he had ever seen +her. At length, emboldened by his intense desire to help, and putting +aside every obstacle, he had taken her hand and had said with all his +heart in his voice: + +"Jane, you once told me you loved me. Is it still true?" + +He remembered how at first she had not answered, and how after a moment +she had slowly withdrawn her hand and had replied in a voice almost +inarticulate, so great was her emotion. + +"Yes, John, and always will be, but it can never go beyond that--never, +never. Don't ask many more questions. Don't talk to me about it. Not +now, John--not now! Don't hate me! Let us be as we have always +been--please, John! You would not refuse me if you knew." + +He had started forward to take her in his arms; to insist that now +every obstacle was removed she should give him at once the lawful right +to protect her, but she had shrunk back, the palms of her hands held +out as barriers, and before he could reason with her Martha had entered +with something for little Archie, and so the interview had come to an +end. + +Then, still absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes suddenly brightened and +a certain joy trembled in his heart as he remembered that with all +these misgivings and doubts there were other times--and their sum was +in the ascendency--when she showed the same confidence in his judgement +and the same readiness to take his advice; when the old light would +once more flash in her eyes as she grasped his hand and the old sadness +again shadow her face when his visits came to an end. With this he must +be for a time content. + +These and a hundred other thoughts raced through Doctor John's mind as +he sat to-night in his study chair, the lamplight falling on his open +books and thin, delicately modelled hands. + +Once he rose from his seat and began pacing his study floor, his hands +behind his back, his mind on Jane, on her curious and incomprehensible +moods, trying to solve them as he walked, trusting and leaning upon him +one day and shrinking from him the next. Baffled for the hundredth time +in this mental search, he dropped again into his chair, and adjusting +the lamp, pulled his books toward him to devote his mind to their +contents. As the light flared up he caught the sound of a step upon the +gravel outside, and then a heavy tread upon the porch. An instant later +his knocker sounded. Doctor Cavendish gave a sigh--he had hoped to have +one night at home--and rose to open the door. + +Captain Nat Holt stood outside. + +His pea-jacket was buttoned close up under his chin, his hat drawn +tight down over his forehead. His weather-beaten face, as the light +fell upon it, looked cracked and drawn, with dark hollows under the +eyes, which the shadows from the lamplight deepened. + +"It's late, I know, doctor," he said in a hoarse, strained voice; "ten +o'clock, maybe, but I got somethin' to talk to ye about," and he strode +into the room. "Alone, are ye?" he continued, as he loosened his coat +and laid his hat on the desk. "Where's the good mother? Home, is she?" + +"Yes, she's inside," answered the doctor, pointing to the open door +leading to the salon and grasping the captain's brawny hand in welcome. +"Why? Do you want to see her?" + +"No, I don't want to see her; don't want to see nobody but you. She +can't hear, can she? 'Scuse me--I'll close this door." + +The doctor looked at him curiously. The captain seemed to be laboring +under a nervous strain, unusual in one so stolid and self-possessed. + +The door closed, the captain moved back a cushion, dropped into a +corner of the sofa, and sat looking at the doctor, with legs apart, his +open palms resting on his knees. + +"I got bad news, doctor--awful bad news for everybody," as he spoke he +reached into his pocket and produced a letter with a foreign postmark. + +"You remember my son Bart, of course, don't ye, who left home some two +years ago?" he went on. + +The doctor nodded. + +"Well, he's dead." + +"Your son Bart dead!" cried the doctor, repeating his name in the +surprise of the announcement. "How do you know?" + +"This letter came by to-day's mail. It's from the consul at Rio. Bart +come in to see him dead broke and he helped him out. He'd run away from +the ship and was goin' up into the mines to work, so the consul wrote +me. He was in once after that and got a little money, and then he got +down with yellow fever and they took him to the hospital, and he died +in three days. There ain't no doubt about it. Here's a list of the dead +in the paper; you kin read his name plain as print." + +Doctor John reached for the letter and newspaper clipping and turned +them toward the lamp. The envelope was stamped "Rio Janeiro" and the +letter bore the official heading of the consulate. + +"That's dreadful, dreadful news, captain," said the doctor in +sympathetic tones. "Poor boy! it's too bad. Perhaps, however, there may +be some mistake, after all. Foreign hospital registers are not always +reliable," added the doctor in a hopeful tone. + +"No, it's all true, or Benham wouldn't write me what he has. I've known +him for years. He knows me, too, and he don't go off half-cocked. I +wrote him to look after Bart and sent him some money and give him the +name of the ship, and he watched for her and sent for him all right. I +was pretty nigh crazy that night he left, and handled him, maybe, +rougher'n I ou'ter, but I couldn't help it. There's some things I can't +stand, and what he done was one of 'em. It all comes back to me now, +but I'd do it ag'in." As he spoke the rough, hard sailor leaned forward +and rested his chin on his hand. The news had evidently been a great +shock to him. + +The doctor reached over and laid his hand on the captain's knee. "I'm +very, very sorry, captain, for you and for Bart; and the only son you +have, is it not?" + +"Yes, and the only child we ever had. That makes it worse. Thank God, +his mother's dead! All this would have broken her heart." For a moment +the two men were silent, then the captain continued in a tone as if he +were talking to himself, his eyes on the lamp: + +"But I couldn't have lived with him after that, and I told him so--not +till he acted fair and square, like a man. I hoped he would some day, +but that's over now." + +"We're none of us bad all the way through, captain," reasoned the +doctor, "and don't you think of him in that way. He would have come to +himself some day and been a comfort to you. I didn't know him as well +as I might, and only as I met him at Yardley, but he must have had a +great many fine qualities or the Cobdens wouldn't have liked him. Miss +Jane used often to talk to me about him. She always believed in him. +She will be greatly distressed over this news." + +"That's what brings me here. I want you to tell her, and not me. I'm +afraid it'll git out and she'll hear it, and then she'll be worse off +than she is now. Maybe it's best to say nothin' 'bout it to nobody and +let it go. There ain't no one but me to grieve for him, and they don't +send no bodies home, not from Rio, nor nowheres along that coast. +Maybe, too, it ain't the time to say it to her. I was up there last +week to see the baby, and she looked thinner and paler than I ever see +her. I didn't know what to do, so I says to myself, 'There's Doctor +John, he's at her house reg'lar and knows the ins and outs of her, and +I'll go and tell him 'bout it and ask his advice.' I'd rather cut my +hand off than hurt her, for if there's an angel on earth she's one. She +shakes so when I mention Bart's name and gits so flustered, that's why +I dar'n't tell her. Now he's dead there won't be nobody to do right by +Archie. I can't; I'm all muzzled up tight. She made me take an oath, +same as she has you, and I ain't goin' to break it any more'n you +would. The little feller'll have to git 'long best way he kin now." + +Doctor John bent forward in his chair and looked at the captain +curiously. His words convey no meaning to him. For an instant he +thought that the shock of his son's death had unsettled the man's mind. + +"Take an oath! What for?" + +"'Bout Archie and herself." + +"But I've taken no oath!" + +"Well, perhaps it isn't your habit; it ain't some men's. I did." + +"What about?" + +It was the captain's turn now to look searchingly into his companion's +face. The doctor's back was toward the lamp, throwing his face into +shadow, but the captain could read its expression plainly. + +"You mean to tell me, doctor, you don't know what's goin' on up at +Yardley? You do, of course, but you won't say--that's like you doctors!" + +"Yes, everything. But what has your son Bart got to do with it?" + +"Got to do with it! Ain't Jane Cobden motherin' his child?" + +The doctor lunged forward in his seat, his eyes staring straight at the +captain. Had the old sailor struck him in the face he could not have +been more astounded. + +"His child!" he cried savagely. + +"Certainly! Whose else is it? You knew, didn't ye?" + +The doctor settled back in his chair with the movement of an ox felled +by a sudden blow. With the appalling news there rang in his ears the +tones of his mother's voice retailing the gossip of the village. This, +then, was what she could not repeat. + +After a moment he raised his head and asked in a low, firm voice: + +"Did Bart go to Paris after he left here?" + +"No, of course not! Went 'board the Corsair bound for Rio, and has been +there ever since. I told you that before. There weren't no necessity +for her to meet him in Paris." + +The doctor sprang from his chair and with eyes biasing and fists +tightly clenched, stood over the captain. + +"And you dare to sit there and tell me that Miss Jane Cobden is that +child's mother?" + +The captain struggled to his feet, his open hands held up to the doctor +as if to ward off a blow. + +"Miss Jane! No, by God! No! Are you crazy? Sit down, sit down, I tell +ye!" + +"Who, then? Speak!" + +"Lucy! That's what I drove Bart out for. Mort Cobden's daughter--Mort, +mind ye, that was a brother to me since I was a boy! Jane that that +child's mother! Yes, all the mother poor Archie's got! Ask Miss Jane, +she'll tell ye. Tell ye how she sits and eats her heart out to save her +sister that's too scared to come home. I want to cut my tongue out for +tellin' ye, but I thought ye knew. Martha told me you loved her and +that she loved you, and I thought she'd told ye. Jane Cobden crooked! +No more'n the angels are. Now, will you tell her Bart's dead, or shall +I?" + +"I will tell her," answered the doctor firmly, "and to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +MORTON COBDEN'S DAUGHTER + + +The cold wind from the sea freighted with the raw mist churned by the +breakers cut sharply against Doctor John's cheeks as he sprang into his +gig and dashed out of his gate toward Yardley. Under the shadow of the +sombre pines, along the ribbon of a road, dull gray in the light of the +stars, and out on the broader highway leading to Warehold, the sharp +click of the mare's hoofs striking the hard road echoed through the +night. The neighbors recognized the tread and the speed, and Uncle +Ephraim threw up a window to know whether it was a case of life or +death, an accident, or both; but the doctor only nodded and sped on. It +WAS life and death--life for the woman he loved, death for all who +traduced her. The strange news that had dropped from the captain's lips +did not affect him except as would the ending of any young life; +neither was there any bitterness in his heart against the dead boy who +had wrecked Lucy's career and brought Jane humiliation and despair. All +he thought of was the injustice of Jane's sufferings. Added to this was +an overpowering desire to reach her side before her misery should +continue another moment; to fold her in his arms, stand between her and +the world; help her to grapple with the horror which was slowly +crushing out her life. That it was past her hour for retiring, and that +there might be no one to answer his summons, made no difference to him. +He must see her at all hazards before he closed his eyes. + +As he whirled into the open gates of Yardley and peered from under the +hood of the gig at the outlines of the old house, looming dimly through +the avenue of bushes, he saw that the occupants were asleep; no lights +shone from the upper windows and none burned in the hall below. This +discovery checked to some extent the impetus with which he had flung +himself into the night, his whole being absorbed and dominated by one +idea. The cool wind, too, had begun to tell upon his nerves. He drew +rein on the mare and stopped. For the first time since the captain's +story had reached his ears his reason began to work. He was never an +impetuous man; always a thoughtful and methodical one, and always +overparticular in respecting the courtesies of life. He began suddenly +to realize that this midnight visit was at variance with every act of +his life. Then his better judgment became aroused. Was it right for him +to wake Jane and disturb the house at this hour, causing her, perhaps, +a sleepless night, or should he wait until the morning, when he could +break the news to her in a more gentle and less sensational way? + +While he sat thus wondering, undetermined whether to drive lightly out +of the gate again or to push forward in the hope that someone would be +awake, his mind unconsciously reverted to the figure of Jane making her +way with weary steps down the gangplank of the steamer, the two years +of her suffering deep cut into every line of her face. He recalled the +shock her appearance had given him, and his perplexity over the cause. +He remembered her refusal to give him her promise, her begging him to +wait, her unaccountable moods since her return. + +Then Lucy's face came before him, her whole career, in fact (in a +flash, as a drowning man's life is pictured), from the first night +after her return from school until he had bade her good-by to take the +train for Trenton. Little scraps of talk sounded in his ears, and +certain expressions about the corners of her eyes revealed themselves +to his memory. He thought of her selfishness, of her love of pleasure, +of her disregard of Jane's wishes, of her recklessness. + +Everything was clear now. + +"What a fool I have been!" he said to himself. "What a fool--FOOL! I +ought to have known!" + +Next the magnitude of the atonement, and the cruelty and cowardice of +the woman who had put her sister into so false a position swept over +him. Then there arose, like the dawning of a light, the grand figure of +the woman he loved, standing clear of all entanglements, a Madonna +among the saints, more precious than ever in the radiance of her own +sacrifice. + +With this last vision his mind was made up. No, he would not wait a +moment. Once this terrible secret out of the way, Jane would regain her +old self and they two fight the world together. + +As he loosened the reins over the sorrel a light suddenly flashed from +one of the upper windows disappeared for a moment, and reappeared again +at one of the smaller openings near the front steps. He drew rein +again. Someone was moving about--who he did not know; perhaps Jane, +perhaps one of the servants. Tying the lines to the dashboard, he +sprang from the gig, tethered the mare to one of the lilac bushes, and +walked briskly toward the house. As he neared the steps the door was +opened and Martha's voice rang clear: + +"Meg, you rascal, come in, or shall I let ye stay out and freeze?" + +Doctor John stepped upon the porch, the light of Martha's candle +falling on his face and figure. + +"It's I, Martha, don't be frightened; it's late, I know, but I hoped +Miss Jane would be up. Has she gone to bed?" + +The old nurse started back. "Lord, how ye skeered me! I don't know +whether she's asleep or not. She's upstairs with Archie, anyhow. I come +out after this rapscallion that makes me look him up every night. I've +talked to him till I'm sore, and he's promised me a dozen times, and +here he is out ag'in. Here! Where are ye? In with ye, ye little beast!" +The dog shrank past her and darted into the hall. "Now, then, doctor, +come in out of the cold." + +Doctor John stepped softly inside and stood in the flare of the +candle-light. He felt that he must give some reason for his appearance +at this late hour, even if he did not see Jane. It would be just as +well, therefore, to tell Martha of Bart's death at once, and not let +her hear it, as she was sure to do, from someone on the street. Then +again, he had kept few secrets from her where Jane was concerned; she +had helped him many times before, and her advice was always good. He +knew that she was familiar with every detail of the captain's story, +but he did not propose to discuss Lucy's share in it with the old +nurse. That he would reserve for Jane's ears alone. + +"Bring your candle into the sitting-room, Martha; I have something to +tell you," he said gravely, loosening the cape of his overcoat and +laying his hat on the hall table. + +The nurse followed. The measured tones of the doctor's voice, so unlike +his cheery greetings, especially to her, unnerved her. This, in +connection with the suppressed excitement under which he seemed to +labor and the late hour of his visit, at once convinced her that +something serious had happened. + +"Is there anything the matter?" she asked in a trembling voice. + +"Yes." + +"Is it about Lucy? There ain't nothin' gone wrong with her, doctor +dear, is there?" + +"No, it is not about Lucy. It's about Barton Holt." + +"Ye don't tell me! Is he come back?" + +"No, nor never will. He's dead! + +"That villain dead! How do you know?" Her face paled and her lips +quivered, but she gave no other sign of the shock the news had been to +her. + +"Captain Nat, his father, has just left my office. I promised I would +tell Miss Jane to-night. He was too much broken up and too fearful of +its effect upon her to do it himself. I drove fast, but perhaps I'm too +late to see her." + +"Well, ye could see her no doubt,--she could throw somethin' around +her--but ye mustn't tell her THAT news. She's been downhearted all day +and is tired out. Bart's dead, is he?" she repeated with an effort at +indifference. "Well, that's too bad. I s'pose the captain's feelin' +putty bad over it. Where did he die?" + +"He died in Rio Janeiro of yellow fever," said the doctor slowly, +wondering at the self-control of the woman. Wondering, too, whether she +was glad or sorry over the event, her face and manner showing no index +to her feelings. + +"And will he be brought home to be buried?" she asked with a quick +glance at the doctor's face. + +"No; they never bring them home with yellow fever." + +"And is that all ye come to tell her?" She was scrutinizing Doctor +John's face, her quick, nervous glances revealing both suspicion and +fear. + +"I had some other matters to talk about, but if she has retired, +perhaps I had better come to-morrow," answered the doctor in undecided +tones, as he gazed abstractedly at the flickering candle. + +The old woman hesitated. She saw that the doctor knew more than he +intended to tell her. Her curiosity and her fear that some other +complication had arisen--one which he was holding back--got the better +of her judgment. If it was anything about her bairn, she could not wait +until the morning. She had forgotten Meg now. + +"Well, maybe if ye break it to her easy-like she can stand it. I don't +suppose she's gone to bed yet. Her door was open on a crack when I come +down, and she always shuts it 'fore she goes to sleep. I'll light a +couple o' lamps so ye can see, and then I'll send her down to ye if +she'll come. Wait here, doctor, dear." + +The lamps lighted and Martha gone, Doctor John looked about the room, +his glance resting on the sofa where he had so often sat with her; on +the portrait of Morton Cobden, the captain's friend; on the work-basket +filled with needlework that Jane had left on a small table beside her +chair, and upon the books her hands had touched. He thought he had +never loved her so much as now. No one he had ever known or heard of +had made so great a sacrifice. Not for herself this immolation, but for +a sister who had betrayed her confidence and who had repaid a life's +devotion with unforgivable humiliation and disgrace. This was the woman +whose heart he held. This was the woman he loved with every fibre of +his being. But her sufferings were over now. He was ready to face the +world and its malignity beside her. Whatever sins her sister had +committed, and however soiled were Lucy's garments, Jane's robes were +as white as snow, he was glad he had yielded to the impulse and had +come at once. The barrier between them once broken down and the +terrible secret shared, her troubles would end. + +The whispering of her skirts on the stairs announced her coming before +she entered the room. She had been sitting by Archie's crib and had not +waited to change her loose white gown, whose clinging folds accentuated +her frail, delicate form. Her hair had been caught up hastily and hung +in a dark mass, concealing her small, pale ears and making her face all +the whiter by contrast. + +"Something alarming has brought you at this hour," she said, with a +note of anxiety in her voice, walking rapidly toward him. "What can I +do? Who is ill?" + +Doctor John sprang forward, held out both hands, and holding tight to +her own, drew her close to him. + +"Has Martha told you?" he said tenderly. + +"No; only that you wanted me. I came as soon as I could." + +"It's about Barton Holt. His father has just left my office. I have +very sad news for you. The poor boy--" + +Jane loosened her hands from his and drew back. The doctor paused in +his recital. + +"Is he ill?" she inquired, a slight shiver running through her. + +"Worse than ill! I'm afraid you'll never see him again." + +"You mean that he is dead? Where?" + +"Yes, dead, in Rio. The letter arrived this morning." + +"And you came all the way up here to tell me this?" she asked, with an +effort to hide her astonishment. Her eyes dropped for a moment and her +voice trembled. Then she went on. "What does his father say?" + +"I have just left him. He is greatly shaken. He would not tell you +himself, he said; he was afraid it might shock you too much, and asked +me to come up. But it is not altogether that, Jane. I have heard +something to-night that has driven me half out of my mind. That you +should suffer this way alone is torture to me. You cannot, you shall +not live another day as you have! Let me help!" + +Instantly there flashed into her mind the story Martha had brought in +from the street. "He has heard it," she said to herself, "but he does +not believe it, and he comes to comfort me. I cannot tell the truth +without betraying Lucy." + +She drew a step farther from him. + +"You refer to what the people about us call a mystery--that poor little +child upstairs?" she said slowly, all her self-control in her voice. +"You think it is a torture for me to care for this helpless baby? It is +not a torture; it is a joy--all the joy I have now." She stood looking +at him as she spoke with searching eyes, wondering with the +ever-questioning doubt of those denied love's full expression. + +"But I know--" + +"You know nothing--nothing but what I have told you; and what I have +told you is the truth. What I have not told you is mine to keep. You +love me too well to probe it any further, I am sorry for the captain. +He has an iron will and a rough exterior, but he has a warm heart +underneath. If you see him before I do give him my deepest sympathy. +Now, my dear friend, I must go back to Archie; he is restless and needs +me. Good-night," and she held out her hand and passed out of the room. + +She was gone before he could stop her. He started forward as her hand +touched the door, but she closed it quickly behind her, as if to leave +no doubt of her meaning. He saw that she had misunderstood him. He had +intended to talk to her of Archie's father, and of Lucy, and she had +supposed he had only come to comfort her about the village gossip. + +For some minutes he stood like one dazed. Then a feeling of unspeakable +reverence stole over him. Not only was she determined to suffer alone +and in silence, but she would guard her sister's secret at the cost of +her own happiness. Inside that sacred precinct he knew he could never +enter; that wine-press she intended to tread alone. + +Then a sudden indignation, followed by a contempt of his own weakness +took possession of him. Being the older and stronger nature, he should +have compelled her to listen. The physician as well as the friend +should have asserted himself. No woman could be well balanced who would +push away the hand of a man held out to save her from ruin and misery. +He would send Martha for her again and insist upon her listening to him. + +He started for the door and stopped irresolute. A new light broke in +upon his heart. It was not against himself and her own happiness that +she had taken this stand, but to save her father's and her sister's +name. He knew how strong was her devotion to her duty, how blind her +love for Lucy, how sacred she held the trust given to her by her dead +father. No; she was neither obstinate nor quixotic. Hers was the work +of a martyr, not a fanatic. No one he had ever known or heard of had +borne so great a cross or made so noble a sacrifice. It was like the +deed of some grand old saint, the light of whose glory had shone down +the ages. He was wrong, cruelly wrong. The only thing left for him to +do was to wait. For what he could not tell. Perhaps God in his mercy +would one day find the way. + +Martha's kindly voice as she opened the door awoke him from his revery. + +"Did she take it bad?" she asked. + +"No," he replied aimlessly, without thinking of what he said. "She sent +a message to the captain. I'll go now. No, please don't bring a light +to the door. The mare's only a short way down the road." + +When the old nurse had shut the front door after him she put out the +lamps and ascended the stairs. The other servants were in bed. Jane's +door was partly open. Martha pushed it gently with her hand and stepped +in. Jane had thrown herself at full length on the bed and lay with her +face buried in her hands. She was talking to herself and had not +noticed Martha's footsteps. + +"O God! what have I done that this should be sent to me?" Martha heard +her say between her sobs. "You would be big enough, my beloved, to bear +it all for my sake; to take the stain and wear it; but I cannot hurt +you--not you, not you, my great, strong, sweet soul. Your heart aches +for me and you would give me all you have, but I could not bear your +name without telling you. You would forgive me, but I could never +forgive myself. No, no, you shall stand unstained if God will give me +strength!" + +Martha walked softly to the bed and bent over Jane's prostrate body. + +"It's me, dear. What did he say to break your heart?" + +Jane slipped her arm about the old nurse's neck, drawing her closer, +and without lifting her own head from the pillow talked on. + +"Nothing, nothing. He came to comfort me, not to hurt me." + +"Do ye think it's all true 'bout Bart?" Martha whispered. + +Jane raised her body from the bed and rested her head on Martha's +shoulder. + +"Yes, it's all true about Bart," she answered in a stronger and more +composed tone. "I have been expecting it. Poor boy, he had nothing to +live for, and his conscience must have given him no rest." + +"Did the captain tell him about--" and Martha pointed toward the bed of +the sleeping child. She could never bring herself to mention Lucy's +name when speaking either of Bart or Archie. + +Jane sat erect, brushed the tears from her eyes, smoothed her hair back +from her temples, and said with something of her customary poise: + +"No, I don't think so. The captain gave me his word, and he will not +break it. Then, again, he will never discredit his own son. The doctor +doesn't know, and there will be nobody to tell him. That's not what he +came to tell me. It was about the stories you heard last week and which +have only just reached his ears. That's all. He wanted to protect me +from their annoyance, but I would not listen to him. There is trouble +enough without bringing him into it. Now go to bed, Martha." + +As she spoke Jane regained her feet, and crossing the room, settled +into a chair by the boy's crib. Long after Martha had closed her own +door for the night Jane sat watching the sleeping child. One plump pink +hand lay outside the cover; the other little crumpled rose-leaf was +tucked under the cheek, the face half-hidden in a tangle of glossy +curls, now spun-gold in the light of the shaded lamp. + +"Poor little waif," she sighed, "poor little motherless, fatherless +waif! Why didn't you stay in heaven? This world has no place for you." + +Then she rose wearily, picked up the light, carried it across the room +to her desk, propped a book in front of it so that its rays would not +fall upon the sleeping child, opened her portfolio, and sat down to +write. + +When she had finished and had sealed her letter it was long past +midnight. It was addressed to Lucy in Dresden, and contained a full +account of all the doctor had told her of Bart's death. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A LETTER FROM PARIS + + +For the first year Jane watched Archie's growth and development with +the care of a self-appointed nurse temporarily doing her duty by her +charge. Later on, as the fact became burned into her mind that Lucy +would never willingly return to Warehold, she clung to him with that +absorbing love and devotion which an unmarried woman often lavishes +upon a child not her own. In his innocent eyes she saw the fulfilment +of her promise to her father. He would grow to be a man of courage and +strength, the stain upon his birth forgotten, doing honor to himself, +to her, and to the name he bore. In him, too, she sought refuge from +that other sorrow which was often greater than she could bear--the loss +of the closer companionship of Doctor John--a companionship which only +a wife's place could gain for her. The true mother-love--the love which +she had denied herself, a love which had been poured out upon Lucy +since her father's death--found its outlet, therefore, in little Archie. + +Under Martha's watchful care the helpless infant grew to be a big, +roly-poly boy, never out of her arms when she could avoid it. At five +he had lost his golden curls and short skirts and strutted about in +knee-trousers. At seven he had begun to roam the streets, picking up +his acquaintances wherever he found them. + +Chief among them was Tod Fogarty, the son of the fisherman, now a boy +of ten, big for his age and bubbling over with health and merriment, +and whose life Doctor John had saved when he was a baby. Tod had +brought a basket of fish to Yardley, and sneaking Meg, who was then +alive--he died the year after--had helped himself to part of the +contents, and the skirmish over its recovery had resulted in a +friendship which was to last the boys all their lives. The doctor +believed in Tod, and always spoke of his pluck and of his love for his +mother, qualities which Jane admired--but then technical class +distinctions never troubled Jane--every honest body was Jane's friend, +just as every honest body was Doctor John's. + +The doctor loved Archie with the love of an older brother; not +altogether because he was Jane's ward, but for the boy's own +qualities--for his courage, for his laugh--particularly for his +buoyancy. Often, as he looked into the lad's eyes brimming with fun, he +would wish that he himself had been born with the same kind of +temperament. Then again the boy satisfied to a certain extent the +longing in his heart for home, wife, and child--a void which he knew +now would never be filled. Fate had decreed that he and the woman he +loved should live apart--with this he must be content. Not that his +disappointments had soured him; only that this ever-present sorrow had +added to the cares of his life, and in later years had taken much of +the spring and joyousness out of him. This drew him all the closer to +Archie, and the lad soon became his constant companion; sitting beside +him in his gig, waiting for him at the doors of the fishermen's huts, +or in the cabins of the poor on the outskirts of Barnegat and Warehold. + +"There goes Doctor John of Barnegat and his curly-head," the neighbors +would say; "when ye see one ye see t'other." + +Newcomers in Barnegat and Warehold thought Archie was his son, and +would talk to the doctor about him: + +"Fine lad you got, doctor--don't look a bit like you, but maybe he will +when he gets his growth." At which the doctor would laugh and pat the +boy's head. + +During all these years Lucy's letters came but seldom. When they did +arrive, most of them were filled with elaborate excuses for her +prolonged stay. The money, she wrote, which Jane had sent her from time +to time was ample for her needs; she was making many valuable friends, +and she could not see how she could return until the following +spring--a spring which never came. In no one of them had she ever +answered Jane's letter about Bart's death, except to acknowledge its +receipt. Nor, strange to say, had she ever expressed any love for +Archie. Jane's letters were always filled with the child's doings; his +illnesses and recoveries; but whenever Lucy mentioned his name, which +was seldom, she invariably referred to him as "your little ward" or +"your baby," evidently intending to wipe that part of her life +completely out. Neither did she make any comment on the child's +christening--a ceremony which took place in the church, Pastor +Dellenbaugh officiating--except to write that perhaps one name was as +good as another, and that she hoped he would not disgrace it when he +grew up. + +These things, however, made but little impression on Jane. She never +lost faith in her sister, and never gave up hope that one day they +would all three be reunited; how or where she could not tell or +foresee, but in some way by which Lucy would know and love her son for +himself alone, and the two live together ever after--his parentage +always a secret. When Lucy once looked into her boy's face she was +convinced she would love and cling to him. This was her constant prayer. + +All these hopes were dashed to the ground by the receipt of a letter +from Lucy with a Geneva postmark. She had not written for months, and +Jane broke the seal with a murmur of delight, Martha leaning forward, +eager to hear the first word from her bairn. As she read Jane's face +grew suddenly pale. + +"What is it?" Martha asked in a trembling voice. + +For some minutes Jane sat staring into space, her hand pressed to her +side. She looked like one who had received a death message. Then, +without a word, she handed the letter to Martha. + +The old woman adjusted her glasses, read the missive to the end without +comment, and laid it back on Jane's lap. The writing covered but part +of the page, and announced Lucy's coming marriage with a Frenchman: "A +man of distinction; some years older than myself, and of ample means. +He fell in love with me at Aix." + +There are certain crises in life with conclusions so evident that no +spoken word can add to their clearness. There is no need of comment; +neither is there room for doubt. The bare facts stand naked. No +sophistry can dull their outlines nor soften the insistence of their +high lights; nor can any reasoning explain away the results that will +follow. Both women, without the exchange of a word, knew instantly that +the consummation of this marriage meant the loss of Lucy forever. Now +she would never come back, and Archie would be motherless for life. +They foresaw, too, that all their yearning to clasp Lucy once more in +their arms would go unsatisfied. In this marriage she had found a way +to slip as easily from out the ties that bound her to Yardley as she +would from an old dress. + +Martha rose from her chair, read the letter again to the end, and +without opening her lips left the room. Jane kept her seat, her head +resting on her hand, the letter once more in her lap. The revulsion of +feeling had paralyzed her judgment, and for a time had benumbed her +emotions. All she saw was Archie's eyes looking into hers as he waited +for an answer to that question he would one day ask and which now she +knew she could never give. + +Then there rose before her, like some disembodied spirit from a +long-covered grave, the spectre of the past. An icy chill crept over +her. Would Lucy begin this new life with the same deceit with which she +had begun the old? And if she did, would this Frenchman forgive her +when he learned the facts? If he never learned them--and this was most +to be dreaded--what would Lucy's misery be all her life if she still +kept the secret close? Then with a pathos all the more intense because +of her ignorance of the true situation--she fighting on alone, +unconscious that the man she loved not only knew every pulsation of her +aching heart, but would be as willing as herself to guard its secret, +she cried: + +"Yes, at any cost she must be saved from this living death! I know what +it is to sit beside the man I love, the man whose arm is ready to +sustain me, whose heart is bursting for love of me, and yet be always +held apart by a spectre which I dare not face." + +With this came the resolve to prevent the marriage at all hazards, even +to leaving Yardley and taking the first steamer to Europe, that she +might plead with Lucy in person. + +While she sat searching her brain for some way out of the threatened +calamity, the rapid rumbling of the doctor's gig was heard on the +gravel road outside her open window. She knew from the speed with which +he drove that something out of the common had happened. The gig stopped +and the doctor's voice rang out: + +"Come as quick as you can, Jane, please. I've got a bad case some miles +out of Warehold, and I need you; it's a compound fracture, and I want +you to help with the chloroform." + +All her indecision vanished and all her doubts were swept away as she +caught the tones of his voice. Who else in the wide world understood +her as he did, and who but he should guide her now? Had he ever failed +her? When was his hand withheld or his lips silent? How long would her +pride shut out his sympathy? If he could help in the smaller things of +life why not trust him in this larger sorrow?--one that threatened to +overwhelm her, she whose heart ached for tenderness and wise counsel. +Perhaps she could lean upon him without betraying her trust. After all, +the question of Archie's birth--the one secret between them--need not +come up. It was Lucy's future happiness which was at stake. This must +be made safe at any cost short of exposure. + +"Better put a few things in a bag," Doctor John continued. "It may be a +case of hours or days--I can't tell till I see him. The boy fell from +the roof of the stable and is pretty badly hurt; both legs are broken, +I hear; the right one in two places." + +She was upstairs in a moment, into her nursing dress, always hanging +ready in case the doctor called for her, and down again, standing +beside the gig, her bag in her hand, before he had time to turn his +horse and arrange the seat and robes for her comfort. + +"Who is it?" she asked hurriedly, resting her hand in his as he helped +her into the seat and took the one beside her, Martha and Archie +assisting with her bag and big driving cloak. + +"Burton's boy. His father was coming for me and met me on the road. I +have everything with me, so we will not lose any time. Good-by, my +boy," he called to Archie. "One day I'll make a doctor of you, and then +I won't have to take your dear mother from you so often. Good-by, +Martha. You want to take care of that cough, old lady, or I shall have +to send up some of those plasters you love so." + +They were off and rattling down the path between the lilacs before +either Archie or the old woman could answer. To hearts like Jane's and +the doctor's, a suffering body, no matter how far away, was a sinking +ship in the clutch of the breakers. Until the lifeboat reached her side +everything was forgotten. + +The doctor adjusted the robe over Jane's lap and settled himself in his +seat. They had often driven thus together, and Jane's happiest hours +had been spent close to his side, both intent on the same errand of +mercy, and BOTH WORKING TOGETHER. That was the joy of it! + +They talked of the wounded boy and of the needed treatment and what +part each should take in the operation; of some new cases in the +hospital and the remedies suggested for their comfort; of Archie's life +on the beach and how ruddy and handsome he was growing, and of his +tender, loving nature; and of the thousand and one other things that +two people who know every pulsation of each other's hearts are apt to +discuss--of everything, in fact, but the letter in her pocket. "It is a +serious case," she said to herself--"this to which we are hurrying--and +nothing must disturb the sureness of his sensitive hand." + +Now and then, as he spoke, the two would turn their heads and look into +each other's eyes. + +When a man's face lacks the lines and modellings that stand for beauty +the woman who loves him is apt to omit in her eager glance every +feature but his eyes. His eyes are the open doors to his soul; in these +she finds her ideals, and in these she revels. But with Jane every +feature was a joy--the way the smoothly cut hair was trimmed about his +white temples; the small, well-turned ears lying flat to his head; the +lines of his eyebrows; the wide, sensitive nostrils and the gleam of +the even teeth flashing from between well-drawn, mobile lips; the +white, smooth, polished skin. Not all faces could boast this beauty; +but then not all souls shone as clearly as did Doctor John's through +the thin veil of his face. + +And she was equally young and beautiful to him. Her figure was still +that of her youth; her face had not changed--he still caught the smile +of the girl he loved. Often, when they had been driving along the +coast, the salt wind in their faces, and he had looked at her suddenly, +a thrill of delight had swept through him as he noted how rosy were her +cheeks and how ruddy the wrists above the gloves, hiding the dear hands +he loved so well, the tapering fingers tipped with delicate pink nails. +He could, if he sought them, find many telltale wrinkles about the +corners of the mouth and under the eyelids (he knew and loved them +all), showing where the acid of anxiety had bitten deep into the plate +on which the record of her life was being daily etched, but her +beautiful gray eyes still shone with the same true, kindly light, and +always flashed the brighter when they looked into his own. No, she was +ever young and ever beautiful to him! + +To-day, however, there was a strange tremor in her voice and an +anxious, troubled expression in her face--one that he had not seen for +years. Nor had she once looked into his eyes in the old way. + +"Something worries you, Jane," he said, his voice echoing his thoughts. +"Tell me about it." + +"No--not now--it is nothing," she answered quickly. + +"Yes, tell me. Don't keep any troubles from me. I have nothing else to +do in life but smooth them out. Come, what is it?" + +"Wait until we get through with Burton's boy. He may be hurt worse than +you think." + +The doctor slackened the reins until they rested on the dashboard, and +with a quick movement turned half around and looked searchingly into +Jane's eyes. + +"It is serious, then. What has happened?" + +"Only a letter from Lucy." + +"Is she coming home?" + +"No, she is going to be married." + +The doctor gave a low whistle. Instantly Archie's laughing eyes looked +into his; then came the thought of the nameless grave of his father. + +"Well, upon my soul! You don't say so! Who to, pray?" + +"To a Frenchman." Jane's eyes were upon his, reading the effect of her +news. His tone of surprise left an uncomfortable feeling behind it. + +"How long has she known him?" he continued, tightening the reins again +and chirruping to the mare.. + +"She does not say--not long, I should think." + +"What sort of a Frenchman is he? I've known several kinds in my +life--so have you, no doubt," and a quiet smile overspread his face. +"Come, Bess! Hurry up, old girl." + +"A gentleman, I should think, from what she writes. He is much older +than Lucy, and she says very well off." + +"Then you didn't meet him on the other side?" + +"And never heard of him before?" + +"Not until I received this letter." + +The doctor reached for his whip and flecked off a fly that had settled +on the mare's neck. + +"Lucy is about twenty-seven, is she not?" + +"Yes, some eight years younger than I am. Why do you ask, John?" + +"Because it is always a restless age for a woman. She has lost the +protecting ignorance of youth and she has not yet gained enough of the +experience of age to steady her. Marriage often comes as a +balance-weight. She is coming home to be married, isn't she?" + +"No; they are to be married in Geneva at his mother's." + +"I think that part of it is a mistake," he said in a decided tone. +"There is no reason why she should not be married here; she owes that +to you and to herself." Then he added in a gentler tone, "And this +worries you?" + +"More than I can tell you, John." There was a note in her voice that +vibrated through him. He knew now how seriously the situation affected +her. + +"But why, Jane? If Lucy is happier in it we should do what we can to +help her." + +"Yes, but not in this way. This will make her all the more miserable. I +don't want this marriage; I want her to come home and live with me and +Archie. She makes me promises every year to come, and now it is over +six years since I left her and she has always put me off. This marriage +means that she will never come. I want her here, John. It is not right +for her to live as she does. Please think as I do!" + +The doctor patted Jane's hand--it was the only mark of affection he +ever allowed himself--not in a caressing way, but more as a father +would pat the hand of a nervous child. + +"Well, let us go over it from the beginning. Maybe I don't know all the +facts. Have you the letter with you?" + +She handed it to him. He passed the reins to her and read it carefully +to the end. + +"Have you answered it yet?" + +"No, I wanted to talk to you about it. What do you think now?" + +"I can't see that it will make any difference. She is not a woman to +live alone. I have always been surprised that she waited so long. You +are wrong, Jane, about this. It is best for everybody and everything +that Lucy should be married." + +"John, dear," she said in a half-pleading tone--there were some times +when this last word slipped out--"I don't want this marriage at all. I +am so wretched about it that I feel like taking the first steamer and +bringing her home with me. She will forget all about him when she is +here; and it is only her loneliness that makes her want to marry. I +don't want her married; I want her to love me and Martha +and--Archie--and she will if she sees him." + +"Is that better than loving a man who loves her?" The words dropped +from his lips before he could recall them--forced out, as it were, by +the pressure of his heart. + +Jane caught her breath and the color rose in her cheeks. She knew he +did not mean her, and yet she saw he spoke from his heart. Doctor +John's face, however, gave no sign of his thoughts. + +"But, John, I don't know that she does love him. She doesn't say +so--she says HE loves her. And if she did, we cannot all follow our own +hearts." + +"Why not?" he replied calmly, looking straight ahead of him: at the +bend in the road, at the crows flying in the air, at the leaden sky +between the rows of pines. If she wanted to give him her confidence he +was ready now with heart and arms wide open. Perhaps his hour had come +at last. + +"Because--because," she faltered, "our duty comes in. That is holier +than love." Then her voice rose and steadied itself--"Lucy's duty is to +come home." + +He understood. The gate was still shut; the wall still confronted him. +He could not and would not scale it. She had risked her own +happiness--even her reputation--to keep this skeleton hidden, the +secret inviolate. Only in the late years had she begun to recover from +the strain. She had stood the brunt and borne the sufferings of +another's sin without complaint, without reward, giving up everything +in life in consecration to her trust. He, of all men, could not tear +the mask away, nor could he stoop by the more subtle paths of +friendship, love, or duty to seek to look behind it--not without her +own free and willing hand to guide him. There was nothing else in all +her life that she had not told him. Every thought was his, every +resolve, every joy. She would entrust him with this if it was hers to +give. Until she did his lips would be sealed. As to Lucy, it could make +no difference. Bart lying in a foreign grave would never trouble her +again, and Archie would only be a stumbling-block in her career. She +would never love the boy, come what might. If this Frenchman filled her +ideal, it was best for her to end her days across the water--best +certainly for Jane, to whom she had only brought unhappiness. + +For some moments he busied himself with the reins, loosening them from +where they were caught in the harness; then he bent his head and said +slowly, and with the tone of the physician in consultation: + +"Your protest will do no good, Jane, and your trip abroad will only be +a waste of time and money. If Lucy has not changed, and this letter +shows that she has not, she will laugh at your objections and end by +doing as she pleases. She has always been a law unto herself, and this +new move of hers is part of her life-plan. Take my advice: stay where +you are; write her a loving, sweet letter and tell her how happy you +hope she will be, and send her your congratulations. She will not +listen to your objections, and your opposition might lose you her love." + +Before dark they were both on their way back to Yardley. Burton's boy +had not been hurt as badly as his father thought; but one leg was +broken, and this was soon in splints, and without Jane's assistance. + +Before they had reached her door her mind was made up. + +The doctor's words, as they always did, had gone down deep into her +mind, and all thoughts of going abroad, or of even protesting against +Lucy's marriage, were given up. Only the spectre remained. That the +doctor knew nothing of, and that she must meet alone. + +Martha took Jane's answer to the post-office herself. She had talked +its contents over with the old nurse, and the two had put their hearts +into every line. + +"Tell him everything," Jane wrote. "Don't begin a new life with an old +lie. With me it is different. I saved you, my sister, because I loved +you, and because I could not bear that your sweet girlhood should be +marred. I shall live my life out in this duty. It came to me, and I +could not put it from me, and would not now if I could, but I know the +tyranny of a secret you cannot share with the man who loves you. I +know, too, the cruelty of it all. For years I have answered kindly +meant inquiry with discourteous silence, bearing insinuations, calumny, +insults--and all because I cannot speak. Don't, I beseech you, begin +your new life in this slavery. But whatever the outcome, take him into +your confidence. Better have him leave you now than after you are +married. Remember, too, that if by this declaration you should lose his +love you will at least gain his respect. Perhaps, if his heart is +tender and he feels for the suffering and wronged, you may keep both. +Forgive me, dear, but I have only your happiness at heart, and I love +you too dearly not to warn you against any danger which would threaten +you. Martha agrees with me in the above, and knows you will do right by +him." + +When Lucy's answer arrived weeks afterward--after her marriage, in +fact--Jane read it with a clutching at her throat she had not known +since that fatal afternoon when Martha returned from Trenton. + +"You dear, foolish sister," Lucy's letter began, "what should I tell +him for? He loves me devotedly and we are very happy together, and I am +not going to cause him any pain by bringing any disagreeable thing into +his life. People don't do those wild, old-fashioned things over here. +And then, again, there is no possibility of his finding out. Maria +agrees with me thoroughly, and says in her funny way that men nowadays +know too much already." Then followed an account of her wedding. + +This letter Jane did not read to the doctor--no part of it, in fact. +She did not even mention its receipt, except to say that the wedding +had taken place in Geneva, where the Frenchman's mother lived, it being +impossible, Lucy said, for her to come home, and that Maria Collins, +who was staying with her, had been the only one of her old friends at +the ceremony. Neither did she read it all to Martha. The old nurse was +growing more feeble every year and she did not wish her blind faith in +her bairn disturbed. + +For many days she kept the letter locked in her desk, not having the +courage to take it out again and read it. Then she sent for Captain +Holt, the only one, beside Martha, with whom she could discuss the +matter. She knew his strong, honest nature, and his blunt, outspoken +way of giving vent to his mind, and she hoped that his knowledge of +life might help to comfort her. + +"Married to one o' them furriners, is she?" the captain blurted out; +"and goin' to keep right on livin' the lie she's lived ever since she +left ye? You'll excuse me, Miss Jane,--you've been a mother, and a +sister and everything to her, and you're nearer the angels than anybody +I know. That's what I think when I look at you and Archie. I say it +behind your back and I say it now to your face, for it's true. As to +Lucy, I may be mistaken, and I may not. I don't want to condemn nothin' +'less I'm on the survey and kin look the craft over; that's why I'm +partic'lar. Maybe Bart was right in sayin' it warn't all his fault, +whelp as he was to say it, and maybe he warn't. It ain't up before me +and I ain't passin' on it,--but one thing is certain, when a ship's +made as many voyages as Lucy has and ain't been home for repairs nigh +on to seven years--ain't it?" and he looked at Jane for +confirmation--"she gits foul and sometimes a little mite +worm-eaten--especially her bilge timbers, unless they're +copper-fastened or pretty good stuff. I've been thinkin' for some time +that you ain't got Lucy straight, and this last kick-up of hers makes +me sure of it. Some timber is growed right and some timber is growed +crooked; and when it's growed crooked it gits leaky, and no 'mount o' +tar and pitch kin stop it. Every twist the ship gives it opens the +seams, and the pumps is goin' all the time. When your timber is growed +right you kin all go to sleep and not a drop o' water'll git in. Your +sister Lucy ain't growed right. Maybe she kin help it and maybe she +can't, but she'll leak every time there comes a twist. See if she +don't." + +But Jane never lost faith nor wavered in her trust. With the old-time +love strong upon her she continued to make excuses for this +thoughtless, irresponsible woman, so easily influenced. "It is Maria +Collins who has written the letter, and not Lucy," she kept saying to +herself. "Maria has been her bad angel from her girlhood, and still +dominates her. The poor child's sufferings have hardened her heart and +destroyed for a time her sense of right and wrong--that is all." + +With this thought uppermost in her mind she took the letter from her +desk, and stirring the smouldering embers, laid it upon the coals. The +sheet blazed and fell into ashes. + +"No one will ever know," she said with a sigh. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +SCOOTSY'S EPITHET + + +Lying on Barnegat Beach, within sight of the House of Refuge and +Fogarty's cabin, was the hull of a sloop which had been whirled in one +night in a southeaster, with not a soul on board, riding the breakers +like a duck, and landing high and dry out of the hungry clutch of the +surf-dogs. She was light at the time and without ballast, and lay +stranded upright on her keel. All attempts by the beach-combers to +float her had proved futile; they had stripped her of her standing +rigging and everything else of value, and had then abandoned her. Only +the evenly balanced hull was left, its bottom timbers broken and its +bent keelson buried in the sand. This hulk little Tod Fogarty, aged +ten, had taken possession of; particularly the after-part of the hold, +over which he had placed a trusty henchman armed with a cutlass made +from the hoop of a fish barrel. The henchman--aged seven--wore +knee-trousers and a cap and answered to the name of Archie. The refuge +itself bore the title of "The Bandit's Home." + +This new hulk had taken the place of the old schooner which had served +Captain Holt as a landmark on that eventful night when he strode +Barnegat Beach in search of Bart, and which by the action of the +ever-changing tides, had gradually settled until now only a hillock +marked its grave--a fate which sooner or later would overtake this +newly landed sloop itself. + +These Barnegat tides are the sponges that wipe clean the slate of the +beach. Each day a new record is made and each day it is wiped out: +records from passing ships, an empty crate, broken spar or useless +barrel grounded now and then by the tide in its flow as it moves up and +down the sand at the will of the waters. Records, too, of many +footprints,--the lagging steps of happy lovers; the dimpled feet of +joyous children; the tread of tramp, coast-guard or fisherman--all +scoured clean when the merciful tide makes ebb. + +Other records are strewn along the beach; these the tide alone cannot +efface--the bow of some hapless schooner it may be, wrenched from its +hull, and sent whirling shoreward; the shattered mast and crosstrees of +a stranded ship beaten to death in the breakers; or some battered +capstan carried in the white teeth of the surf-dogs and dropped beyond +the froth-line. To these with the help of the south wind, the tides +extend their mercy, burying them deep with successive blankets of sand, +hiding their bruised bodies, covering their nakedness and the marks of +their sufferings. All through the restful summer and late autumn these +battered derelicts lie buried, while above their graves the children +play and watch the ships go by, or stretch themselves at length, their +eyes on the circling gulls. + +With the coming of the autumn all this is changed. The cruel north wind +now wakes, and with a loud roar joins hands with the savage easter; the +startled surf falls upon the beach like a scourge. Under their double +lash the outer bar cowers and sinks; the frightened sand flees hither +and thither. Soon the frenzied breakers throw themselves headlong, +tearing with teeth and claws, burrowing deep into the hidden graves. +Now the forgotten wrecks, like long-buried sins, rise and stand naked, +showing every scar and stain. This is the work of the sea-puss--the +revolving maniac born of close-wed wind and tide; a beast so terrible +that in a single night, with its auger-like snout, it bites huge inlets +out of farm lands--mouthfuls deep enough for ships to sail where but +yesterday the corn grew. + +In the hull of this newly stranded sloop, then--sitting high and dry, +out of the reach of the summer surf,--Tod and Archie spent every hour +of the day they could call their own; sallying forth on various +piratical excursions, coming back laden with driftwood for a bonfire, +or hugging some bottle, which was always opened with trembling, eager +fingers in the inmost recesses of the Home, in the hope that some +tidings of a lost ship might be found inside; or with their pockets +crammed with clam-shells and other sea spoils with which to decorate +the inside timbers of what was left of the former captain's cabin. + +Jane had protested at first, but the doctor had looked the hull over, +and found that there was nothing wide enough, nor deep enough, nor +sharp enough to do them harm, and so she was content. Then again, the +boys were both strong for their age, and looked it, Tod easily passing +for a lad of twelve or fourteen, and Archie for a boy of ten. The one +danger discovered by the doctor lay in its height, the only way of +boarding the stranded craft being by means of a hand-over-hand climb up +the rusty chains of the bowsprit, a difficult and trousers-tearing +operation. This was obviated by Tod's father, who made a ladder for the +boys out of a pair of old oars, which the two pirates pulled up after +them whenever an enemy hove in sight. When friends approached it was +let down with more than elaborate ceremony, the guests being escorted +by Archie and welcomed on board by Tod. + +Once Captain Holt's short, sturdy body was descried in the offing +tramping the sand-dunes on his way to Fogarty's, and a signal +flag--part of Mother Fogarty's flannel petticoat, and blood-red, as +befitted the desperate nature of the craft over which it floated, was +at once set in his honor. The captain put his helm hard down and came +up into the wind and alongside the hulk. + +"Well! well! well!" he cried in his best quarterdeck voice--"what are +you stowaways doin' here?" and he climbed the ladder and swung himself +over the battered rail. + +Archie took his hand and led him into the most sacred recesses of the +den, explaining to him his plans for defence, his armament of barrel +hoops, and his ammunition of shells and pebbles, Tod standing silently +by and a little abashed, as was natural in one of his station; at which +the captain laughed more loudly than before, catching Archie in his +arms, rubbing his curly head with his big, hard hand, and telling him +he was a chip of the old block, every inch of him--none of which did +either Archie or Tod understand. Before he climbed down the ladder he +announced with a solemn smile that he thought the craft was well +protected so far as collisions on foggy nights were concerned, but he +doubted if their arms were sufficient and that he had better leave them +his big sea knife which had been twice around Cape Horn, and which +might be useful in lopping off arms and legs whenever the cutthroats +got too impudent and aggressive; whereupon Archie threw his arms around +his grizzled neck and said he was a "bully commodore," and that if he +would come and live with them aboard the hulk they would obey his +orders to a man. + +Archie leaned over the rotten rail and saw the old salt stop a little +way from the hulk and stand looking at them for some minutes and then +wave his hand, at which the boys waved back, but the lad did not see +the tears that lingered for an instant on the captain's eyelids, and +which the sea-breeze caught away; nor did he hear the words, as the +captain resumed his walk: "He's all I've got left, and yet he don't +know it and I can't tell him. Ain't it hell?" + +Neither did they notice that he never once raised his eyes toward the +House of Refuge as he passed its side. A new door and a new roof had +been added, but in other respects it was to him the same grewsome, +lonely hut as on that last night when he had denounced his son outside +its swinging door. + +Often the boys made neighborly visits to friendly tribes and settlers. +Fogarty was one of these, and Doctor Cavendish was another. The +doctor's country was a place of buttered bread and preserves and a romp +with Rex, who was almost as feeble as Meg had been in his last days. +But Fogarty's cabin was a mine of never-ending delight. In addition to +the quaint low house of clapboards and old ship-timber, with its +sloping roof and little toy windows, so unlike his own at Yardley, and +smoked ceilings, there was a scrap heap piled up and scattered over the +yard which in itself was a veritable treasure-house. Here were rusty +chains and wooden figure-heads of broken-nosed, blind maidens and +tailless dolphins. Here were twisted iron rods, fish-baskets, broken +lobster-pots, rotting seines and tangled, useless nets--some used as +coverings for coops of restless chickens--old worn-out rope, tangled +rigging--everything that a fisherman who had spent his life on Barnegat +beach could pull from the surf or find stranded on the sand. + +Besides all these priceless treasures, there was an old boat lying +afloat in a small lagoon back of the house, one of those seepage pools +common to the coast--a boat which Fogarty had patched with a bit of +sail-cloth, and for which he had made two pairs of oars, one for each +of the "crew," as he called the lads, and which Archie learned to +handle with such dexterity that the old fisherman declared he would +make a first-class boatman when he grew up, and would "shame the whole +bunch of 'em." + +But these two valiant buccaneers were not to remain in undisturbed +possession of the Bandit's Home with its bewildering fittings and +enchanting possibilities--not for long. The secret of the uses to which +the stranded craft bad been put, and the attendant fun which Commodore +Tod and his dauntless henchman, Archibald Cobden, Esquire, were daily +getting out of its battered timbers, had already become public +property. The youth of Barnegat--the very young youth, ranging from +nine to twelve, and all boys--received the news at first with hilarious +joy. This feeling soon gave way to unsuppressed indignation, followed +by an active bitterness, when they realized in solemn conclave--the +meeting was held in an open lot on Saturday morning--that the capture +of the craft had been accomplished, not by dwellers under Barnegat +Light, to whom every piece of sea-drift from a tomato-can to a +full-rigged ship rightfully belonged, but by a couple of aliens, one of +whom wore knee-pants and a white collar,--a distinction in dress highly +obnoxious to these lords of the soil. + +All these denizens of Barnegat had at one time or another climbed up +the sloop's chains and peered down the hatchway to the sand covering +the keelson, and most of them had used it as a shelter behind which, in +swimming-time, they had put on or peeled off such mutilated rags as +covered their nakedness, but no one of them had yet conceived the idea +of turning it into a Bandit's Home. That touch of the ideal, that +gilding of the commonplace, had been reserved for the brain of the +curly-haired boy who, with dancing eyes, his sturdy little legs resting +on Tod's shoulder, had peered over the battered rail, and who, with a +burst of enthusiasm, had shouted: "Oh, cracky! isn't it nice, Tod! It's +got a place we can fix up for a robbers' den; and we'll be bandits and +have a flag. Oh, come up here! You never saw anything so fine," etc., +etc. + +When, therefore, Scootsy Mulligan, aged nine, son of a ship-caulker who +worked in Martin Farguson's ship-yard, and Sandy Plummer, eldest of +three, and their mother a widow--plain washing and ironing, two doors +from the cake-shop--heard that that French "spad," Arch Cobden what +lived up to Yardley, and that red-headed Irish cub, Tod Fogarty--Tod's +hair had turned very red--had pre-empted the Black Tub, as the wreck +was irreverently called, claiming it as their very own, "and-a-sayin' +they wuz pirates and bloody Turks and sich," these two quarrelsome town +rats organized a posse in lower Barnegat for its recapture. + +Archie was sweeping the horizon from his perch on the "poop-deck" when +his eagle eye detected a strange group of what appeared to be human +beings advancing toward the wreck from the direction of Barnegat +village. One, evidently a chief, was in the lead, the others following +bunched together. All were gesticulating wildly. The trusty henchman +immediately gave warning to Tod, who was at work in the lower hold +arranging a bundle of bean-poles which had drifted inshore the night +before--part of the deck-load, doubtless, of some passing vessel. + +"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the henchman with a hoist of his knee-pants, as a +prelude to his announcement. + +"Ay, ay, yerself!" rumbled back the reply. "What's up?" The commodore +had not read as deeply in pirate lore as had Archie, and was not, +therefore, so ready with its lingo. + +"Band of savages, sir, approaching down the beach." + +"Where away?" thundered back the commodore, his authority now asserting +itself in the tones of his voice. + +"On the starboard bow, sir--six or seven of 'em." + +"Armed or peaceable?" + +"Armed, sir. Scootsy Mulligan is leadin' 'em." + +"Scootsy Mulligan! Crickety! he's come to make trouble," shouted back +Tod, climbing the ladder in a hurry--it was used as a means of descent +into the shallow hold when not needed outside. "Where are they? Oh, +yes! I see 'em--lot of 'em, ain't they? Saturday, and they ain't no +school. Say, Arch, what are we goin' to do?" The terminal vowels +softening his henchman's name were omitted in grave situations; so was +the pirate lingo. + +"Do!" retorted Archie, his eyes snapping. "Why, we'll fight 'em; that's +what we are pirates for. Fight 'em to the death. Hurray! They're not +coming aboard--no sir-ee! You go down, Toddy [the same free use of +terminals], and get two of the biggest bean-poles and I'll run up the +death flag. We've got stones and shells enough. Hurry--big ones, mind +you!" + +The attacking party, their leader ahead, had now reached the low sand +heap marking the grave of the former wreck, but a dozen yards away--the +sand had entombed it the year before. + +"You fellers think yer durned smart, don't ye?" yelled Mr. William +Mulligan, surnamed "Scootsy" from his pronounced fleetness of foot. +"We're goin' to run ye out o' that Tub. 'Tain't yourn, it's ourn--ain't +it, fellers?" + +A shout went up in answer from the group on the hillock. + +"You can come as friends, but not as enemies," cried Archie +grandiloquently. "The man who sets foot on this ship without permission +dies like a dog. We sail under the blood-red flag!" and Archie struck +an attitude and pointed to the fragment of mother Fogarty's own nailed +to a lath and hanging limp over the rail. + +"Hi! hi! hi!" yelled the gang in reply. "Oh, ain't he a beauty! Look at +de cotton waddin' on his head!" (Archie's cropped curls.) "Say, sissy, +does yer mother know ye're out? Throw that ladder down; we're comin' up +there--don't make no diff'rence whether we got yer permish or not--and +we'll knock the stuffin' out o' ye if ye put up any job on us. H'ist +out that ladder!" + +"Death and no quarter!" shouted back Archie, opening the big blade of +Captain Holt's pocket knife and grasping it firmly in his wee hand. +"We'll defend this ship with the last drop of our blood!" + +"Ye will, will ye!" retorted Scootsy. "Come on, fellers--go for 'em! +I'll show 'em," and he dodged under the sloop's bow and sprang for the +overhanging chains. + +Tod had now clambered up from the hold. Under his arm were two stout +hickory saplings. One he gave to Archie, the other he kept himself. + +"Give them the shells first," commanded Archie, dodging a beach pebble; +"and when their hands come up over the rail let them have this," and he +waved the sapling over his head. "Run, Tod,--they're trying to climb up +behind. I'll take the bow. Avast there, ye lubbers!" + +With this Archie dropped to his knees and crouched close to the heel of +the rotting bowsprit, out of the way of the flying missiles--each boy's +pockets were loaded--and looking cautiously over the side of the hulk, +waited until Scootsy's dirty fingers--he was climbing the chain hand +over hand, his feet resting on a boy below him--came into view. + +"Off there, or I'll crack your fingers!" + +"Crack and be--" + +Bang! went Archie's hickory and down dropped the braggart, his oath +lost in his cries. + +"He smashed me fist! He smashed me fist! Oh! Oh!" whined Scootsy, +hopping about with the pain, sucking the injured hand and shaking its +mate at Archie, who was still brandishing the sapling and yelling +himself hoarse in his excitement. + +The attacking party now drew off to the hillock for a council of war. +Only their heads could be seen--their bodies lay hidden in the long +grass of the dune. + +Archie and Tod were now dancing about the deck in a delirium of +delight--calling out in true piratical terms, "We die, but we never +surrender!" Tod now and then falling into his native vernacular to the +effect that he'd "knock the liver and lights out o' the hull gang," an +expression the meaning of which was wholly lost on Archie, he never +having cleaned a fish in his life. + +Here a boy in his shirt-sleeves straightened up in the yellow grass and +looked seaward. Then Sandy Plummer gave a yell and ran to the beach, +rolling up what was left of his trousers legs, stopping now and then to +untie first one shoe and then the other. Two of the gang followed on a +run. When the three reached the water's edge they danced about like +Crusoe's savages, waving their arms and shouting. Sandy by this time +had stripped off his clothes and had dashed into the water. A long +plank from some lumber schooner was drifting up the beach in the gentle +swell of the tide. Sandy ran abreast of it for a time, sprang into the +surf, threw himself upon it flat like a frog, and then began paddling +shoreward. The other two now rushed into the water, grasping the near +end of the derelict, the whole party pushing and paddling until it was +hauled clean of the brine and landed high on the sand. + +A triumphant yell here came from the water's edge, and the balance of +the gang--there were seven in all--rushed to the help of the dauntless +three. + +Archie heaped a pile of pebbles within reach of his hand and waited the +attack. What the savages were going to do with the plank neither he nor +Tod could divine. The derelict was now dragged over the sand to the +hulk, Tod and Archie pelting its rescuers with stones and shells as +they came within short range. + +"Up with her, fellers!" shouted Sandy, who, since Scootsy's unmanly +tears, had risen to first place. "Run it under the bowsprit--up with +her--there she goes! Altogether!" + +Archie took his stand, his long sapling in his hand, and waited. He +thought first he would unseat the end of the plank, but it was too far +below him and then again he would be exposed to their volleys of +stones, and if he was hurt he might not get back on his craft. Tod, who +had resigned command in favor of his henchman after Archie's masterly +defence in the last fight, stood behind him. Thermopylae was a narrow +place, and so was the famous Bridge of Horatius. He and his faithful +Tod would now make the fight of their lives. Both of these close shaves +for immortality were closed books to Tod, but Archie knew every line of +their records, Doctor John having spent many an hour reading to him, +the boy curled up in his lap while Jane listened. + +Sandy, emboldened by the discovery of the plank, made the first rush up +and was immediately knocked from his perch by Tod, whose pole swung +around his head like a flail. Then Scootsy tried it, crawling up, +protecting his head by ducking it under his elbows, holding meanwhile +by his hand. Tod's blows fell about his back, but the boy struggled on +until Archie reached over the gunwale, and with a twist of his wrist, +using all his strength, dropped the invader to the sand below. + +The success of this mode of attack was made apparent, provided they +could stick to the plank. Five boys now climbed up. Archie belabored +the first one with the pole and Tod grappled with the second, trying to +throw him from the rail to the sand, some ten feet below, but the rat +close behind him, in spite of their efforts, reached forward, caught +the rail, and scrambled up to his mate's assistance. In another instant +both had leaped to the sloop's deck. + +"Back! back! Run, Toddy!" screamed Archie, waving his arms. "Get on the +poop-deck; we can lick them there. Run!" + +Tod darted back, and the two defenders clearing the intervening rotten +timbers with a bound, sprang upon the roof of the old cabin--Archie's +"poop." + +With a whoop the savages followed, jumping over the holes in the +planking and avoiding the nails in the open beams. + +In the melee Archie had lost his pole, and was now standing, hat off, +his blue eves flashing, all the blood of his overheated little body +blazing in his face. The tears of defeat were trembling under his +eyelids, He had been outnumbered, but he would die game. In his hand he +carried, unconsciously to himself, the big-bladed pocket knife the +captain had given him. He would as soon have used it on his mother as +upon one of his enemies, but the Barnegat invaders were ignorant of +that fact, knives being the last resort in their environment. + +"Look out, Sandy!" yelled Scootsy to his leader, who was now sneaking +up to Archie with the movement of an Indian in ambush;--"he's drawed a +knife." + +Sandy stopped and straightened himself within three feet of Archie. His +hand still smarted from the blow Archie had given it. The "spad" had +not stopped a second in that attack, and he might not in this; the next +thing he knew the knife might be between his ribs. + +"Drawed a knife, hev ye!" he snarled. "Drawed a knife, jes' like a spad +that ye are! Ye oughter put yer hair in curl-papers!" + +Archie looked at the harmless knife in his hand. + +"I can fight you with my fists if you are bigger than me," he cried, +tossing the knife down the open hatchway into the sand below. "Hold my +coat, Tod," and he began stripping off his little jacket. + +"I ain't fightin' no spads," sneered Sandy. He didn't want to fight +this one. "Yer can't skeer nobody. You'll draw a pistol next. Yer +better go home to yer mammy, if ye kin find her." + +"He ain't got no mammy," snarled Scootsy. "He's a pick-up--me father +says so." + +Archie sprang forward to avenge the insult, but before he could reach +Scootsy's side a yell arose from the bow of the hulk. + +"Yi! yi! Run, fellers! Here comes old man Fogarty! he's right on top o' +ye! Not that side--this way. Yi! yi!" + +The invaders turned and ran the length of the deck, scrambled over the +side and dropped one after the other to the sand below just as the +Fogarty head appeared at the bow. It was but a step and a spring for +him, and with a lurch he gained the deck of the wreck. + +"By jiminy, boys, mother thought ye was all killed! Has them rats been +botherin' ye? Ye oughter broke the heads of 'em. Where did they get +that plank? Come 'shore, did it? Here, Tod, catch hold of it; I jes' +wanted a piece o' floorin' like that. Why, ye're all het up, Archie! +Come, son, come to dinner; ye'll git cooled off, and mother's got a +mess o' clams for ye. Never mind 'bout the ladder; I'll lift it down." + +On the way over to the cabin, Fogarty and Tod carrying the plank and +Archie walking beside them, the fisherman gleaned from the boys the +details of the fight. Archie had recovered the captain's knife and it +was now in his hand. + +"Called ye a 'pick-up' did he, the rat, and said ye didn't have no +mother. He's a liar! If ye ain't got a mother, and a good one, I don't +know who has. That's the way with them town-crabs, allus cussin' +somebody better'n themselves." + +When Fogarty had tilted the big plank against the side of the cabin and +the boys had entered the kitchen in search of the mess of clams, the +fisherman winked to his wife, jerked his head meaningly over one +shoulder, and Mrs. Fogarty, in answer, followed him out to the woodshed. + +"Them sneaks from Barnegat, Mulligan's and Farguson's boys, and the +rest of 'em, been lettin' out on Archie: callin' him names, sayin' he +ain't got no mother and he's one o' them pass-ins ye find on yer +doorstep in a basket. I laughed it off and he 'peared to forgit it, but +I thought he might ask ye, an' so I wanted to tip ye the wink." + +"Well, ye needn't worry. I ain't goin' to tell him what I don't know," +replied the wife, surprised that he should bring her all the way out to +the woodshed to tell her a thing like that. + +"But ye DO know, don't ye?" + +"All I know is what Uncle Ephraim told me four or five years ago, and +he's so flighty half the time and talks so much ye can't believe +one-half he says--something about Miss Jane comin' across Archie's +mother in a horsepital in Paris, or some'er's and promisin' her a-dyin' +that she'd look after the boy, and she has. She'd do that here if there +was women and babies up to Doctor John's horsepital 'stead o' men. It's +jes' like her," and Mrs. Fogarty, not to lose her steps, stooped over a +pile of wood and began gathering up an armful. + +"Well, she ain't his mother, ye know," rejoined Fogarty, helping his +wife with the sticks. "That's what they slammed in his face to-day, and +he'll git it ag'in as he grows up. But he don't want to hear it from +us." + +"And he won't. Miss Jane ain't no fool. She knows more about him than +anybody else, and when she gits ready to tell him she'll tell him. +Don't make no difference who his mother was--the one he's got now is +good enough for anybody. Tod would have been dead half a dozen times if +it hadn't been for her and Doctor John, and there ain't nobody knows it +better'n me. It's just like her to let Archie come here so much with +Tod; she knows I ain't goin' to let nothin' happen to him. And as for +mothers, Sam Fogarty," here Mrs. Fogarty lifted her free hand and shook +her finger in a positive way--"when Archie gits short of mothers he's +got one right here, don't make no difference what you or anybody else +says," and she tapped her broad bosom meaningly. + +Contrary, however, to Fogarty's hopes and surmises, Archie had +forgotten neither Sandy's insult nor Scootsy's epithet. "He's a +pick-up" and "he ain't got no mammy" kept ringing in his ears as he +walked back up the beach to his home. He remembered having heard the +words once before when he was some years younger, but then it had come +from a passing neighbor and was not intended for him. This time it was +flung square in his face. Every now and then as he followed the trend +of the beach on his way home he would stop and look out over the sea, +watching the long threads of smoke being unwound from the spools of the +steamers and the sails of the fishing-boats as they caught the light of +the setting sun. The epithet worried him. It was something to be +ashamed of, he knew, or they would not have used it. + +Jane, standing outside the gate-post, shading her eyes with her hand, +scanning the village road, caught sight of his sturdy little figure the +moment he turned the corner and ran to meet him. + +"I got so worried--aren't you late, my son?" she asked, putting her arm +about him and kissing him tenderly. + +"Yes, it's awful late. I ran all the way from the church when I saw the +clock. I didn't know it was past six. Oh, but we've had a bully day, +mother! And we've had a fight. Tod and I were pirates, and Scootsy +Mulligan tried to--" + +Jane stopped the boy's joyous account with a cry of surprise. They were +now walking back to Yardley's gate, hugging the stone wall. + +"A fight! Oh, my son!" + +"Yes, a bully fight; only there were seven of them and only two of us. +That warn't fair, but Mr. Fogarty says they always fight like that. I +could have licked 'em if they come on one at a time, but they got a +plank and crawled up--" + +"Crawled up where, my son?" asked Jane in astonishment. All this was an +unknown world to her. She had seen the wreck and had known, of course, +that the boys were making a playhouse of it, but this latter +development was news to her. + +"Why, on the pirate ship, where we've got our Bandit's Home. Tod is +commodore and I'm first mate. Tod and I did all we could, but they +didn't fight fair, and Scootsy called me a 'pick-up' and said I hadn't +any mother. I asked Mr. Fogarty what he meant, but he wouldn't tell me. +What's a 'pick-up,' dearie?" and he lifted his face to Jane's, his +honest blue eyes searching her own. + +Jane caught her hand to her side and leaned for a moment against the +stone wall. This was the question which for years she had expected him +to ask--one to which she had framed a hundred imaginary answers. When +as a baby he first began to talk she had determined to tell him she was +not his mother, and so get him gradually accustomed to the conditions +of his birth. But every day she loved him the more, and every day she +had put it off. To-day it was no easier. He was too young, she knew, to +take in its full meaning, even if she could muster up the courage to +tell him the half she was willing to tell him--that his mother was her +friend and on her sick-bed had entrusted her child to her care. She had +wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand, so that she +should not lose his love when he came to know the truth. There had +been, moreover, always this fear--would he love her for shielding his +mother, or would he hate Lucy when he came to know? She had once talked +it all over with Captain Holt, but she could never muster up the +courage to take his advice. + +"Tell him," he had urged. "It'll save you a lot o' trouble in the end. +That'll let me out and I kin do for him as I want to. You've lived +under this cloud long enough--there ain't nobody can live a lie a whole +lifetime, Miss Jane. I'll take my share of the disgrace along of my +dead boy, and you ain't done nothin', God knows, to be ashamed of. Tell +him! It's grease to yer throat halyards and everything'll run smoother +afterward. Take my advice, Miss Jane." + +All these things rushed through her mind as she stood leaning against +the stone wall, Archie's hand in hers, his big blue eyes still fixed on +her own. + +"Who said that to you, my son?" she asked in assumed indifference, in +order to gain time in which to frame her answer and recover from the +shock. + +"Scootsy Mulligan." + +"Is he a nice boy?" + +"No, he's a coward, or he wouldn't fight as he does." + +"Then I wouldn't mind him, my boy," and she smoothed back the hair from +his forehead, her eyes avoiding the boy's steady gaze. It was only when +someone opened the door of the closet concealing this spectre that Jane +felt her knees give way and her heart turn sick within her. In all else +she was fearless and strong. + +"Was he the boy who said you had no mother?" + +"Yes. I gave him an awful whack when he came up the first time, and he +went heels over head." + +"Well, you have got a mother, haven't you, darling?" she continued, +with a sigh of relief, now that Archie was not insistent. + +"You bet I have!" cried the boy, throwing his arms around her. + +"Then we won't either of us bother about those bad boys and what they +say," she answered, stooping over and kissing him. + +And so for a time the remembrance of Scootsy's epithet faded out of the +boy's mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY + + +Ten years have passed away. + +The sturdy little fellow in knee-trousers is a lad of seventeen, big +and strong for his age; Tod is three years older, and the two are still +inseparable. The brave commander of the pirate ship is now a +full-fledged fisherman and his father's main dependence. Archie is +again his chief henchman, and the two spend many a morning in Tod's +boat when the blue-fish are running. Old Fogarty does not mind it; he +rather likes it, and Mother Fogarty is always happier when the two are +together. + +"If one of 'em gits overboard," she said one day to her husband, +"t'other kin save him." + +"Save him! Well, I guess!" he replied. "Salt water skims off Archie +same's if he was a white bellied gull; can't drown him no more'n you +kin a can buoy." + +The boy has never forgotten Scootsy's epithet, although he has never +spoken of it to his mother--no one knows her now by any other name. She +thought the episode had passed out of his mind, but she did not know +everything that lay in the boy's heart. He and Tod had discussed it +time and again, and had wondered over his own name and that of his +nameless father, as boys wonder, but they had come to no conclusion. No +one in the village could tell them, for no one ever knew. He had asked +the doctor, but had only received a curious answer. + +"What difference does it make, son, when you have such a mother? You +have brought her only honor, and the world loves her the better because +of you. Let it rest until she tells you; it will only hurt her heart if +you ask her now." + +The doctor had already planned out the boy's future; he was to be sent +to Philadelphia to study medicine when his schooling was over, and was +then to come into his office and later on succeed to his practice. + +Captain Holt would have none of it. + +"He don't want to saw off no legs," the bluff old man had blurted out +when he heard of it. "He wants to git ready to take a ship 'round Cape +Horn. If I had my way I'd send him some'er's where he could learn +navigation, and that's in the fo'c's'le of a merchantman. Give him a +year or two before the mast. I made that mistake with Bart--he loafed +round here too long and when he did git a chance he was too old." + +Report had it that the captain was going to leave the lad his money, +and had therefore a right to speak; but no one knew. He was +closer-mouthed than ever, though not so gruff and ugly as he used to +be; Archie had softened him, they said, taking the place of that boy of +his he "druv out to die a good many years ago." + +Jane's mind wavered. Neither profession suited her. She would sacrifice +anything she had for the boy provided they left him with her. +Philadelphia was miles away, and she would see him but seldom. The sea +she shrank from and dreaded. She had crossed it twice, and both times +with an aching heart. She feared, too, its treachery and cruelty. The +waves that curled and died on Barnegat beach--messengers from across +the sea--brought only tidings fraught with suffering. + +Archie had no preferences--none yet. His future was too far off to +trouble him much. Nor did anything else worry him. + +One warm September day Archie turned into Yardley gate, his so'wester +still on his head framing his handsome, rosy face; his loose jacket +open at the throat, the tarpaulins over his arm. He had been outside +the inlet with Tod--since daybreak, in fact--fishing for bass and +weakfish. + +Jane had been waiting for him for hours. She held an open letter in her +hand, and her face was happier, Archie thought as he approached her, +than he had seen it for months. + +There are times in all lives when suddenly and without warning, those +who have been growing quietly by our side impress their new development +upon us. We look at them in full assurance that the timid glance of the +child will be returned, and are astounded to find instead the calm gaze +of the man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering step and +touch a muscle that could lead a host. Such changes are like the +breaking of the dawn; so gradual has been their coming that the full +sun of maturity is up and away flooding the world with beauty and light +before we can recall the degrees by which it rose. + +Jane realized this--and for the first time--as she looked at Archie +swinging through the gate, waving his hat as he strode toward her. She +saw that the sailor had begun to assert itself. He walked with an easy +swing, his broad shoulders--almost as broad as the captain's and twice +as hard--thrown back, his head up, his blue eyes and white teeth +laughing out of a face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his +throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief--one of +Tod's--wound loosely about it; a man really, strong and tough, with +hard sinews and capable thighs, back, and wrists--the kind of sailorman +that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure and never lose +place in either station. + +In this rude awakening Jane's heart-strings tightened. She became +suddenly conscious that the Cobden look had faded out of him; Lucy's +eyes and hair were his, and so was her rounded chin, with its dimple, +but there was nothing else about him that recalled either her own +father or any other Cobden she remembered. As he came near enough for +her to look into his eyes she began to wonder how he would impress +Lucy, what side of his nature would she love best--his courage and +strength or his tenderness? + +The sound of his voice shouting her name recalled her to herself, and a +thrill of pride illumined her happy face like a burst of sunlight as he +tossed his tarpaulins on the grass and put his strong arms about her. + +"Mother, dear! forty black bass, eleven weakfish, and half a barrel of +small fry--what do you think of that?" + +"Splendid, Archie. Tod must be proud as a peacock. But look at this!" +and she held up the letter. "Who do you think it's from? Guess now," +and she locked one arm through his, and the two strolled back to the +house. + +"Guess now!" she repeated, holding the letter behind her back. The two +were often like lovers together. + +"Let me see," he coaxed. "What kind of a stamp has it got?" + +"Never you mind about the stamp." + +"Uncle John--and it's about my going to Philadelphia." + +Jane laughed. "Uncle John never saw it." + +"Then it's from--Oh, you tell me, mother!" + +"No--guess. Think of everybody you ever heard of. Those you have seen +and those you--" + +"Oh, I know--Aunt Lucy." + +"Yes, and she's coming home. Home, Archie, think of it, after all these +years!" + +"Well, that's bully! She won't know me, will she? I never saw her, did +I?" + +"Yes, when you were a little fellow." It was difficult to keep the +tremor out of her voice. + +"Will she bring any dukes and high daddies with her?" + +"No," laughed Jane, "only her little daughter Ellen, the sweetest +little girl you ever saw, she writes." + +"How old is she?" + +He had slipped his arm around his mother's waist now and the two were +"toeing it" up the path, he stopping every few feet to root a pebble +from its bed. The coming of the aunt was not a great event in his life. + +"Just seven her last birthday." + +"All right, she's big enough. We'll take her out and teach her to fish. +Hello, granny!" and the boy loosened his arm as he darted up the steps +toward Martha. "Got the finest mess of fish coming up here in a little +while you ever laid your eyes on," he shouted, catching the old nurse's +cap from her head and clapping it upon his own, roaring with laughter, +as he fled in the direction of the kitchen. + +Jane joined in the merriment and, moving a chair from the hall, took +her seat on the porch to await the boy's return. She was too happy to +busy herself about the house or to think of any of her outside duties. +Doctor John would not be in until the afternoon, and so she would +occupy herself in thinking out plans to make her sister's home-coming a +joyous one. + +As she looked down over the garden as far as the two big gate-posts +standing like grim sentinels beneath the wide branches of the hemlocks, +and saw how few changes had taken place in the old home since her girl +sister had left it, her heart thrilled with joy. Nothing really was +different; the same mass of tangled rose-vines climbed over the +porch--now quite to the top of the big roof, but still the same dear +old vines that Lucy had loved in her childhood; the same honeysuckle +hid the posts; the same box bordered the paths. The house was just as +she left it; her bedroom had really never been touched. What few +changes had taken place she would not miss. Meg would not run out to +meet her, and Rex was under a stone that the doctor had placed over his +grave; nor would Ann Gossaway peer out of her eyrie of a window and +follow her with her eyes as she drove by; her tongue was quiet at last, +and she and her old mother lay side by side in the graveyard. Doctor +John had exhausted his skill upon them both, and Martha, who had +forgiven her enemy, had sat by her bedside until the end, but nothing +had availed. Mrs. Cavendish was dead, of course, but she did not think +Lucy would care very much. She and Doctor John had nursed her for +months until the end came, and had then laid her away near the +apple-trees she was so fond of. But most of the faithful hearts who had +loved her were still beating, and all were ready with a hearty welcome. + +Archie was the one thing new--new to Lucy. And yet she had no fear +either for him or for Lucy. When she saw him she would love him, and +when she had known him a week she would never be separated from him +again. The long absence could not have wiped out all remembrance of the +boy, nor would the new child crowd him from her heart. + +When Doctor John sprang from his gig (the custom of his daily visits +had never been broken) she could hardly wait until he tied his +horse--poor Bess had long since given out--to tell him the joyful news. + +He listened gravely, his face lighting up at her happiness. He was glad +for Jane and said so frankly, but the situation did not please him. He +at heart really dreaded the effect of Lucy's companionship on the woman +he loved. Although it had been years since he had seen her, he had +followed her career, especially since her marriage, with the greatest +interest and with the closest attention. He had never forgotten, nor +had he forgiven her long silence of two years after her marriage, +during which time she had never written Jane a line, nor had he ever +ceased to remember Jane's unhappiness over it. Jane had explained it +all to him on the ground that Lucy was offended because she had opposed +the marriage, but the doctor knew differently. Nor had he ceased to +remember the other letters which followed, and how true a story they +told of Lucy's daily life and ambitions. He could almost recall the +wording of one of them. "My husband is too ill," it had said, "to go +south with me, and so I will run down to Rome for a month or so, for I +really need the change." And a later one, written since his death, in +which she wrote of her winter in Paris and at Monte Carlo, and "how +good my mother-in-law is to take care of Ellen." This last letter to +her sister, just received--the one he then held in his hand, and which +gave Jane such joy, and which he was then reading as carefully as if it +had been a prescription--was to his analytical mind like all the rest +of its predecessors. One sentence sent a slight curl to his lips. "I +cannot stay away any longer from my precious sister," it said, "and am +coming back to the home I adore. I have no one to love me, now that my +dear husband is dead, but you and my darling Ellen." + +The news of Lucy's expected return spread rapidly. Old Martha in her +joy was the mouthpiece. She gave the details out at church the Sunday +morning following the arrival of Lucy's letter. She was almost too ill +to venture out, but she made the effort, stopping the worshippers as +they came down the board walk; telling each one of the good news, the +tears streaming down her face. To the children and the younger +generation the announcement made but little difference; some of them +had never heard that Miss Jane had a sister, and others only that she +lived abroad. Their mothers knew, of course, and so did the older men, +and all were pleased over the news. Those of them who remembered the +happy, joyous girl with her merry eyes and ringing laugh were ready to +give her a hearty welcome; they felt complimented that the +distinguished lady--fifteen years' residence abroad and a rich husband +had gained her this position--should be willing to exchange the great +Paris for the simple life of Warehold. It touched their civic pride. + +Great preparations were accordingly made. Billy Tatham's successor (his +son)--in his best open carriage--was drawn up at the station, and +Lucy's drive through the village with some of her numerous boxes +covered with foreign labels piled on the seat beside the young man--who +insisted on driving Lucy and the child himself--was more like the +arrival of a princess revisiting her estates than anything else. Martha +and Archie and Jane filled the carriage, with little Ellen on Archie's +lap, and more than one neighbor ran out of the house and waved to them +as they drove through the long village street and turned into the gate. + +Archie threw his arms around Lucy when he saw her, and in his open, +impetuous way called her his "dear aunty," telling her how glad he was +that she had come to keep his good mother from getting so sad at times, +and adding that she and granny had not slept for days before she came, +so eager were they to see her. And Lucy kissed him in return, but with +a different throb at her heart. She felt a thrill when she saw how +handsome and strong he was, and for an instant there flashed through +her a feeling of pride that he was her own flesh and blood. Then there +had come a sudden revulsion, strangling every emotion but the one of +aversion--an aversion so overpowering that she turned suddenly and +catching Ellen in her arms kissed her with so lavish a display of +affection that those at the station who witnessed the episode had only +praise for the mother's devotion. Jane saw the kiss Lucy had given +Archie, and a cry of joy welled up in her heart, but she lost the +shadow that followed. My lady of Paris was too tactful for that. + +Her old room was all ready. Jane, with Martha helping, had spent days +in its preparation. White dimity curtains starched stiff as a petticoat +had been hung at the windows; a new lace cover spread on the little +mahogany, brass-mounted dressing-table--her great grandmother's, in +fact--with its tiny swinging mirror and the two drawers (Martha +remembered when her bairn was just high enough to look into the +mirror), and pots of fresh flowers placed on the long table on which +her hooks used to rest. Two easy-chairs had also been brought up from +the sitting-room below, covered with new chintz and tied with blue +ribbons, and, more wonderful still, a candle-box had been covered with +cretonne and studded with brass tacks by the aid of Martha's stiff +fingers that her bairn might have a place in which to put her dainty +shoes and slippers. + +When the trunks had been carried upstairs and Martha with her own hands +had opened my lady's gorgeous blue morocco dressing-case with its +bottles capped with gold and its brushes and fittings emblazoned with +cupids swinging in garlands of roses, the poor woman's astonishment +knew no bounds. The many scents and perfumes, the dainty boxes, big and +little, holding various powders--one a red paste which the old nurse +thought must be a salve, but about which, it is needless to say, she +was greatly mistaken--as well as a rabbit's foot smirched with rouge +(this she determined to wash at once), and a tiny box of court-plaster +cut in half moons. So many things, in fact, did the dear old nurse pull +from this wonderful bag that the modest little bureau could not hold +half of them, and the big table had to be brought up and swept of its +plants and belongings. + +The various cosmetics and their uses were especial objects of comment. + +"Did ye break one of the bottles, darlin'?" she asked, sniffing at a +peculiar perfume which seemed to permeate everything. "Some of 'em must +have smashed; it's awful strong everywhere--smell that"--and she held +out a bit of lace which she had taken from the case, a dressing-sacque +that Lucy had used on the steamer. + +Lucy laughed. "And you don't like it? How funny, you dear old thing! +That was made specially for me; no one else in Paris has a drop." + +And then the dresses! Particularly the one she was to wear the first +night--a dress flounced and furbelowed and of a creamy white (she still +wore mourning--delicate purples shading to white--the exact tone for a +husband six months dead). And the filmy dressing-gowns, and, more +wonderful than all, the puff of smoke she was to sleep in, held +together by a band of violet ribbon; to say nothing of the dainty +slippers bound about with swan's-down, and the marvellous hats, endless +silk stockings of mauve, white, and black, and long and short gloves. +In all her life Martha had never seen or heard of such things. The room +was filled with them and the two big closets crammed to overflowing, +and yet a dozen trunks were not yet unpacked, including the two small +boxes holding little Ellen's clothes. + +The night was one long to be remembered. Everyone said the Manor House +had not been so gay for years. And they were all there--all her old +friends and many of Jane's new ones, who for years had looked on Lucy +as one too far above them in station to be spoken of except with bated +breath. + +The intimates of the house came early. Doctor John first, with his +grave manner and low voice--so perfectly dressed and quiet: Lucy +thought she had never seen his equal in bearing and demeanor, nor one +so distinguished-looking--not in any circle in Europe; and Uncle +Ephraim, grown fat and gouty, leaning on a cane, but still hearty and +wholesome, and overjoyed to see her; and Pastor Dellenbaugh--his hair +was snow-white now--and his complacent and unruffled wife; and the +others, including Captain Holt, who came in late. It was almost a +repetition of that other home-coming years before, when they had +gathered to greet her, then a happy, joyous girl just out of school. + +Lucy in their honor wore the dress that had so astonished Martha, and a +diamond-studded ornament which she took from her jewel-case and +fastened in her hair. The dress followed the wonderful curves of her +beautiful body in all its dimpled plumpness and the jewel set off to +perfection the fresh, oval face, laughing blue eyes--wet forget-me-nots +were the nearest their color--piquant, upturned nose and saucy mouth. +The color of the gown, too, harmonized both with the delicate pink of +her cheeks and with the tones of her rather too full throat showing +above the string of pearls that clasped it. + +Jane wore a simple gray silk gown which followed closely the slender +and almost attenuated lines of her figure. This gown the doctor always +loved because, as he told her, it expressed so perfectly the simplicity +of her mind and life. Her only jewels were her deep, thoughtful eyes, +and these, to-night, were brilliant with joy over her sister's return. + +As Jane moved about welcoming her guests the doctor, whose eyes rarely +left her face, became conscious that at no time in their lives had the +contrast between the two sisters been greater. + +One, a butterfly of thirty-eight, living only in the glow of the +sunlight, radiant in plumage, alighting first on one flower and then on +another, but always on flowers, never on weeds; gathering such honey as +suited her taste; never resting where she might by any chance be +compelled to use her feet, but always poised in air; a woman, rich, +brilliant, and beautiful, and--here was the key-note of her +life--always, year in and year out, warmed by somebody's admiration, +whose she didn't much mind nor care, so that it gratified her pride and +relieved her of ennui. The other--and this one he loved with his whole +soul--a woman of forty-six, with a profound belief in her creeds; +quixotic sometimes in her standards, but always sincere; devoted to her +traditions, to her friends and to her duty; unselfish, tender-hearted, +and self-sacrificing; whose feet, though often tired and bleeding, had +always trodden the earth. + +As Lucy greeted first one neighbor and then another, sometimes with one +hand, sometimes with two, offering her cheek now and then to some old +friend who had known her as a child, Jane's heart swelled with +something of the pride she used to have when Lucy was a girl. Her +beautiful sister, she saw, had lost none of the graciousness of her old +manner, nor of her tact in making her guests feel perfectly at home. +Jane noticed, too--and this was new to her--a certain well-bred +condescension, so delicately managed as never to be offensive--more the +air of a woman accustomed to many sorts and conditions of men and +women, and who chose to be agreeable as much to please herself as to +please her guests. + +And yet with all this poise of manner and condescending graciousness, +there would now and then dart from Lucy's eyes a quick, searching +glance of inquiry, as she tried to read her guests' thoughts, followed +by a relieved look on her own face as she satisfied herself that no +whisper of her past had ever reached them. These glances Jane never +caught. + +Doctor John was most cordial in his greeting and talked to her a long +time about some portions of Europe, particularly a certain cafe in +Dresden where he used to dine, and another in Paris frequented by the +beau monde. She answered him quite frankly, telling him of some of her +own experiences in both places, quite forgetting that she was giving +him glimpses of her own life while away--glimpses which she had kept +carefully concealed from Jane or Martha. She was conscious, however, +after he had left her of a certain uncomfortable feeling quivering +through her as his clear, steadfast eyes looked into hers, he listened, +and yet she thought she detected his brain working behind his steadfast +gaze. It was as if he was searching for some hidden disease. "He knows +something," she said to herself, when the doctor moved to let someone +else take his place. "How much I can't tell. I'll get it all out of +sister." + +Blunt and bluff Captain Holt, white-whiskered and white-haired now, but +strong and hearty, gave her another and a different shock. What his +first words would be when they met and how she would avoid discussing +the subject uppermost in their minds if, in his rough way, he insisted +on talking about it, was one of the things that had worried her greatly +when she decided to come home, for there was never any doubt in her +mind as to his knowledge. But she misjudged the captain, as had a great +many others who never looked beneath the rugged bark covering his heart +of oak. + +"I'm glad you've come at last," he said gravely, hardly touching her +hand in welcome, "you ought to have been here before. Jane's got a fine +lad of her own that she's bringin' up; when you know him ye'll like +him." + +She did not look at him when she answered, but a certain feeling of +relief crept over her. She saw that the captain had buried the past and +intended never to revive it. + +The stern look on his face only gave way when little Ellen came to him +of her own accord and climbing up into his lap said in her broken +English that she heard he was a great captain and that she wanted him +to tell her some stories like her good papa used to tell her. "He was +gray like you," she said, "and big," and she measured the size with her +plump little arms that showed out of her dainty French dress. + +With Doctor John and Captain Holt out of the way Lucy's mind was at +rest. "Nobody else round about Yardley except these two knows," she +kept saying to herself with a bound of relief, "and for these I don't +care. The doctor is Jane's slave, and the captain is evidently wise +enough not to uncover skeletons locked up in his own closet." + +These things settled in her mind, my lady gave herself up to whatever +enjoyment, compatible with her rapidly fading mourning, the simple +surroundings afforded, taking her cue from the conditions that +confronted her and ordering her conduct accordingly and along these +lines: Archie was her adopted nephew, the son of an old friend of +Jane's, and one whom she would love dearly, as, in fact, she would +anybody else whom Jane had brought up; she herself was a gracious widow +of large means recovering from a great sorrow; one who had given up the +delights of foreign courts to spend some time among her dear people who +had loved her as a child. Here for a time would she bring up and +educate her daughter. + +"To be once more at home, and in dear old Warehold, too!" she had said +with upraised Madonna-like eyes and clasped hands to a group of women +who were hanging on every word that dropped from her pretty lips. "Do +you know what that is to me? There is hardly a day I have not longed +for it. Pray, forgive me if I do not come to see you as often as I +would, but I really hate to be an hour outside of the four walls of my +precious home." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A PACKAGE OF LETTERS + + +Under the influence of the new arrival it was not at all strange that +many changes were wrought in the domestic life at Cobden Manor. + +My lady was a sensuous creature, loving color and flowers and the +dainty appointments of life as much in the surroundings of her home as +in the adornment of her person, and it was not many weeks before the +old-fashioned sitting-room had been transformed into a French boudoir. +In this metamorphosis she had used but few pieces of new furniture--one +or two, perhaps, that she had picked up in the village, as well as some +bits of mahogany and brass that she loved--but had depended almost +entirely upon the rearrangement of the heirlooms of the family. With +the boudoir idea in view, she had pulled the old tables out from the +walls, drawn the big sofa up to the fire, spread a rug--one of her +own--before the mantel, hung new curtains at the windows and ruffled +their edges with lace, banked the sills with geraniums and begonias, +tilted a print or two beside the clock, scattered a few books and +magazines over the centre-table, on which she had placed a big, +generous lamp, under whose umbrella shade she could see to read as she +sat in her grandmother's rocking-chair--in fact, had, with that taste +inherent in some women--touched with a knowing hand the dead things +about her and made them live and mean something;--her talisman being an +unerring sense of what contributed to personal comfort. Heretofore +Doctor John had been compelled to drag a chair halfway across the room +in order to sit and chat with Jane, or had been obliged to share her +seat on the sofa, too far from the hearth on cold days to be +comfortable. Now he could either stand on the hearth-rug and talk to +her, seated in one corner of the pulled-up sofa, her work-basket on a +small table beside her, or he could drop into a big chair within reach +of her hand and still feel the glow of the fire. Jane smiled at the +changes and gave Lucy free rein to do as she pleased. Her own nature +had never required these nicer luxuries; she had been too busy, and in +these last years of her life too anxious, to think of them, and so the +room had been left as in the days of her father. + +The effect of the rearrangement was not lost on the neighbors. They at +once noticed the sense of cosiness everywhere apparent, and in +consequence called twice as often, and it was not long before the +old-fashioned sitting-room became a stopping-place for everybody who +had half an hour to spare. + +These attractions, with the aid of a generous hospitality, Lucy did her +best to maintain, partly because she loved excitement and partly +because she intended to win the good-will of her neighbors--those who +might be useful to her. The women succumbed at once. Not only were her +manners most gracious, but her jewels of various kinds, her gowns of +lace and frou-frou, her marvellous hats, her assortment of parasols, +her little personal belongings and niceties--gold scissors, thimbles, +even the violet ribbons that rippled through her transparent +underlaces--so different from those of any other woman they knew--were +a constant source of wonder and delight. To them she was a beautiful +Lady Bountiful who had fluttered down among them from heights above, +and whose departure, should it ever take place, would leave a gloom +behind that nothing could illumine. + +To the men she was more reserved. Few of them ever got beyond a +handshake and a smile, and none of them ever reached the borders of +intimacy. Popularity in a country village could never, she knew, be +gained by a pretty woman without great discretion. She explained her +foresight to Jane by telling her that there was no man of her world in +Warehold but the doctor, and that she wouldn't think of setting her cap +for him as she would be gray-haired before he would have the courage to +propose. Then she kissed Jane in apology, and breaking out into a +rippling laugh that Martha heard upstairs, danced out of the room. + +Little Ellen, too, had her innings; not only was she prettily dressed, +presenting the most joyous of pictures, as with golden curls flying +about her shoulders she flitted in and out of the rooms like a sprite, +but she was withal so polite in her greetings, dropping to everyone a +little French courtesy when she spoke, and all in her quaint, broken +dialect, that everybody fell in love with her at sight. None of the +other mothers had such a child, and few of them knew that such children +existed. + +Jane watched the workings of Lucy's mind with many misgivings. She +loved her lightheartedness and the frank, open way with which she +greeted everybody who crossed their threshold. She loved, too, to see +her beautifully gowned and equipped and to hear the flattering comments +of the neighbors on her appearance and many charms; but every now and +then her ear caught an insincere note that sent a shiver through her. +She saw that the welcome Lucy gave them was not from her heart, but +from her lips; due to her training, no doubt, or perhaps to her +unhappiness, for Jane still mourned over the unhappy years of Lucy's +life--an unhappiness, had she known it, which had really ended with +Archie's safe adoption and Bart's death. Another cause of anxiety was +Lucy's restlessness. Every day she must have some new excitement--a +picnic with the young girls and young men, private theatricals in the +town hall, or excursions to Barnegat Beach, where they were building a +new summer hotel. Now and then she would pack her bag and slip off to +New York or Philadelphia for days at a time to stay with friends she +had met abroad, leaving Ellen with Jane and Martha. To the older sister +she seemed like some wild, untamable bird of brilliant plumage used to +long, soaring flights, perching first on one dizzy height and then +another, from which she could watch the world below. + +The thing, however, which distressed Jane most was Lucy's attitude +towards Archie. She made every allowance for her first meeting at the +station, and knew that necessarily it must be more or less constrained, +but she had not expected the almost cold indifference with which she +had treated the boy ever since. + +As the days went by and Lucy made no effort to attach Archie to her or +to interest herself either in his happiness or welfare, Jane became +more and more disturbed. She had prayed for this home-coming and had +set her heart on the home-building which was sure to follow, and now it +seemed farther off than ever. One thing troubled and puzzled her: while +Lucy was always kind to Archie indoors, kissing him with the others +when she came down to breakfast, she never, if she could help it, +allowed him to walk with her in the village, and she never on any +occasion took him with her when visiting the neighbors. + +"Why not take Archie with you, dear?" Jane had said one morning to +Lucy, who had just announced her intention of spending a few days in +Philadelphia with Max Feilding's sister Sue, whom she had met abroad +when Max was studying in Dresden--Max was still a bachelor, and his +sister kept house for him. He was abroad at the time, but was expected +by every steamer. + +"Archie isn't invited, you old goosie, and he would be as much out of +place in Max's house as Uncle Ephraim Tipple would be in Parliament." + +"But they would be glad to see him if you took him. He is just the age +now when a boy gets impressions which last him through--" + +"Yes, the gawky and stumble-over-things age! Piano-stools, rugs, +anything that comes in his way. And the impressions wouldn't do him a +bit of good. They might, in fact, do him harm," and she laughed merrily +and spread her fingers to the blaze. A laugh was often her best shield. +She had in her time dealt many a blow and then dodged behind a laugh to +prevent her opponent from striking back. + +"But, Lucy, don't you want to do something to help him?" Jane asked in +a pleading tone. + +"Yes, whatever I can, but he seems to me to be doing very well as he +is. Doctor John is devoted to him and the captain idolizes him. He's a +dear, sweet boy, of course, and does you credit, but he's not of my +world, Jane, dear, and I'd have to make him all over again before he +could fit into my atmosphere. Besides, he told me this morning that he +was going off for a week with some fisherman on the beach--some person +by the name of Fogarty, I think." + +"Yes, a fine fellow; they have been friends from their boyhood." She +was not thinking of Fogarty, but of the tone of Lucy's voice when +speaking of her son. + +"Yes--most estimable gentleman, no doubt, this Mr. Fogarty, but then, +dear, we don't invite that sort of people to dinner, do we?" and +another laugh rippled out. + +"Yes, sometimes," answered Jane in all sincerity. "Not Fogarty, because +he would be uncomfortable if he came, but many of the others just as +humble. We really have very few of any other kind. I like them all. +Many of them love me dearly." + +"Not at all strange; nobody can help loving you," and she patted Jane's +shoulder with her jewelled fingers. + +"But you like them, too, don't you? You treat them as if you did." + +Lucy lifted her fluted petticoat, rested her slippered foot on the +fender, glanced down at the embroidered silk stocking covering her +ankle, and said in a graver tone: + +"I like all kinds of people--in their proper place. This is my home, +and it is wise to get along with one's neighbors. Besides, they all +have tongues in their heads like the rest of the human race, and it is +just as well to have them wag for you as against you." + +Jane paused for a moment, her eyes watching the blazing logs, and asked +with almost a sigh: + +"You don't mean, dear, that you never intend to help Archie, do you?" + +"Never is a long word, Jane. Wait till he grows up and I see what he +makes of himself. He is now nothing but a great animal, well built as a +young bull, and about as awkward." + +Jane's eyes flashed and her shoulders straightened. The knife had a +double edge to its blade. + +"He is your own flesh and blood, Lucy," she said with a ring of +indignation in her voice. "You don't treat Ellen so; why should you +Archie?" + +Lucy took her foot from the fender, dropped her skirts, and looked at +Jane curiously. From underneath the half-closed lids of her eyes there +flashed a quick glance of hate--a look that always came into Lucy's +eyes whenever Jane connected her name with Archie's. + +"Let us understand each other, sister," she said icily. "I don't +dislike the boy. When he gets into trouble I'll help him in any way I +can, but please remember he's not my boy--he's yours. You took him from +me with that understanding and I have never asked him back. He can't +love two mothers. You say he has been your comfort all these years. +Why, then, do you want to unsettle his mind?" + +Jane lifted her head and looked at Lucy with searching eyes--looked as +a man looks when someone he must not strike has flung a glove in his +face. + +"Do you really love anything, Lucy?" she asked in a lower voice, her +eyes still fastened on her sister's. + +"Yes, Ellen and you." + +"Did you love her father?" she continued in the same direct tone. + +"Y-e-s, a little-- He was the dearest old man in the world and did his +best to please me; and then he was never very well. But why talk about +him, dear?" + +"And you never gave him anything in return for all his devotion?" Jane +continued in the same cross-examining voice and with the same incisive +tone. + +"Yes, my companionship--whenever I could. About what you give Doctor +John," and she looked at Jane with a sly inquiry as she laughed gently +to herself. + +Jane bit her lips and her face flushed scarlet. The cowardly thrust had +not wounded her own heart. It had only uncovered the love of the man +who lay enshrined in its depths. A sudden sense of the injustice done +him arose in her mind and then her own helplessness in it all. + +"I would give him everything I have, if I could," she answered simply, +all her insistency gone, the tears starting to her eyes. + +Lucy threw her arms about her sister and held her cheek to her own. + +"Dear, I was only in fun; please forgive me. Everything is so solemn to +you. Now kiss me and tell me you love me." + +That night when Captain Holt came in to play with the little "Pond +Lily," as he called Ellen, Jane told him of her conversation with Lucy, +not as a reflection on her sister, but because she thought he ought to +know how she felt toward Archie. The kiss had wiped out the tears, but +the repudiation of Archie still rankled in her breast. + +The captain listened patiently to the end. Then he said with a pause +between each word: + +"She's sailin' without her port and starboard lights, Miss Jane. One o' +these nights with the tide settin' she'll run up ag'in somethin' solid +in a fog, and then--God help her! If Bart had lived he might have come +home and done the decent thing, and then we could git her into port +some'er's for repairs, but that's over now. She better keep her lights +trimmed. Tell her so for me." + +What this "decent thing" was he never said--perhaps he had but a vague +idea himself. Bart had injured Lucy and should have made reparation, +but in what way except by marriage--he, perhaps, never formulated in +his own mind. + +Jane winced under the captain's outburst, but she held her peace. She +knew how outspoken he was and how unsparing of those who differed from +him and she laid part of his denunciation to this cause. + +Some weeks after this conversation the captain started for Yardley to +see Jane on a matter of business, and incidentally to have a romp with +the Pond Lily. It was astonishing how devoted the old sea-dog was to +the child, and how she loved him in return. "My big bear," she used to +call him, tugging away at his gray whiskers. On his way he stopped at +the post-office for his mail. It was mid-winter and the roads were +partly blocked with snow, making walking difficult except for sturdy +souls like Captain Nat. + +"Here, Cap'n Holt, yer jest the man I been a-waitin' for," cried Miss +Tucher, the postmistress, from behind the sliding window. "If you ain't +goin' up to the Cobdens, ye kin, can't ye? Here's a lot o' letters jest +come that I know they're expectin'. Miss Lucy's" (many of the village +people still called her Miss Lucy, not being able to pronounce her dead +husband's name) "come in yesterday and seems as if she couldn't wait. +This storm made everything late and the mail got in after she left. +There ain't nobody comin' out to-day and here's a pile of 'em--furrin' +most of 'em. I'd take 'em myself if the snow warn't so deep. Don't +mind, do ye? I'd hate to have her disapp'inted, for she's jes' 's sweet +as they make 'em." + +"Don't mind it a mite, Susan Tucher," cried the captain. "Goin' there, +anyhow. Got some business with Miss Jane. Lord, what a wad o' them!" + +"That ain't half what she gits sometimes," replied the postmistress, +"and most of 'em has seals and crests stamped on 'em. Some o' them +furrin lords, I guess, she met over there." + +These letters the captain held in his hand when he pushed open the door +of the sitting-room and stood before the inmates in his rough +pea-jacket, his ruddy face crimson with the cold, his half-moon +whiskers all the whiter by contrast. + +"Good-mornin' to the hull o' ye!" he shouted. "Cold as blue blazes +outside, I tell ye, but ye look snug enough in here. Hello, little Pond +Lily! why ain't you out on your sled? Put two more roses in your cheeks +if there was room for 'em. There, ma'am," and he nodded to Lucy and +handed her the letters, "that's 'bout all the mail that come this +mornin'. There warn't nothin' else much in the bag. Susan Tucher asked +me to bring 'em up to you count of the weather and 'count o' your being +in such an all-fired hurry to read 'em." + +Little Ellen was in his arms before this speech was finished and +everybody else on their feet shaking hands with the old salt, except +poor, deaf old Martha, who called out, "Good-mornin', Captain Holt," in +a strong, clear voice, and in rather a positive way, but who kept her +seat by the fire and continued her knitting; and complacent Mrs. +Dellenbaugh, the pastor's wife, who, by reason of her position, never +got up for anybody. + +The captain advanced to the fire, Ellen still in his arms, shook hands +with Mrs. Dellenbaugh and extended three fingers, rough as lobster's +claws and as red, to the old nurse. Of late years he never met Martha +without feeling that he owed her an apology for the way he had treated +her the day she begged him to send Bart away. So he always tried to +make it up to her, although he had never told her why. + +"Hope you're better, Martha? Heard ye was under the weather; was that +so? Ye look spry 'nough now," he shouted in his best quarter-deck voice. + +"Yes, but it warn't much. Doctor John fixed me up," Martha replied +coldly. She had no positive animosity toward the captain--not since he +had shown some interest in Archie--but she could never make a friend of +him. + +During this greeting Lucy, who had regained her chair, sat with the +letters unopened in her lap. None of the eagerness Miss Tucher had +indicated was apparent. She seemed more intent on arranging the folds +of her morning-gown accentuating the graceful outlines of her +well-rounded figure. She had glanced through the package hastily, and +had found the one she wanted and knew that it was there warm under her +touch--the others did not interest her. + +"What a big mail, dear," remarked Jane, drawing up a chair. "Aren't you +going to open it?" The captain had found a seat by the window and the +child was telling him everything she had done since she last saw him. + +"Oh, yes, in a minute," replied Lucy. "There's plenty of time." With +this she picked up the bunch of letters, ran her eye through the +collection, and then, with the greatest deliberation, broke one seal +after another, tossing the contents on the table. Some she merely +glanced at, searching for the signatures and ignoring the contents; +others she read through to the end. One was from Dresden, from a +student she had known there the year before. This was sealed with a +wafer and bore the address of the cafe where he took his meals. Another +was stamped with a crest and emitted a slight perfume; a third was +enlivened by a monogram in gold and began: "Ma chere amie," in a bold +round hand. The one under her hand she did not open, but slipped into +the pocket of her dress. The others she tore into bits and threw upon +the blazing logs. + +"I guess if them fellers knew how short a time it would take ye to +heave their cargo overboard," blurted out the captain, "they'd thought +a spell 'fore they mailed their manifests." + +Lucy laughed good-naturedly and Jane watched the blaze roar up the wide +chimney. The captain settled back in his chair and was about to +continue his "sea yarn," as he called it, to little Ellen, when he +suddenly loosened the child from his arms, and leaning forward in his +seat toward where Jane sat, broke out with: + +"God bless me! I believe I'm wool-gathering. I clean forgot what I come +for. It is you, Miss Jane, I come to see, not this little curly head +that'll git me ashore yet with her cunnin' ways. They're goin' to build +a new life-saving station down Barnegat way. That Dutch brig that come +ashore last fall in that so'easter and all them men drownded could have +been saved if we'd had somethin' to help 'em with. We did all we could, +but that house of Refuge ain't half rigged and most o' the time ye got +to break the door open to git at what there is if ye're in a hurry, +which you allus is. They ought to have a station with everything 'bout +as it ought to be and a crew on hand all the time; then, when somethin' +comes ashore you're right there on top of it. That one down to Squam is +just what's wanted here." + +"Will it be near the new summer hotel?" asked Lucy carelessly, just as +a matter of information, and without raising her eyes from the rings on +her beautiful hands. + +"'Bout half a mile from the front porch, ma'am"--he preferred calling +her so--"from what I hear. 'Tain't located exactly yet, but some'er's +along there. I was down with the Gov'ment agent yesterday." + +"Who will take charge of it, captain?" inquired Jane, reaching over her +basket in search of her scissors. + +"Well, that's what I come up for. They're talkin' about me," and the +captain put his hands behind Ellen's head and cracked his big knuckles +close to her ear, the child laughing with delight as she listened. + +The announcement was received with some surprise. Jane, seeing Martha's +inquiring face, as if she wanted to hear, repeated the captain's words +to her in a loud voice. Martha laid down her knitting and looked at the +captain over her spectacles. + +"Why, would you take it, captain?" Jane asked in some astonishment, +turning to him again. + +"Don't know but I would. Ain't no better job for a man than savin' +lives. I've helped kill a good many; 'bout time now I come 'bout on +another tack. I'm doin' nothin'--haven't been for years. If I could get +the right kind of a crew 'round me--men I could depend on--I think I +could make it go." + +"If you couldn't nobody could, captain," said Jane in a positive way. +"Have you picked out your crew?" + +"Yes, three or four of 'em. Isaac Polhemus and Tom Morgan--Tom sailed +with me on my last voyage--and maybe Tod." + +"Archie's Tod?" asked Jane, replacing her scissors and searching for a +spool of cotton. + +"Archie's Tod," repeated the captain, nodding his head, his big hand +stroking Ellen's flossy curls. "That's what brought me up. I want Tod, +and he won't go without Archie. Will ye give him to me?" + +"My Archie!" cried Jane, dropping her work and staring straight at the +captain. + +"Your Archie, Miss Jane, if that's the way you put it," and he stole a +look at Lucy. She was conscious of his glance, but she did not return +it; she merely continued listening as she twirled one of the rings on +her finger. + +"Well, but, captain, isn't it very dangerous work? Aren't the men often +drowned?" protested Jane. + +"Anything's dangerous 'bout salt water that's worth the doin'. I've +stuck to the pumps seventy-two hours at a time, but I'm here to tell +the tale." + +"Have you talked to Archie?" + +"No, but Tod has. They've fixed it up betwixt 'em. The boy's dead set +to go." + +"Well, but isn't he too young?" + +"Young or old, he's tough as a marline-spike--A1, and copper fastened +throughout. There ain't a better boatman on the beach. Been that way +ever since he was a boy. Won't do him a bit of harm to lead that kind +of life for a year or two. If he was mine it wouldn't take me a minute +to tell what I'd do." + +Jane leaned back in her chair, her eyes on the crackling logs, and +began patting the carpet with her foot. Lucy became engrossed in a book +that lay on the table beside her. She didn't intend to take any part in +the discussion. If Jane wanted Archie to serve as a common sailor that +was Jane's business. Then again, it was, perhaps, just as well for a +number of reasons to have him under the captain's care. He might become +so fond of the sea as to want to follow it all his life. + +"What do you think about it, Lucy?" asked Jane. + +"Oh, I don't know anything about it. I don't really. I've lived so long +away from here I don't know what the young men are doing for a living. +He's always been fond of the sea, has he not, Captain Holt?" + +"Allus," said the captain doggedly; "it's in his blood." Her answer +nettled him. "You ain't got no objections, have you, ma'am?" he asked, +looking straight at Lucy. + +Lucy's color came and went. His tone offended her, especially before +Mrs. Dellenbaugh, who, although she spoke but seldom in public had a +tongue of her own when she chose to use it. She was not accustomed to +being spoken to in so brusque a way. She understood perfectly well the +captain's covert meaning, but she did not intend either to let him see +it or to lose her temper. + +"Oh, not the slightest," she answered with a light laugh. "I have no +doubt that it will be the making of him to be with you. Poor boy, he +certainly needs a father's care." + +The captain winced in turn under the retort and his eyes flashed, but +he made no reply. + +Little Ellen had slipped out of the captain's lap during the colloquy. +She had noticed the change in her friend's tone, and, with a child's +intuition, had seen that the harmony was in danger of being broken. She +stood by the captain's knee, not knowing whether to climb back again or +to resume her seat by the window. Lucy, noticing the child's +discomfort, called to her: + +"Come here, Ellen, you will tire the captain." + +The child crossed the room and stood by her mother while Lucy tried to +rearrange the glossy curls, tangled by too close contact with the +captain's broad shoulder. In the attempt Ellen lost her balance and +fell into her mother's lap. + +"Oh, Ellen!" said her mother coldly; "stand up, dear. You are so +careless. See how you have mussed my gown. Now go over to the window +and play with your dolls." + +The captain noted the incident and heard Lucy's reproof, but he made no +protest. Neither did he contradict the mother's statement that the +little girl had tired him. His mind was occupied with other things--the +tone of the mother's voice for one, and the shade of sadness that +passed over the child's face for another. From that moment he took a +positive dislike to her. + +"Well, think it over, Miss Jane," he said, rising from his seat and +reaching for his hat. "Plenty of time 'bout Archie. Life-savin' house +won't be finished for the next two or three months; don't expect to git +into it till June. Wonder, little Pond Lily, if the weather's goin' to +be any warmer?" He slipped his hand under the child's chin and leaning +over her head peered out of the window. "Don't look like it, does it, +little one? Looks as if the snow would hold on. Hello! here comes the +doctor. I'll wait a bit--good for sore eyes to see him, and I don't git +a chance every day. Ask him 'bout Archie, Miss Jane. He'll tell ye +whether the lad's too young." + +There came a stamping of feet on the porch outside as Doctor John shook +the snow from his boots, and the next instant he stepped into the room +bringing with him all the freshness and sunshine of the outside world. + +"Good-morning, good people," he cried, "every one of you! How very snug +and cosey you look here! Ah, captain, where have you been keeping +yourself? And Mrs. Dellenbaugh! This is indeed a pleasure. I have just +passed the dear doctor, and he is looking as young as he did ten years +ago. And my Lady Lucy! Down so early! Well, Mistress Martha, up again I +see; I told you you'd be all right in a day or two." + +This running fire of greetings was made with a pause before each inmate +of the room--a hearty hand-shake for the bluff captain, the pressing of +Mrs. Dellenbaugh's limp fingers, a low bow to Lucy, and a pat on +Martha's plump shoulder. + +Jane came last, as she always did. She had risen to greet him and was +now unwinding the white silk handkerchief wrapped about his throat and +helping him off with his fur tippet and gloves. + +"Thank you, Jane. No, let me take it; it's rather wet," he added as he +started to lay the heavy overcoat over a chair. "Wait a minute. I've +some violets for you if they are not crushed in my pocket. They came +last night," and he handed her a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. +This done, he took his customary place on the rug with his back to the +blazing logs and began unbuttoning his trim frock-coat, bringing to +view a double-breasted, cream-white waistcoat--he still dressed as a +man of thirty, and always in the fashion--as well as a fluffy scarf +which Jane had made for him with her own fingers. + +"And what have I interrupted?" he asked, looking over the room. "One of +your sea yarns, captain?"--here he reached over and patted the child's +head, who had crept back to the captain's arms--"or some of my lady's +news from Paris? You tell me, Jane," he added, with a smile, opening +his thin, white, almost transparent fingers and holding them behind his +back to the fire, a favorite attitude. + +"Ask the captain, John." She had regained her seat and was reaching out +for her work-basket, the violets now pinned in her bosom--her eyes had +long since thanked him. + +"No, do YOU tell me," he insisted, moving aside the table with her +sewing materials and placing it nearer her chair. + +"Well, but it's the captain who should speak," Jane replied, laughing, +as she looked up into his face, her eyes filled with his presence. "He +has startled us all with the most wonderful proposition. The Government +is going to build a life-saving station at Barnegat beach, and they +have offered him the position of keeper, and he says he will take it if +I will let Archie go with him as one of his crew." + +Doctor John's face instantly assumed a graver look. These forked roads +confronting the career of a young life were important and not to be +lightly dismissed. + +"Well, what did you tell him?" he asked, looking down at Jane in the +effort to read her thoughts. + +"We are waiting for you to decide, John." The tone was the same she +would have used had the doctor been her own husband and the boy their +child. + +Doctor John communed with himself for an instant. "Well, let us take a +vote," he replied with an air as if each and every one in the room was +interested in the decision. "We'll begin with Mistress Martha, and then +Mrs. Dellenbaugh, and then you, Jane, and last our lady from over the +sea. The captain has already sold his vote to his affections, and so +must be counted out." + +"Yes, but don't count me in, please," exclaimed Lucy with a merry laugh +as she arose from her seat. "I don't know a thing about it. I've just +told the dear captain so. I'm going upstairs this very moment to write +some letters. Bonjour, Monsieur le Docteur; bonjour, Monsieur le +Capitaine and Madame Dellenbaugh," and with a wave of her hand and a +little dip of her head to each of the guests, she courtesied out of the +room. + +When the door was closed behind her she stopped in the hall, threw a +glance at her face in the old-fashioned mirror, satisfied herself of +her skill in preserving its beautiful rabbit's-foot bloom and +freshness, gave her blonde hair one or two pats to keep it in place, +rearranged the film of white lace about her shapely throat, and +gathering up the mass of ruffled skirts that hid her pretty feet, +slowly ascended the staircase. + +Once inside her room and while the vote was being taken downstairs that +decided Archie's fate she locked her door, dropped into a chair by the +fire, took the unopened letter from her pocket, and broke the seal. + +"Don't scold, little woman," it read. "I would have written before, but +I've been awfully busy getting my place in order. It's all arranged +now, however, for the summer. The hotel will be opened in June, and I +have the best rooms in the house, the three on the corner overlooking +the sea. Sue says she will, perhaps, stay part of the summer with me. +Try and come up next week for the night. If not I'll bring Sue with me +and come to you for the day. + +"Your own Max." + +For some minutes she sat gazing into the fire, the letter in her hand. + +"It's about time, Mr. Max Feilding," she said at last with a sigh of +relief as she rose from her seat and tucked the letter into her desk. +"You've had string enough, my fine fellow; now it's my turn. If I had +known you would have stayed behind in Paris all these months and kept +me waiting here I'd have seen you safe aboard the steamer. The hotel +opens in June, does it? Well, I can just about stand it here until +then; after that I'd go mad. This place bores me to death." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE BEGINNING OF THE EBB + + +Spring has come and gone. The lilacs and crocuses, the tulips and +buttercups, have bloomed and faded; the lawn has had its sprinkling of +dandelions, and the duff of their blossoms has drifted past the +hemlocks and over the tree-tops. The grass has had its first cutting; +the roses have burst their buds and hang in clusters over the arbors; +warm winds blow in from the sea laden with perfumes from beach and +salt-marsh; the skies are steely blue and the cloud puffs drift lazily. +It is summer-time--the season of joy and gladness, the season of +out-of-doors. + +All the windows at Yardley are open; the porch has donned an +awning--its first--colored white and green, shading big rocking-chairs +and straw tables resting on Turkish rugs. Lucy had wondered why in all +the years that Jane had lived alone at Yardley she had never once +thought of the possibilities of this porch. Jane had agreed with her, +and so, under Lucy's direction, the awnings had been put up and the +other comforts inaugurated. Beneath its shade Lucy sits and reads or +embroiders or answers her constantly increasing correspondence. + +The porch serves too as a reception-room, the vines being thick and the +occupants completely hidden from view. Here Lucy often spreads a small +table, especially when Max Feilding drives over in his London drag from +Beach Haven on Barnegat beach. On these occasions, if the weather is +warm, she refreshes him with delicate sandwiches and some of her late +father's rare Scotch whiskey (shelved in the cellar for thirty years) +or with the more common brands of cognac served in the old family +decanters. + +Of late Max had become a constant visitor. His own ancestors had made +honorable records in the preceding century, and were friends of the +earlier Cobdens during the Revolution. This, together with the fact +that he had visited Yardley when Lucy was a girl--on his first return +from Paris, in fact--and that the acquaintance had been kept up while +he was a student abroad, was reason enough for his coming with such +frequency. + +His drag, moreover, as it whirled into Yardley's gate, gave a certain +air of eclat to the Manor House that it had not known since the days of +the old colonel. Nothing was lacking that money and taste could +furnish. The grays were high-steppers and smooth as satin, the polished +chains rattled and clanked about the pole; the body was red and the +wheels yellow, the lap-robe blue, with a monogram; and the diminutive +boy studded with silver buttons bearing the crest of the Feilding +family was as smart as the tailor could make him. + +And the owner himself, in his whity-brown driving-coat with big pearl +buttons, yellow gloves, and gray hat, looked every inch the person to +hold the ribbons. Altogether it was a most fashionable equipage, owned +and driven by a most fashionable man. + +As for the older residents of Warehold, they had only words of praise +for the turnout. Uncle Ephraim declared that it was a "Jim Dandy," +which not only showed his taste, but which also proved how much broader +that good-natured cynic had become in later years. Billy Tatham gazed +at it with staring eyes as it trundled down the highway and turned into +the gate, and at once determined to paint two of his hacks bright +yellow and give each driver a lap-robe with the letter "T" worked in +high relief. + +The inmates of Yardley were not quite so enthusiastic. Martha was glad +that her bairn was having such a good time, and she would often stand +on the porch with little Ellen's hand in hers and wave to Max and Lucy +as they dashed down the garden road and out through the gate, the tiger +behind; but Jane, with that quick instinct which some women possess, +recognized something in Feilding's manner which she could not put into +words, and so held her peace. She had nothing against Max, but she did +not like him. Although he was most considerate of her feelings and +always deferred to her, she felt that any opposition on her part to +their outings would have made no difference to either one of them. He +asked her permission, of course, and she recognized the courtesy, but +nothing that he ever did or said overcame her dislike of him. + +Doctor John's personal attitude and bearing toward Feilding was an +enigma not only to Jane, but to others who saw it. He invariably +greeted him, whenever they met, with marked, almost impressive +cordiality, but it never passed a certain limit of reserve; a certain +dignity of manner which Max had recognized the first day he shook hands +with him. It recalled to Feilding some of his earlier days, when he was +a student in Paris. There had been a supper in Max's room that ended at +daylight--no worse in its features than dozens of others in the +Quartier--to which an intimate friend of the doctor's had been invited, +and upon which, as Max heard afterward, the doctor had commented rather +severely. + +Max realized, therefore, but too well that the distinguished +physician--known now over half the State--understood him, and his +habits, and his kind as thoroughly as he did his own ease of +instruments. He realized, too, that there was nothing about his present +appearance or surroundings or daily life that could lead so thoughtful +a man of the world as Dr. John Cavendish, of Barnegat, to conclude that +he had changed in any way for the better. + +And yet this young gentleman could never have been accused of burning +his candle at both ends. He had no flagrant vices really--none whose +posters were pasted on the victim's face. Neither cards nor any other +form of play interested him, nor did the wine tempt him when it was +red--or of any other color, for that matter, nor did he haunt the +dressing-rooms of chorus girls and favorites of the hour. His innate +refinement and good taste prevented any such uses of his spare time. +His weakness--for it could hardly be called a vice--was narrowed down +to one infirmity, and one only: this was his inability to be happy +without the exclusive society of some one woman. + +Who the woman might be depended very largely on whom he might be thrown +with. In the first ten years of his majority--his days of poverty when +a student--it had been some girl in exile, like himself. During the +last ten years--since his father's death and his inheritance--it had +been a loose end picked out of the great floating drift--that social +flotsam and jetsam which eddies in and out of the casinos of Nice and +Monte Carlo, flows into Aix and Trouville in summer and back again to +Rome and Cairo in winter--a discontented wife perhaps; or an unmarried +woman of thirty-five or forty, with means enough to live where she +pleased; or it might be some self-exiled Russian countess or +English-woman of quality who had a month off, and who meant to make the +most of it. All most respectable people, of course, without a breath of +scandal attaching to their names--Max was too careful for that--and yet +each and every one on the lookout for precisely the type of man that +Max represented: one never happy or even contented when outside the +radius of a waving fan or away from the flutter of a silken skirt. + +It was in one of these resorts of the idle, a couple of years before, +while Lucy's husband and little Ellen were home in Geneva, that Max had +met her, and where he had renewed the acquaintance of their +childhood--an acquaintance which soon ripened into the closest +friendship. + +Hence his London drag and appointments; hence the yacht and a +four-in-hand--then a great novelty--all of which he had promised her +should she decide to join him at home. Hence, too, his luxuriously +fitted-up bachelor quarters in Philadelphia, and his own comfortable +apartments in his late father's house, where his sister Sue lived; and +hence, too, his cosey rooms in the best corner of the Beach Haven +hotel, with a view overlooking Barnegat Light and the sea. + +None of these things indicated in the smallest degree that this noble +gentleman contemplated finally settling down in a mansion commensurate +with his large means, where he and the pretty widow could enjoy their +married life together; nothing was further from his mind--nothing could +be--he loved his freedom too much. What he wanted, and what he intended +to have, was her undivided companionship--at least for the summer; a +companionship without any of the uncomfortable complications which +would have arisen had he selected an unmarried woman or the wife of +some friend to share his leisure and wealth. + +The woman he picked out for the coming season suited him exactly. She +was blonde, with eyes, mouth, teeth, and figure to his liking (he had +become critical in forty odd years--twenty passed as an expert); +dressed in perfect taste, and wore her clothes to perfection; had a +Continental training that made her mistress of every situation, +receiving with equal ease and graciousness anybody, from a postman to a +prince, sending them away charmed and delighted; possessed money enough +of her own not to be too much of a drag upon him; and--best of all (and +this was most important to the heir of Walnut Hill)--had the best blood +of the State circling in her veins. Whether this intimacy might drift +into something closer, compelling him to take a reef in his sails, +never troubled him. It was not the first time that he had steered his +craft between the Scylla of matrimony and the Charybdis of scandal, and +he had not the slightest doubt of his being able to do it again. + +As for Lucy, she had many plans in view. One was to get all the fun +possible out of the situation; another was to provide for her future. +How this was to be accomplished she had not yet determined. Her plans +were laid, but some of them she knew from past experience might go +astray. On one point she had made up her mind--not to be in a hurry. In +furtherance of these schemes she had for some days--some months, in +fact--been making preparations for an important move. She knew that its +bare announcement would come as a surprise to Jane and Martha and, +perhaps, as a shock, but that did not shake her purpose. She +furthermore expected more or less opposition when they fully grasped +her meaning. This she intended to overcome. Neither Jane nor Martha, +she said to herself, could be angry with her for long, and a few kisses +and an additional flow of good-humor would soon set them to laughing +again. + +To guard against the possibility of a too prolonged interview with +Jane, ending, perhaps, in a disagreeable scene--one beyond her +control--she had selected a sunny summer morning for the stage setting +of her little comedy and an hour when Feilding was expected to call for +her in his drag. She and Max were to make a joint inspection that day +of his new apartment at Beach Haven, into which he had just moved, as +well as the stable containing the three extra vehicles and equine +impedimenta, which were to add to their combined comfort and enjoyment. + +Lucy had been walking in the garden looking at the rose-beds, her arm +about her sister's slender waist, her ears open to the sound of every +passing vehicle--Max was expected at any moment--when she began her +lines. + +"You won't mind, Jane, dear, will you, if I get together a few things +and move over to Beach Haven for a while?" she remarked simply, just as +she might have done had she asked permission to go upstairs to take a +nap. "I think we should all encourage a new enterprise like the hotel, +especially old families like ours. And then the sea air always does me +so much good. Nothing like Trouville air, my dear husband used to tell +me, when I came back in the autumn. You don't mind, do you?" + +"For how long, Lucy?" asked Jane, with a tone of disappointment in her +voice, as she placed her foot on the top step of the porch. + +"Oh, I can't tell. Depends very much on how I like it." As she spoke +she drew up an easy-chair for Jane and settled herself in another. Then +she added carelessly: "Oh, perhaps a month--perhaps two." + +"Two months!" exclaimed Jane in astonishment, dropping into her seat. +"Why, what do you want to leave Yardley for? O Lucy, don't--please +don't go!" + +"But you can come over, and I can come here," rejoined Lucy in a +coaxing tone. + +"Yes; but I don't want to come over. I want you at home. And it's so +lovely here. I have never seen the garden look so beautiful; and you +have your own room, and this little porch is so cosey. The hotel is a +new building, and the doctor says a very damp one, with everything +freshly plastered. He won't let any of his patients go there for some +weeks, he tells me. Why should you want to go? I really couldn't think +of it, dear. I'd miss you dreadfully." + +"You dear old sister," answered Lucy, laying her parasol on the small +table beside her, "you are so old-fashioned. Habit, if nothing else, +would make me go. I have hardly passed a summer in Paris or Geneva +since I left you; and you know how delightful my visits to Biarritz +used to be years ago. Since my marriage I have never stayed in any one +place so long as this. I must have the sea air." + +"But the salt water is right here, Lucy, within a short walk of our +gate, and the air is the same." Jane's face wore a troubled look, and +there was an anxious, almost frightened tone in her voice. + +"No, it is not exactly the same," Lucy answered positively, as if she +had made a life-long study of climate; "and if it were, the life is +very different. I love Warehold, of course; but you must admit that it +is half-asleep all the time. The hotel will be some change; there will +be new people and something to see from the piazzas. And I need it, +dear. I get tired of one thing all the time--I always have." + +"But you will be just as lonely there." Jane in her astonishment was +like a blind man feeling about for a protecting wall. + +"No; Max and his sister will be at Beach Haven, and lots of others I +know. No, I won't be lonely," and an amused expression twinkled in her +eyes. + +Jane sat quite still. Some of Captain Holt's blunt, outspoken +criticisms floated through her brain. + +"Have you any reason for wanting to leave here?" she asked, raising her +eyes and looking straight at Lucy. + +"No, certainly not. How foolish, dear, to ask me! I'm never so happy as +when I am with you." + +"Well, why then should you want to give up your home and all the +comforts you need--your flowers, garden, and everything you love, and +this porch, which you have just made so charming, to go to a damp, +half-completed hotel, without a shrub about it--only a stretch of +desolate sand with the tide going in and out?" There was a tone of +suspicion in Jane's voice that Lucy had never heard from her sister's +lips--never, in all her life. + +"Oh, because I love the tides, if nothing else," she answered with a +sentimental note in her voice. "Every six hours they bring me a new +message. I could spend whole mornings watching the tides come and go. +During my long exile you don't know how I dreamed every night of the +dear tides of Barnegat. If you had been away from all you love as many +years as I have, you would understand how I could revel in the sound of +the old breakers." + +For some moments Jane did not answer. She knew from the tones of Lucy's +voice and from the way she spoke that she did not mean it. She had +heard her talk that way to some of the villagers when she wanted to +impress them, but she had never spoken in the same way to her. + +"You have some other reason, Lucy. Is it Max?" she asked in a strained +tone. + +Lucy colored. She had not given her sister credit for so keen an +insight into the situation. Jane's mind was evidently working in a new +direction. She determined to face the suspicion squarely; the truth +under some conditions is better than a lie. + +"Yes," she replied, with an assumed humility and with a tone as if she +had been detected in a fault and wanted to make a clean breast of it. +"Yes--now that you have guessed it--it IS Max." + +"Don't you think it would be better to see him here instead of at the +hotel?" exclaimed Jane, her eyes still boring into Lucy's. + +"Perhaps"--the answer came in a helpless way--"but that won't do much +good. I want to keep my promise to him if I can." + +"What was your promise?" Jane's eyes lost their searching look for an +instant, but the tone of suspicion still vibrated. + +Lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming on her dress. + +"Well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago in a burst of +generosity I got myself into something of a scrape. Max wants his +sister Sue to spend the summer with him, and I very foolishly promised +to chaperon her. She is delighted over the prospect, for she must have +somebody, and I haven't the heart to disappoint her. Max has been so +kind to me that I hate now to tell him I can't go. That's all, dear. I +don't like to speak of obligations of this sort, and so at first I only +told you half the truth." + +"You should always keep your promise, dear," Jane answered thoughtfully +and with a certain relieved tone. (Sue was nearly thirty, but that did +not occur to Jane.) "But this time I wish you had not promised. I am +sorry, too, for little Ellen. She will miss her little garden and +everything she loves here; and then again, Archie will miss her, and so +will Captain Holt and Martha. You know as well as I do that a hotel is +no place for a child." + +"I am glad to hear you say so. That's why I shall not take her with +me." As she spoke she shot an inquiring glance from the corner of her +eyes at the anxious face of her sister. These last lines just before +the curtain fell were the ones she had dreaded most. + +Jane half rose from her seat. Her deep eyes were wide open, gazing in +astonishment at Lucy. For an instant she felt as if her heart had +stopped beating. + +"And you--you--are not going to take Ellen with you!" she gasped. + +"No, of course not." She saw her sister's agitation, but she did not +intend to notice it. Besides, her expectant ear had caught the sound of +Max's drag as it whirled through the gate. "I always left her with her +grandmother when she was much younger than she is now. She is very +happy here and I wouldn't be so cruel as to take her away from all her +pleasures. Then she loves old people. See how fond she is of the +Captain and Martha! No, you are right. I wouldn't think of taking her +away." + +Jane was standing now, her eyes blazing, her lips quivering. + +"You mean, Lucy, that you would leave your child here and spend two +months away from her?" + +The wheels were crunching the gravel within a rod of the porch. Max had +already lifted his hat. + +"But, sister, you don't understand--" The drag stopped and Max, with +uncovered head, sprang out and extended his hand to Jane. + +Before he could offer his salutations Lucy's joyous tones rang out. + +"Just in the nick of time, Max," she cried. "I've just been telling my +dear sister that I'm going to move over to Beach Haven to-morrow, bag +and baggage, and she is delighted at the news. Isn't it just like her?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +BREAKERS AHEAD + + +The summer-home of Max Feilding, Esq., of Walnut Hill, and of the +beautiful and accomplished widow of the dead Frenchman was located on a +levelled sand-dune in full view of the sea. Indeed, from beneath its +low-hooded porticos and piazzas nothing else could be seen except, +perhaps, the wide sky--gray, mottled, or intensely blue, as the weather +permitted--the stretch of white sand shaded from dry to wet and edged +with tufts of yellow grass; the circling gulls and the tall finger of +Barnegat Light pointing skyward. Nothing, really, but some scattering +buildings in silhouette against the glare of the blinding light--one +the old House of Refuge, a mile away to the north, and nearer by, the +new Life Saving Station (now complete) in charge of Captain Nat Holt +and his crew of trusty surfmen. + +This view Lucy always enjoyed. She would sit for hours under her +awnings and watch the lazy boats crawling in and out of the inlet, or +the motionless steamers--motionless at that distance--slowly unwinding +their threads of smoke. The Station particularly interested her. +Somehow she felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that Archie was at +work and that he had at last found his level among his own people--not +that she wished him any harm; she only wanted him out of her way. + +The hostelry itself was one of those low-roofed, shingle-sided and +shingle-covered buildings common in the earlier days along the Jersey +coast, and now supplanted by more modern and more costly structures. It +had grown from a farm-house and out-buildings to its present state with +the help of an architect and a jig-saw; the former utilizing what +remained of the house and its barns, and the latter transforming plain +pine into open work patterns with which to decorate its gable ends and +facade. When the flags were raised, the hanging baskets suspended in +each loop of the porches, and the merciless, omnipresent and +ever-insistent sand was swept from its wide piazzas and sun-warped +steps it gave out an air of gayety so plausible and enticing that many +otherwise sane and intelligent people at once closed their comfortable +homes and entered their names in its register. + +The amusements of these habitues--if they could be called habitues, +this being their first summer--were as varied as their tastes. There +was a band which played mornings and afternoons in an unpainted pine +pagoda planted on a plot of slowly dying grass and decorated with more +hanging baskets and Chinese lanterns; there was bathing at eleven and +four; and there was croquet on the square of cement fenced about by +poles and clothes-lines at all hours. Besides all this there were +driving parties to the villages nearby; dancing parties at night with +the band in the large room playing away for dear life, with all the +guests except the very young and very old tucked away in twos in the +dark corners of the piazzas out of reach of the lights and the +inquisitive--in short, all the diversions known to such retreats, so +necessary for warding off ennui and thus inducing the inmates to stay +the full length of their commitments. + +In its selection Max was guided by two considerations: it was near +Yardley--this would materially aid in Lucy's being able to join +him--and it was not fashionable and, therefore, not likely to be +overrun with either his own or Lucy's friends. The amusements did not +interest him; nor did they interest Lucy. Both had seen too much and +enjoyed too much on the other side of the water, at Nice, at Monte +Carlo, and Biarritz, to give the amusements a thought. What they wanted +was to be let alone; this would furnish all the excitement either of +them needed. This exclusiveness was greatly helped by the red and +yellow drag, with all its contiguous and connecting impedimenta, a +turnout which never ceased to occupy everybody's attention whenever the +small tiger stood by the heads of the satin-coated grays awaiting the +good pleasure of his master and his lady. Its possession not only +marked a social eminence too lofty for any ordinary habitue to climb to +unless helped up by the proffered hand of the owner, but it prevented +anyone of these would-be climbers from inviting either its owner or his +companion to join in other outings no matter how enjoyable. Such +amusements as they could offer were too simple and old-fashioned for +two distinguished persons who held the world in their slings and who +were whirling it around their heads with all their might. The result +was that their time was their own. + +They filled it at their pleasure. + +When the tide was out and the sand hard, they drove on the beach, +stopping at the new station, chatting with Captain Holt or Archie; or +they strolled north, always avoiding the House of Refuge--that locality +had too many unpleasant associations for Lucy, or they sat on the +dunes, moving back out of the wet as the tide reached them, tossing +pebbles in the hollows, or gathering tiny shells, which Lucy laid out +in rows of letters as she had done when a child. In the afternoon they +drove by way of Yardley to see how Ellen was getting on, or idled about +Warehold, making little purchases at the shops and chatting with the +village people, all of whom would come out to greet them. After dinner +they would generally betake themselves to Max's portico, opening out of +his rooms, or to Lucy's--they were at opposite ends of the long +corridor--where the two had their coffee while Max smoked. + +The opinions freely expressed regarding their social and moral status, +and individual and combined relations, differed greatly in the several +localities in which they were wont to appear. In Warehold village they +were looked upon as two most charming and delightful people, rich, +handsome, and of proper age and lineage, who were exactly adapted to +each other and who would prove it before the year was out, with Pastor +Dellenbaugh officiating, assisted by some dignitary from Philadelphia. + +At the hostelry many of the habitues had come to a far different +conclusion. Marriage was not in either of their heads, they maintained; +their intimacy was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship dating +back to childhood--they were cousins really--Max being the dearest and +most unselfish creature in the world, he having given up all his +pleasures elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious lady +whose grief was still severe and who would really be quite alone in the +world were it not for her little daughter, now temporarily absent. + +This summary of facts, none of which could be questioned, was +supplemented and enriched by another conclusive instalment from Mrs. +Walton Coates, of Chestnut Plains, who had met Lucy at Aix the year +before, and who therefore possessed certain rights not vouchsafed to +the other habitues of Beach Haven--an acquaintance which Lucy, for +various reasons, took pains to encourage--Mrs. C.'s social position +being beyond question, and her house and other appointments more than +valuable whenever Lucy should visit Philadelphia: besides, Mrs. +Coates's own and Lucy's apartments joined, and the connecting door of +the two sitting-rooms was often left open, a fact which established a +still closer intimacy. This instalment, given in a positive and rather +lofty way, made plain the fact that in her enforced exile the +distinguished lady not only deserved the thanks of every habitue of the +hotel, but of the whole country around, for selecting the new +establishment in which to pass the summer, instead of one of the more +fashionable resorts elsewhere. + +This outburst of the society leader, uttered in the hearing of a +crowded piazza, had occurred after a conversation she had had with Lucy +concerning little Ellen. + +"Tell me about your little daughter," Mrs. Coates had said. "You did +not leave her abroad, did you?" + +"Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Coates! I am really here on my darling's +account," Lucy answered with a sigh. "My old home is only a short +distance from here. But the air does not agree with me there, and so I +came here to get a breath of the real sea. Ellen is with her aunt, my +dear sister Jane. I wanted to bring her, but really I hadn't the heart +to take her from them; they are so devoted to her. Max loves her +dearly. He drives me over there almost every day. I really do not know +how I could have borne all the sorrows I have had this year without +dear Max. He is like a brother to me, and SO thoughtful. You know we +have known each other since we were children. They tell such dreadful +stories, too, about him, but I have never seen that side of him, he's a +perfect saint to me." + +From that time on Mrs. Coates was her loyal mouthpiece and devoted +friend. Being separated from one's child was one of the things she +could not brook; Lucy was an angel to stand it as she did. As for +Max--no other woman had ever so influenced him for good, nor did she +believe any other woman could. + +At the end of the second week a small fly no larger than a pin's head +began to develop in the sunshine of their amber. It became visible to +the naked eye when Max suddenly resolved to leave his drag, his tiger, +his high-stepping grays, and his fair companion, and slip over to +Philadelphia--for a day or two, he explained. His lawyer needed him, he +said, and then again he wanted to see his sister Sue, who had run down +to Walnut Hill for the day. (Sue, it might as well be stated, had not +yet put in an appearance at Beach Haven, nor had she given any notice +of her near arrival; a fact which had not disturbed Lucy in the least +until she attempted to explain to Jane.) + +"I've got to pull up, little woman, and get out for a few days," Max +had begun. "Morton's all snarled up, he writes me, over a mortgage, and +I must straighten it out. I'll leave Bones [the tiger] and everything +just as it is. Don't mind, do you?" + +"Mind! Of course I do!" retorted Lucy. "When did you get this +marvellous idea into that wonderful brain of yours, Max? I intended to +go to Warehold myself to-morrow." She spoke with her usual good-humor, +but with a slight trace of surprise and disappointment in her tone. + +"When I opened my mail this morning; but my going won't make any +difference about Warehold. Bones and the groom will take care of you." + +Lucy leaned back in her chair and looked over the rail of the porch. +She had noticed lately a certain restraint in Max's manner which was +new to her. Whether he was beginning to get bored, or whether it was +only one of his moods, she could not decide--even with her acute +knowledge of similar symptoms. That some change, however, had come over +him she had not the slightest doubt. She never had any trouble in +lassoing her admirers. That came with a glance of her eye or a lift of +her pretty shoulders: nor for that matter in keeping possession of them +as long as her mood lasted. + +"Whom do you want to see in Philadelphia, Max?" she asked, smiling +roguishly at him. She held him always by presenting her happiest and +most joyous side, whether she felt it or not. + +"Sue and Morton--and you, you dear girl, if you'll come along." + +"No; I'm not coming along. I'm too comfortable where I am. Is this +woman somebody you haven't told me of, Max?" she persisted, looking at +him from under half-closed lids. + +"Your somebodies are always thin air, little girl; you know everything +I have ever done in my whole life," Max answered gravely. She had for +the last two weeks. + +Lucy threw up her hands and laughed so loud and cheerily that an +habitue taking his morning constitutional on the boardwalk below turned +his head in their direction. The two were at breakfast under the +awnings of Lucy's portico, Bones standing out of range. + +"You don't believe it?" + +"Not one word of it, you fraud; nor do you. You've forgotten one-half +of all you've done and the other half you wouldn't dare tell any woman. +Come, give me her name. Anybody Sue knows?" + +"Nobody that anybody knows, Honest John." Then he added as an +after-thought, "Are you sorry?" As he spoke he rose from his seat and +stood behind her chair looking down over her figure. She had her back +to him. He thought he had never seen her look so lovely. She was +wearing a light-blue morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and a +wide Leghorn hat--the morning costume of all others he liked her best +in. + +"No--don't think I am," she answered lightly. "Fact is I was getting +pretty tired of you. How long will you be gone?" + +"Oh, I think till the end of the week--not longer." He reached over the +chair and was about to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coil +of her hair, when he checked himself and straightened up. One of those +sudden restraints which had so puzzled Lucy had seized him. She could +not see his face, but she knew from the tones of his voice that the +enthusiasm of the moment had cooled. + +Lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes. +She was always entrancing from this point of view: the upturned +eyelashes, round of the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swelling +shoulders were like no other woman's he knew. + +"I don't want you to go, Max," she said in the same coaxing tone of +voice that Ellen might have used in begging for sugar-plums. "Just let +the mortgage and old Morton and everybody else go. Stay here with me." + +Max straightened up and threw out his chest and a determined look came +into his eyes. If he had had any doubts as to his departure Lucy's +pleading voice had now removed them. + +"No, can't do it," he answered in mock positiveness. "Can't 'pon my +soul. Business is business. Got to see Morton right away; ought to have +seen him before." Then he added in a more serious tone, "Don't get +worried if I stay a day or two longer." + +"Well, then, go, you great bear, you," and she rose to her feet and +shook out her skirts. "I wouldn't let you stay, no matter what you +said." She was not angry--she was only feeling about trying to put her +finger on the particular button that controlled Max's movements. +"Worried? Not a bit of it. Stay as long as you please." + +There WAS a button, could she have found it. It was marked "Caution," +and when pressed communicated to the heir of Walnut Hill the +intelligence that he was getting too fond of the pretty widow and that +his only safety lay in temporary flight. It was a favorite trick of +his. In the charting of his course he had often found two other rocks +beside Scylla and Charybdis in his way; one was boredom and the other +was love. When a woman began to bore him, or he found himself liking +her beyond the limit of his philosophy, he invariably found relief in +change of scene. Sometimes it was a sick aunt or a persistent lawyer or +an engagement nearly forgotten and which must be kept at all hazards. +He never, however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger. + +"Now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her shoulder with his +fingers. "You know I don't want to leave you. I shall be perfectly +wretched while I'm gone, but there's no help for it. Morton's such a +fussy old fellow--always wanting to do a lot of things that can, +perhaps, wait just as well as not. Hauled me down from Walnut Hill half +a dozen times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell. But this +time it's important and I must go. Bones," and he lifted his finger to +the boy, "tell John I want the light wagon. I'll take the 11.12 to +Philadelphia." + +The tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention, his finger at his +eyebrow. Lucy turned her face toward the boy. "No, Bones, you'll do +nothing of the kind. You tell John to harness the grays to the drag. +I'll go to the station with Mr. Feilding." + +Max shrugged his shoulders. He liked Lucy for a good many things--one +was her independence, another was her determination to have her own +way. Then, again, she was never so pretty as when she was a trifle +angry; her color came and went so deliciously and her eyes snapped so +charmingly. Lucy saw the shrug and caught the satisfied look in his +face. She didn't want to offend him and yet she didn't intend that he +should go without a parting word from her--tender or otherwise, as +circumstances might require. She knew she had not found the button, and +in her doubt determined for the present to abandon the search. + +"No, Bones, I've changed my mind," she called to the boy, who was now +half way down the piazza. "I don't think I will go. I'll stop here, +Max, and do just what you want me to do," she added in a softened +voice. "Come along," and she slipped her hand in his and the two walked +toward the door of his apartments. + +When the light wagon and satin-skinned sorrel, with John on the seat +and Bones in full view, stopped at the sanded porch, Mrs. Coates and +Lucy formed part of the admiring group gathered about the turn-out. All +of Mr. Feilding's equipages brought a crowd of onlookers, no matter how +often they appeared--he had five with him at Beach Haven, including the +four-in-hand which he seldom used--but the grays and the light wagon, +by common consent, were considered the most "stylish" of them all, not +excepting the drag. + +After Max had gathered the reins in his hands, had balanced the whip, +had settled himself comfortably and with a wave of his hand to Lucy had +driven off, Mrs. Coates slipped her arm through my lady's and the two +slowly sauntered to their rooms. + +"Charming man, is he not?" Mrs. Coates ventured. "Such a pity he is not +married! You know I often wonder whom such men will marry. Some pretty +school-girl, perhaps, or prim woman of forty." + +Lucy laughed. + +"No," she answered, "you are wrong. The bread-and-butter miss would +never suit Max, and he's past the eye-glass and side-curl age. The next +phase, if he ever reaches it, will be somebody who will make him +do--not as he pleases, but as SHE pleases. A man like Max never cares +for a woman any length of time who humors his whims." + +"Well, he certainly was most attentive to that pretty Miss Billeton. +You remember her father was lost overboard four years ago from his +yacht. Mr. Coates told me he met her only a day or so ago; she had come +down to look after the new ball-room they are adding to the old house. +You know her, don't you?" + +"No--never heard of her. How old is she?" rejoined Lucy in a careless +tone. + +"I should say twenty, maybe twenty-two--you can't always tell about +these girls; very pretty and very rich. I am quite sure I saw Mr. +Feilding driving with her just before he moved his horses down here, +and she looked prettier than ever. But then he has a new flame every +month, I hear." + +"Where were they driving?" There was a slight tone of curiosity in +Lucy's voice. None of Max's love-affairs ever affected her, of course, +except as they made for his happiness; all undue interest, therefore, +was out of place, especially before Mrs. Coates. + +"I don't remember. Along the River Road, perhaps--he generally drives +there when he has a pretty woman with him." + +Lucy bit her lip. Some other friend, then, had been promised the drag +with the red body and yellow wheels! This was why he couldn't come to +Yardley when she wrote for him. She had found the button. It rang up +another woman. + +The door between the connecting sitting-rooms was not opened that day, +nor that night, for that matter. Lucy pleaded a headache and wished to +be alone. She really wanted to look the field over and see where her +line of battle was weak. Not that she really cared--unless the girl +should upset her plans; not as Jane would have cared had Doctor John +been guilty of such infidelity. The eclipse was what hurt her. She had +held the centre of the stage with the lime-light full upon her all her +life, and she intended to retain it against Miss Billeton or Miss +Anybody else. She decided to let Max know at once, and in plain terms, +giving him to understand that she didn't intend to be made a fool of, +reminding him at the same time that there were plenty of others who +cared for her, or who would care for her if she should but raise her +little finger. She WOULD raise it, too, even if she packed her trunks +and started for Paris--and took him with her. + +These thoughts rushed through her mind as she sat by the window and +looked out over the sea. The tide was making flood, and the +fishing-boats anchored in the inlet were pointing seaward. She could +see, too, the bathers below and the children digging in the sand. Now +and then a boat would head for the inlet, drop its sail, and swing +round motionless with the others. Then a speck would break away from +the anchored craft and with the movement of a water-spider land the +fishermen ashore. + +None of these things interested her. She could not have told whether +the sun shone or whether the sky was fair or dull. Neither was she +lonely, nor did she miss Max. She was simply +angry--disgusted--disappointed at the situation; at herself, at the +woman who had come between them, at the threatened failure of her +plans. One moment she was building up a house of cards in which she +held all the trumps, and the next instant she had tumbled it to the +ground. One thing she was determined upon--not to take second place. +She would have all of him or none of him. + +At the end of the third day Max returned. He had not seen Morton, nor +any of his clerks, nor anybody connected with his office. Neither had +he sent him any message or written him any letter. Morton might have +been dead and buried a century so far as Max or his affairs were +concerned. Nor had he laid his eyes on the beautiful Miss Billeton; nor +visited her house; nor written her any letters; nor inquired for her. +What he did do was to run out to Walnut Hill, have a word with his +manager, and slip back to town again and bury himself in his club. Most +of the time he read the magazines, some pages two or three times over. +Once he thought he would look up one or two of his women friends at +their homes--those who might still be in town--and then gave it up as +not being worth the trouble. At the end of the third day he started for +Barnegat. The air was bad in the city, he said to himself, and +everybody he met was uninteresting. He would go back, hitch up the +grays, and he and Lucy have a spin down the beach. Sea air always did +agree with him, and he was a fool to leave it. + +Lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram sent over from +Warehold. She was dressed in her very best: a double-breasted jacket +and straw turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. Her cheeks were like +two red peonies and her eyes bright as diamonds. She was perched up in +the driver's seat of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with the +skill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger, did not spring into his +perch as they whirled from the station in the direction of the beach. +His company was not wanted. + +They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and of Morton; of how hot +it was in town and how cool it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates and +of pater-familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach Haven; of the +dance the night before--Max leading in the conversation and she +answering either in mono-syllables or not at all, until Max hazarded +the statement that he had been bored to death waiting for Morton, who +never put in an appearance, and that the only human being, male or +female, he had seen in town outside the members of the club, was Sue. + +They had arrived off the Life-Saving Station now, and Archie had called +the captain to the door, and both stood looking at them, the boy waving +his hand and the captain following them with his eyes. Had either of +them caught the captain's remark they, perhaps, would have drawn rein +and asked for an explanation: + +"Gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? Looks as if they was runnin' to a +fire!" + +But they didn't hear it; would not, probably have heard it, had the +captain shouted it in their ears. Lucy was intent on opening up a +subject which had lain dormant in her mind since the morning of Max's +departure, and the gentleman himself was trying to cipher out what new +"kink," as he expressed it to himself, had "got it into her head." + +When they had passed the old House of Refuge Lucy drew rein and stopped +the drag where the widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe the +horses' feet. She was still uncertain as to how she would lead up to +the subject-matter without betraying her own jealousy or, more +important still, without losing her temper. This she rarely displayed, +no matter how goading the provocation. Nobody had any use for an +ill-tempered woman, not in her atmosphere; and no fly that she had ever +known had been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. There might be +vinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but they were kept behind +closed doors and sampled only when she was alone. As she sat looking +out to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusual +mood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set her +course for the inlet. + +"That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. "She's making for +Farguson's ship-yard. She runs between Amboy and Barnegat--Captain +Ambrose Farguson sails her." At times like these any topic was good +enough to begin on. + +"How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner from +under her half-closed lids. The voice came like the thin piping of a +flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to let +everybody know it was present. + +"One of my carriages was shipped by her. I paid Captain Farguson the +freight just before I went away." + +"What's her name?"--slight tremolo--only a note or two. + +"The Polly Walters," droned Max, talking at random, mind neither on the +sloop nor her captain. + +"Named after his wife?" The flute-like notes came more crisply. + +"Yes, so he told me." Max had now ceased to give any attention to his +answers. He had about made up his mind that something serious was the +matter and that he would ask her and find out. + +"Ought to be called the Max Feilding, from the way she tacks about. +She's changed her course three times since I've been watching her." + +Max shot a glance athwart his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the +pretty lips thinned and straightened and the half-closed eyes and +wrinkled forehead. He was evidently the disturbing cause, but in what +way he could not for the life of him see. That she was angry to the +tips of her fingers was beyond question; the first time he had seen her +thus in all their acquaintance. + +"Yes-that would fit her exactly," he answered with a smile and with a +certain soothing tone in his voice. "Every tack her captain makes +brings him the nearer to the woman he loves." + +"Rather poetic, Max, but slightly farcical. Every tack you make lands +you in a different port--with a woman waiting in every one of them." +The first notes of the overture had now been struck. + +"No one was waiting in Philadelphia for me except Sue, and I only met +her by accident," he said good-naturedly, and in a tone that showed he +would not quarrel, no matter what the provocation; "she came in to see +her doctor. Didn't stay an hour." + +"Did you take her driving?" This came in a thin, piccolo tone-barely +enough room for it to escape through her lips. All the big drums and +heavy brass were now being moved up. + +"No; had nothing to take her out in. Why do you ask? What has happened, +little--" + +"Take anybody else?" she interrupted. + +"No." + +He spoke quite frankly and simply. At any other time she would have +believed him. She had always done so in matters of this kind, partly +because she didn't much care and partly because she made it a point +never to doubt the word of a man, either by suspicion or inference, who +was attentive to her. This time she did care, and she intended to tell +him so. All she dreaded was that the big horns and the tom-toms would +get away from her leadership and the hoped-for, correctly played +symphony end in an uproar. + +"Max," she said, turning her head and lifting her finger at him with +the movement of a conductor's baton, "how can you lie to me like that? +You never went near your lawyer; you went to see Miss Billeton, and +you've spent every minute with her since you left me. Don't tell me you +didn't. I know everything you've done, and--" Bass drums, bass viols, +bassoons--everything--was loose now. + +She had given up her child to be with him! Everything, in fact--all her +people at Yardley; her dear old nurse. She had lied to Jane about +chaperoning Sue--all to come down and keep him from being lonely. What +she wanted was a certain confidence in return. It made not the +slightest difference to her how many women he loved, or how many women +loved him; she didn't love him, and she never would; but unless she was +treated differently from a child and like the woman that she was, she +was going straight back to Yardley, and then back to Paris, etc., etc. + +She knew, as she rushed on in a flood of abuse such as only a woman can +let loose when she is thoroughly jealous and entirely angry, that she +was destroying the work of months of plotting, and that he would be +lost to her forever, but she was powerless to check the torrent of her +invective. Only when her breath gave out did she stop. + +Max had sat still through it all, his eyes expressing first +astonishment and then a certain snap of admiration, as he saw the color +rising and falling in her cheeks. It was not the only time in his +experience that he had had to face similar outbursts. It was the first +time, however, that he had not felt like striking back. Other women's +outbreaks had bored him and generally had ended his interest in +them--this one was more charming than ever. He liked, too, her American +pluck and savage independence. Jealous she certainly was, but there was +no whine about it; nor was there any flop at the close--floppy women he +detested--had always done so. Lucy struck straight out from her +shoulder and feared nothing. + +As she raged on, the grays beating the water with their well-polished +hoofs, he continued to sit perfectly still, never moving a muscle of +his face nor changing his patient, tolerant expression. The best plan, +he knew, was to let all the steam out of the boiler and then gradually +rake the fires. + +"My dear little woman,"' he began, "to tell you the truth, I never laid +eyes on Morton; didn't want to, in fact. All that was an excuse to get +away. I thought you wanted a rest, and I went away to let you have it. +Miss Billeton I haven't seen for three months, and couldn't if I would, +for she is engaged to her cousin and is now in Paris buying her wedding +clothes. I don't know who has been humbugging you, but they've done it +very badly. There is not one word of truth in what you've said from +beginning to end." + +There is a certain ring in a truthful statement that overcomes all +doubts. Lucy felt this before Max had finished. She felt, too, with a +sudden thrill, that she still held him. Then there came the +instantaneous desire to wipe out all traces of the outburst and keep +his good-will. + +"And you swear it?" she asked, her belief already asserting itself in +her tones, her voice falling to its old seductive pitch. + +"On my honor as a man," he answered simply. + +For a time she remained silent, her mind working behind her mask of +eyes and lips, the setting sun slanting across the beach and lighting +up her face and hair, the grays splashing the suds with their impatient +feet. Max kept his gaze upon her. He saw that the outbreak was over and +that she was a little ashamed of her tirade. He saw, too, man of the +world as he was, that she was casting about in her mind for some way in +which she could regain for herself her old position without too much +humiliation. + +"Don't say another word, little woman," he said in his kindest tone. +"You didn't mean a word of it; you haven't been well lately, and I +oughtn't to have left you. Tighten up your reins; we'll drive on if you +don't mind." + +That night after the moon had set and the lights had been turned out +along the boardwalk and the upper and lower porticos and all Beach +Haven had turned in for the night, and Lucy had gone to her apartments, +and Mr. and Mrs. Coates and the rest of them, single and double, were +asleep, Max, who had been pacing up and down his dressing-room, stopped +suddenly before his mirror, and lifting the shade from the lamp, made a +critical examination of his face. + +"Forty, and I look it!" he said, pinching his chin with his thumb and +forefinger, and turning his cheek so that the light would fall on the +few gray hairs about his temples. "That beggar Miggs said so yesterday +at the club. By gad, how pretty she was, and how her eyes snapped! I +didn't think it was in her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE SWEDE'S STORY + + +Captain Holt had selected his crew--picked surfmen, every one of +them--and the chief of the bureau had endorsed the list without comment +or inquiry. The captain's own appointment as keeper of the new +Life-Saving Station was due as much to his knowledge of men as to his +skill as a seaman, and so when his list was sent in--men he said he +could "vouch for"--it took but a moment for the chief to write +"Approved" across its face. + +Isaac Polhemus came first: Sixty years of age, silent, gray, thick-set; +face scarred and seamed by many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; two +china-blue eyes--peep-holes through which you looked into his open +heart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood hands a bunch of knots; +legs like snubbing-posts, body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking; +alert as a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a stove when +his time was his own. Sixty only in years, this man; forty in strength +and in skill, twenty in suppleness, and a one-year-old toddling infant +in all that made for guile. "Uncle Ike" some of the younger men once +called him, wondering behind their hands whether he was not too old and +believing all the time that he was. "Uncle Ike" they still called him, +but it was a title of affection and pride; affection for the man +underneath the blue woollen shirt, and pride because they were deemed +worthy to pull an oar beside him. + +The change took place the winter before when he was serving at +Manasquan and when he pulled four men single-handed from out of a surf +that would have staggered the bravest. There was no life-boat within +reach and no hand to help. It was at night--a snowstorm raging and the +sea a corral of hungry beasts fighting the length of the beach. The +shipwrecked crew had left their schooner pounding on the outer bar, and +finding their cries drowned by the roar of the waters, had taken to +their boat. She came bow on, the sea-drenched sailors clinging to her +sides. Uncle Isaac Polhemus caught sight of her just as a savage +pursuing roller dived under her stern, lifted the frail shell on its +broad back, and whirled it bottom side up and stern foremost on to the +beach. Dashing into the suds, he jerked two of the crew to their feet +before they knew what had struck them; then sprang back for the others +clinging to the seats and slowly drowning in the smother. Twice he +plunged headlong after them, bracing himself against the backsuck, then +with the help of his steel-like grip all four were dragged clear of the +souse. Ever after it was "Uncle Isaac" or "that old hang-on," but +always with a lifting of the chin in pride. + +Samuel Green came next: Forty-five, long, Lincoln-bodied, and bony; +coal-black hair, coal-black eyes, and charcoal-black mustache; neck +like a loop in standing rigging; arms long as cant-hooks, with the +steel grips for fingers; sluggish in movement and slow in action until +the supreme moment of danger tautened his nerves to breaking point; +then came an instantaneous spring, quick as the recoil of a parted +hawser. All his life a fisherman except the five years he spent in the +Arctic and the year he served at Squan; later he had helped in the +volunteer crew alongshore. Loving the service, he had sent word over to +Captain Holt that he'd like "to be put on," to which the captain had +sent back word by the same messenger "Tell him he IS put on." And he +WAS, as soon as the papers were returned from Washington. Captain Nat +had no record to look up or inquiries to make as to the character or +fitness of Sam Green. He was the man who the winter before had slipped +a rope about his body, plunged into the surf and swam out to the brig +Gorgus and brought back three out of the five men lashed to the +rigging, all too benumbed to make fast the shot-line fired across her +deck. + +Charles Morgan's name followed in regular order, and then Parks--men +who had sailed with Captain Holt, and whose word and pluck he could +depend upon; and Mulligan from Barnegat, who could pull a boat with the +best of them; and last, and least in years, those two slim, tightly +knit, lithe young tiger-cats, Tod and Archie. + +Captain Nat had overhauled each man and had inspected him as closely as +he would have done the timber for a new mast or the manila to make its +rigging. Here was a service that required cool heads, honest hearts, +and the highest technical skill, and the men under him must be sound to +the core. He intended to do his duty, and so should every man subject +to his orders. The Government had trusted him and he held himself +responsible. This would probably be his last duty, and it would be well +done. He was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been idle for +years. Now he would show his neighbors something of his skill and his +power to command. He did not need the pay; he needed the occupation and +the being in touch with the things about him. For the last fifteen or +more years he had nursed a sorrow and lived the life almost of a +recluse. It was time he threw it off. + +During the first week of service, with his crew about him, he explained +to them in minute detail their several duties. Each day in the week +would have its special work: Monday would be beach drill, practising +with the firing gun and line and the safety car. Tuesday was boat +drill; running the boat on its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloading +it, and pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars poised, +the others springing in and taking their seats beside their mates. On +Wednesdays flag drills; practising with the international code of +signals, so as to communicate with stranded vessels. Thursdays, beach +apparatus again. Friday, resuscitation of drowning men. Saturday, +scrub-day; every man except himself and the cook (each man was cook in +turn for a week) on his knees with bucket and brush, and every floor, +chair, table, and window scoured clean. Sunday, a day of rest, except +for the beach patrol, which at night never ceased, and which by day +only ceased when the sky was clear of snow and fog. + +This night patrol would be divided into watches of four hours each at +eight, twelve, and four. Two of the crew were to make the tramp of the +beach, separating opposite the Station, one going south two and a half +miles to meet the surfman from the next Station, and the other going +north to the inlet; exchanging their brass checks each with the other, +as a record of their faithfulness. + +In addition to these brass checks each patrol would carry three Coston +signal cartridges in a water-proof box, and a holder into which they +were fitted, the handle having an igniter working on a spring to +explode the cartridge, which burned a red light. These +will-o'-the-wisps, flashed suddenly from out a desolate coast, have +sent a thrill of hope through the heart of many a man clinging to +frozen rigging or lashed to some piece of wreckage that the hungry +surf, lying in wait, would pounce upon and chew to shreds. + +The men listened gravely to the captain's words and took up their +duties. Most of them knew them before, and no minute explanations were +necessary. Skilled men understand the value of discipline and prefer it +to any milder form of government. Archie was the only member who raised +his eyes in astonishment when the captain, looking his way, mentioned +the scrubbing and washing, each man to take his turn, but he made no +reply except to nudge Tod and say under his breath: + +"Wouldn't you like to see Aunt Lucy's face when she comes some Saturday +morning? She'll be pleased, won't she?" As to the cooking, that did not +bother him; he and Tod had cooked many a meal on Fogarty's stove, and +mother Fogarty had always said Archie could beat her any day making +biscuit and doughnuts and frying ham. + +Before the second week was out the Station had fallen into its regular +routine. The casual visitor during the sunny hours of the soft +September days when practice drill was over might see only a lonely +house built on the sand; and upon entering, a few men leaning back in +their chairs against the wall of the living-room reading the papers or +smoking their pipes, and perhaps a few others leisurely overhauling the +apparatus, making minor repairs, or polishing up some detail the +weather had dulled. At night, too, with the radiance of the moon making +a pathway of silver across the gentle swell of the sleepy surf, he +would doubtless wonder at their continued idle life as he watched the +two surfmen separate and begin their walk up and down the beach radiant +in the moonlight. But he would change his mind should he chance upon a +north-easterly gale, the sea a froth in which no boat could live, the +slant of a sou'wester the only protection against the cruel lash of the +wind. If this glimpse was not convincing, let him stand in the door of +their house in the stillness of a winter's night, and catch the shout +and rush of the crew tumbling from their bunks at the cry of "Wreck +ashore!" from the lips of some breathless patrol who had stumbled over +sand-dunes or plunged through snowdrifts up to his waist to give +warning. It will take less than a minute to swing wide the doors, +grapple the life-boat and apparatus and whirl them over the dunes to +the beach; and but a moment more to send a solid shot flying through +the air on its mission of mercy. And there is no time lost. Ten men +have been landed in forty-five minutes through or over a surf that +could be heard for miles; rescuers and rescued half dead. But no man +let go his grip nor did any heart quail. Their duty was in front of +them; that was what the Government paid for, and that was what they +would earn--every penny of it. + +The Station house in order, the captain was ready for visitors--those +he wanted. Those he did not want--the riffraff of the ship-yard and the +loungers about the taverns--he told politely to stay away; and as the +land was Government property and his will supreme, he was obeyed. + +Little Ellen had been the first guest, and by special invitation. + +"All ready, Miss Jane, for you and the doctor and the Pond Lily; bring +her down any time. That's what kind o' makes it lonely lyin' shut up +with the men. We ain't got no flowers bloomin' 'round, and the sand +gits purty white and blank-lookin' sometimes. Bring her down, you and +the doctor; she's better'n a pot full o' daisies." + +The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over in his gig, Jane, beside +him, holding the child in her lap. And Archie helped them out, lifting +his good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts and all--the +crew standing about looking on. Some of them knew Jane and came in for +a hearty handshake, and all of them knew the doctor. There was hardly a +man among them whose cabin he had not visited--not once, but dozens of +times. + +With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless frock, the child, +among those big men, some in their long hip boots and rough reefing +jackets, looked like some fairy that had come in with the morning mist +and who might be off on the next breeze. + +Archie had her hugged close to his breast and had started in to show +her the cot where he slept, the kitchen where he was to cook, and the +peg in the hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins--every +surfman had his peg, order being imperative with Captain Nat--when that +old sea-dog caught the child out of the young fellow's arms and placed +her feet on the sand. + +"No, Cobden,"--that was another peculiarity of the captain's,--every +man went by his last name, and he had begun with Archie to show the men +he meant it. "No, that little posy is mine for to-day. Come along, you +rosebud; I'm goin' to show you the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gun +on wheels; and I've got a lot o' shells the men has been pickin' up for +ye. Oh, but you're goin' to have a beautiful time, lassie!" + +The child looked up in the captain's face, and her wee hand tightened +around his rough stubs of fingers. Archie then turned to Jane and with +Tod's help the three made a tour of the house, the doctor following, +inspecting the captain's own room with its desk and papers, the kitchen +with all its appointments, the outhouse for wood and coal, the +staircase leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top the +small ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where the lookout kept +watch on clear days for incoming steamers. On their return Mulligan +spread a white oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china plate +filled with some cake that he had baked the night before, and which +Green supplemented by a pitcher of water from the cistern. + +Each one did something to please her. Archie handed her the biggest +piece of cake on the dish, and Uncle Isaac left the room in a hurry and +stumbling upstairs went through his locker and hauled out the head of a +wooden doll which he had picked up on the beach in one of his day +patrols and which he had been keeping for one of his +grand-children--all blighted with the sun and scarred with salt water, +but still showing a full set of features, much to Ellen's delight; and +Sam Green told her of his own little girl, just her age, who lived up +in the village and whom he saw every two weeks, and whose hair was just +the color of hers. Meanwhile the doctor chatted with the men, and Jane, +with her arm locked in Archie's, so proud and so tender over him, +inspected each appointment and comfort of the house with +ever-increasing wonder. + +And so, with the visit over, the gig was loaded up, and with Ellen +waving her hand to the men and kissing her finger-tips in true French +style to the captain and Archie, and the crew responding in a hearty +cheer, the party drove, past the old House of Refuge, and so on back to +Warehold and Yardley. + +One August afternoon, some days after this visit, Tod stood in the door +of the Station looking out to sea. The glass had been falling all day +and a dog-day haze had settled down over the horizon. This, as the +afternoon advanced, had become so thick that the captain had ordered +out the patrols, and Archie and Green were already tramping the +beach--Green to the inlet and Archie to meet the surfmen of the station +below. Park, who was cook this week, had gone to the village for +supplies, and so the captain and Tod were alone in the house, the +others, with the exception of Morgan, who was at his home in the +village with a sprained ankle, being at work some distance away on a +crosshead over which the life-line was always fired in gun practice. + +Suddenly Tod, who was leaning against the jamb of the door speculating +over what kind of weather the night would bring, and wondering whether +the worst of it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck out of his +woollen shirt and strained his eyes in the direction of the beach until +they rested upon the figure of a man slowly making his way over the +dunes. As he passed the old House of Refuge, some hundreds of yards +below, he stopped for a moment as if undecided on his course, looked +ahead again at the larger house of the Station, and then, as if +reassured, came stumbling on, his gait showing his want of experience +in avoiding the holes and tufts of grass cresting the dunes. His +movements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood +that Tod stepped out on the low porch of the Station to get a better +view of him. + +From the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as if +feeling his way, Tod concluded that he was a stranger and had tramped +the beach for the first time. At the sight of the surfman the man left +the dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch. + +"Kind o' foggy, ain't it?" + +"Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure, +particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign air +about them. He saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not +over thirty years of age. + +"You work here?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and coming +closer, his eyes taking in Tod, the porch, and the view of the +sitting-room through the open window. + +"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face. + +"Good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat. + +"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and enough to do." He had +resumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectly +impassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind. Strangers who +asked questions were never very welcome. Then, again, the inquiry about +his private life nettled him. + +The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat, +settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from his +head, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. +Then he said slowly, as if to himself: + +"I took the wrong road and got consid'able het up." + +Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cotton +handkerchief, but made no reply. Curiosity is not the leading +characteristic of men who follow the sea. + +"Is the head man around? His name's Holt, ain't it?" continued the +stranger, replacing his cap and stuffing his handkerchief into the +side-pocket of his coat. + +As the words fell from his lips Tod's quick eye caught a sudden gleam +like that of a search-light flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows of +the speaker. + +"That's his name," answered Tod. "Want to see him? He's inside." The +surfman had not yet changed his position nor moved a muscle of his +body. Tiger cats are often like this. + +Captain Holt's burly form stepped from the door. He had overheard the +conversation, and not recognizing the voice had come to find out what +the man wanted. + +"You lookin' for me? I'm Captain Holt. What kin I do for ye?" asked the +captain in his quick, imperious way. + +"That's what he said, sir," rejoined Tod, bringing himself to an erect +position in deference to his chief. + +The stranger rose from his seat and took his cap from his head. + +"I'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and I thought you might take me +on." + +Tod was now convinced that the stranger was a foreigner. No man of +Tod's class ever took his hat off to his superior officer. They had +other ways of showing their respect for his authority--instant +obedience, before and behind his back, for instance. + +The captain's eyes absorbed the man from his thick shoes to his +perspiring hair. + +"Norwegian, ain't ye?" + +"No, sir; Swede." + +"Not much difference. When did ye leave Sweden? You talk purty good." + +"When I was a boy." + +"What kin ye do?" + +"I'm a good derrick man and been four years with a coaler." + +"You want steady work, I suppose." + +The stranger nodded. + +"Well, I ain't got it. Gov'ment app'ints our men. This is a Life-Saving +Station." + +The stranger stood twisting his cap. The first statement seemed to make +but little impression on him; the second aroused a keener interest. + +"Yes, I know. Just new built, ain't it? and you just put in charge? +Captain Nathaniel Holt's your name--am I right?" + +"Yes, you're just right." And the captain, dismissing the man and the +incident from his mind, turned on his heel, walked the length of the +narrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the blurred horizon line. +The twilight was now deepening and a red glow shimmered through the +settling fog. + +"Fogarty!" cried the captain, beckoning over his shoulder with his head. + +Tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick in reply as if two +steel springs were fastened to his heels. + +"Looks rather soapy, Fogarty. May come on thick. Better take a turn to +the inlet and see if that yawl is in order. We might have to cross it +to-night. We can't count on this weather. When you meet Green send him +back here. That shot-line wants overhaulin'." Here the captain +hesitated and looked intently at the stranger. "And here, you Swede," +he called in a louder tone of command, "you go 'long and lend a hand, +and when you come back I'll have some supper for ye." + +One of Tod's springs must have slid under the Swede's shoes. Either the +prospect of a meal or of having a companion to whom he could lend a +hand--nothing so desolate as a man out of work--a stranger at that--had +put new life into his hitherto lethargic body. + +"This way," said Tod, striding out toward the surf. + +The Swede hurried to his side and the two crossed the boat runway, +ploughed through the soft drift of the dune, and striking the hard, wet +sand of the beach, headed for the inlet. Tod having his high, +waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the incoming surf, the +half-circles of suds swashing past his feet and spreading themselves up +the slope. The sand was wet here and harder on that account, and the +walking better. The Swede took the inside course nearer the shore. Soon +Tod began to realize that the interest the captain had shown in the +unknown man and the brief order admitting him for a time to membership +in the crew placed the stranger on a different footing. He was, so to +speak, a comrade and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy. +This clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more freedom; not that he +had any additional interest in the man--he only meant to be polite. + +"What you been workin' at?" he asked, kicking an empty tin can that the +tide had rolled within his reach. Work is the universal topic; the +weather is too serious a subject to chatter about lightly. + +"Last year or two?" asked the Swede, quickening his pace to keep up. +Tod's steel springs always kept their original temper while the +captain's orders were being executed and never lost their buoyancy +until these orders were entirely carried out. + +"Yes," replied Tod. + +"Been a-minin'; runnin' the ore derricks and the shaft h'isters. What +you been doin'?" And the man glanced at Tod from under his cap. + +"Fishin'. See them poles out there? You kin just git sight o' them in +the smoke. Them's my father's. He's out there now, I guess, if he ain't +come in." + +"You live 'round here?" The man's legs were shorter than Tod's, and he +was taking two steps to Tod's one. + +"Yes, you passed the House o' Refuge, didn't ye, comin' up? I was +watchin' ye. Well, you saw that cabin with the fence 'round it?" + +"Yes; the woman told me where I'd find the cap'n. You know her, I +s'pose?" asked the Swede. + +"Yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. I was born there." Tod's +words were addressed to the perspective of the beach and to the way the +haze blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything else when walking +on the beach, whether on or off duty. + +"You know everybody 'round here, don't you?" remarked the Swede in a +casual tone. The same quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man's +eyes. + +"Yes, guess so," answered Tod with another kick. Here the remains of an +old straw hat shared the fate of the can. + +"You ever heard tell of a woman named Lucy Cobden, lives 'round here +somewheres?" + +Tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run into a derelict. + +"I don't know no WOMAN," he answered slowly, accentuating the last +word. "I know a LADY named Miss Jane Cobden. Why?" and he scrutinized +the man's face. + +"One I mean's got a child--big now--must be fifteen or twenty years +old--girl, ain't it?" + +"No, it's a boy. He's one of the crew here; his name's Archie Cobden. +Me and him's been brothers since we was babies. What do you know about +him?" Tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace. + +"Nothin'; that's why I ask." The man had also become interested in the +flotsam of the beach, and had stopped to pick up a dam-shell which he +shied into the surf. Then he added slowly, and as if not to make a +point of the inquiry, "Is she alive?" + +"Yes. Here this week. Lives up in Warehold in that big house with the +brick gate-posts." + +The man walked on for some time in silence and then asked: + +"You're sure the child is livin' and that the mother's name is Jane?" + +"Sure? Don't I tell ye Cobden's in the crew and Miss Jane was here this +week! He's up the beach on patrol or you'd 'a' seen him when you fust +struck the Station." + +The stranger quickened his steps. The information seemed to have put +new life into him again. + +"Did you ever hear of a man named Bart Holt," he asked, "who used to be +'round here?" Neither man was looking at the other as they talked. The +conversation was merely to pass the time of day. + +"Yes; he's the captain's son. Been dead for years. Died some'er's out +in Brazil, so I've heard my father say. Had fever or something." + +The Swede walked on in silence for some minutes. Then he stopped, faced +Tod, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said slowly, as he peered +into his eyes: + +"He ain't dead, no more'n you and I be. I worked for him for two years. +He run the mines on a percentage. I got here last week, and he sent me +down to find out how the land lay. If the woman was dead I was to say +nothing and come back. If she was alive I was to tell the captain, his +father, where a letter could reach him. They had some bad blood 'twixt +'em, but he didn't tell me what it was about. He may come home here to +live, or he may go back to the mines; it's just how the old man takes +it. That's what I've got to say to him. How do you think he'll take it?" + +For a moment Tod made no reply. He was trying to make up his mind what +part of the story was true and what part was skilfully put together to +provide, perhaps, additional suppers. The improbability of the whole +affair struck him with unusual force. Raising hopes of a long-lost son +in the breast of a father was an old dodge and often meant the raising +of money. + +"Well, I can't say," Tod answered carelessly; he had his own opinion +now of the stranger. "You'll have to see the captain about that. If the +man's alive it's rather funny he ain't showed up all these years." + +"Well, keep mum 'bout it, will ye, till I talk to him? Here comes one +o' your men." + +Green's figure now loomed up out of the mist. + +"Where away, Tod?" the approaching surfman cried when he joined the two. + +"Captain wants me to look after the yawl," answered Tod. + +"It's all right," cried Green; "I just left it. Went down a-purpose. +Who's yer friend?" + +"A man the cap'n sent along to lend a hand. This is Sam Green," and he +turned to the Swede and nodded to his brother surfman. + +The two shook hands. The stranger had not volunteered his name and Tod +had not asked for it. Names go for little among men who obey orders; +they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, but they do +not add to the value of the owner or help his standing in any way. +"Shorty" or "Fatty" or "Big Mike" is all sufficient. What the man can +DO and how he does it, is more important. + +"No use goin' to the inlet," continued Green. "I'll report to the +captain. Come along back. I tell ye it's gettin' thick," and he looked +out across the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dim +twilight. + +The three turned and retraced their steps. + +Tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house ahead of the others. +Not only did he intend to tell the captain of what he had heard, but he +intended to tell him at once. + +Captain Holt was in his private room, sitting at his desk, busy over +his monthly report. A swinging kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling +threw a light full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of gray +whiskers. Tod stepped in and closed the door behind him. + +"I didn't go to the inlet, sir. Green had thought of the yawl and had +looked after it; he'll report to you about it. I just heard a strange +yarn from that fellow you sent with me and I want to tell ye what it +is." + +The captain laid down his pen, pushed his glasses from his eyes, and +looked squarely into Tod's face. + +"He's been askin' 'bout Miss Jane Cobden and Archie, and says your son +Bart is alive and sent him down here to find out how the land lay. It's +a cock-and-bull story, but I give it to you just as I got it." + +Once in the South Seas the captain awoke to look into the muzzle of a +double-barrelled shot-gun held in the hand of the leader of a mutiny. +The next instant the man was on the floor, the captain's fingers +twisted in his throat. + +Tod's eyes were now the barrels of that gun. No cat-like spring +followed; only a cold, stony stare, as if he were awaking from a +concussion that had knocked the breath out of him. + +"He says Bart's ALIVE!" he gasped. "Who? That feller I sent with ye?" + +"Yes." + +The captain's face grew livid and then flamed up, every vein standing +clear, his eyes blazing. + +"He's a liar! A dirty liar! Bring him in!" Each word hissed from his +lips like an explosive. + +Tod opened the door of the sitting-room and the Swede stepped in. The +captain whirled his chair suddenly and faced him. Anger, doubt, and the +flicker of a faint hope were crossing his face with the movement of +heat lightning. + +"You know my son, you say?" + +"I do." The answer was direct and the tone positive. + +"What's his name?" + +"Barton Holt. He signs it different, but that's his name." + +"How old is he?" The pitch of the captain's voice had altered. He +intended to riddle the man's statement with a cross-fire of examination. + +"'Bout forty, maybe forty-five. He never told + +"What kind of eyes?" + +"Brown, like yours." + +"What kind of hair?" + +"Curly. It's gray now; he had fever, and it turned." + +"Where--when?" Hope and fear were now struggling for the mastery. + +"Two years ago--when I first knew him; we were in hospital together." + +"What's he been doin'?" The tone was softer. Hope seemed to be stronger +now. + +"Mining out in Brazil." + +The captain took his eyes from the face of the man and asked in +something of his natural tone of voice: + +"Where is he now?" + +The Swede put his hand in his inside pocket and took out a small +time-book tied around with a piece of faded tape. This he slowly +unwound, Tod's and the captain's eyes following every turn of his +fingers. Opening the book, he glanced over the leaves, found the one he +was looking for, tore it carefully from the book, and handed it to the +captain. + +"That's his writing. If you want to see him send him a line to that +address. It'll reach him all right. If you don't want to see him he'll +go back with me to Rio. I don't want yer supper and I don't want yer +job. I done what I promised and that's all there is to it. Good-night," +and he opened the door and disappeared in the darkness. + +Captain Holt sat with his head on his chest looking at the floor in +front of him. The light of the banging lamp made dark shadows under his +eyebrows and under his chin whiskers. There was a firm set to his +clean-shaven lips, but the eyes burned with a gentle light; a certain +hope, positive now, seemed to be looming up in them. + +Tod watched him for an instant, and said: + +"What do ye think of it, cap'n?" + +"I ain't made up my mind." + +"Is he lyin'?" + +"I don't know. Seems too good to be true. He's got some things right; +some things he ain't. Keep your mouth shut till I tell ye to open +it--to Cobden, mind ye, and everybody else. Better help Green overhaul +that line. That'll do, Fogarty." + +Tod dipped his head--his sign of courteous assent--and backed out of +the room. The captain continued motionless, his eyes fixed on space. +Once he turned, picked up the paper, scrutinized the handwriting word +for word, and tossed it back on the desk. Then he rose from his seat +and began pacing the floor, stopping to gaze at a chart on the wall, at +the top of the stove, at the pendulum of the clock, surveying them +leisurely. Once he looked out of the window at the flare of light from +his swinging lamp, stencilled on the white sand and the gray line of +the dunes beyond. At each of these resting-places his face assumed a +different expression; hope, fear, and anger again swept across it as +his judgment struggled with his heart. In one of his turns up and down +the small room he laid his hand on a brick lying on the +window-sill--one that had been sent by the builders of the Station as a +sample. This he turned over carefully, examining the edges and color as +if he had seen it for the first time and had to pass judgment upon its +defects or merits. Laying it back in its place, he threw himself into +his chair again, exclaiming aloud, as if talking to someone: + +"It ain't true. He'd wrote before if he were alive. He was wild and +keerless, but he never was dirt-mean, and he wouldn't a-treated me so +all these years. The Swede's a liar, I tell ye!" + +Wheeling the chair around to face the desk, he picked up a pen, dipped +it into the ink, laid it back on the desk, picked it up again, opened a +drawer on his right, took from it a sheet of official paper, and wrote +a letter of five lines. This he enclosed in the envelope, directed to +the name on the slip of paper. Then he opened the door. + +"Fogarty." + +"Yes, cap'n." + +"Take this to the village and drop it in the post yourself. The +weather's clearin', and you won't be wanted for a while," and he strode +out and joined his men. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN + + +September weather on Barnegat beach! Fine gowns and fine hats on the +wide piazzas of Beach Haven! Too cool for bathing, but not too cool to +sit on the sand and throw pebbles and loll under kindly umbrellas; air +fresh and bracing, with a touch of June in it; skies full of +mares'-tails--slips of a painter's brush dragged flat across the film +of blue; sea gone to rest; not a ripple, no long break of the surf, +only a gentle lift and fall like the breathing of a sleeping child. + +Uncle Isaac shook his head when he swept his eye round at all this +loveliness; then he turned on his heel and took a look at the aneroid +fastened to the wall of the sitting-room of the Life-Saving Station. +The arrow showed a steady shrinkage. The barometer had fallen six +points. + +"What do ye think, Captain Holt?" asked the old surfman. + +"I ain't thinkin', Polhemus; can't tell nothin' 'bout the weather this +month till the moon changes; may go on this way for a week or two, or +it may let loose and come out to the sou'-east I've seen these dog-days +last till October." + +Again Uncle Isaac shook his head, and this time kept his peace; now +that his superior officer had spoken he had no further opinion to +express. + +Sam Green dropped his feet to the floor, swung himself over to the +barometer, gazed at it for a moment, passed out of the door, swept his +eye around, and resumed his seat--tilted back against the wall. What +his opinion might be was not for publication--not in the captain's +hearing. + +Captain Holt now consulted the glass, picked up his cap bearing the +insignia of his rank, and went out through the kitchen to the land side +of the house. The sky and sea--feathery clouds and still, oily +flatness--did not interest him this September morning. It was the +rolling dune that caught his eye, and the straggly path that threaded +its way along the marshes and around and beyond the clump of scrub +pines and bushes until it was lost in the haze that hid the village. +This land inspection had been going on for a month, and always when Tod +was returning from the post-office with the morning mail. The men had +noticed it, but no one had given vent to his thoughts. + +Tod, of course, knew the cause of the captain's impatience, but no one +of the others did, not even Archie; time enough for that when the +Swede's story was proved true. If the fellow had lied that was an end +to it; if he had told the truth Bart would answer, and the mystery be +cleared up. This same silence had been maintained toward Jane and the +doctor; better not raise hopes he could not verify--certainly not in +Jane's breast. + +Not that he had much hope himself; he dared not hope. Hope meant a prop +to his old age; hope meant joy to Jane, who would welcome the prodigal; +hope meant relief to the doctor, who could then claim his own; hope +meant redemption for Lucy, a clean name for Archie, and honor to +himself and his only son. + +No wonder, then, that he watched for an answer to his letter with +feverish impatience. His own missive had been blunt and to the point, +asking the direct question: "Are you alive or dead, and if alive, why +did you fool me with that lie about your dying of fever in a hospital +and keep me waiting all these years?" Anything more would have been +superfluous in the captain's judgment--certainly until he received some +more definite information as to whether the man was his son. + +Half a dozen times this lovely September morning the captain had +strolled leisurely out of the back door and had mounted the low hillock +for a better view. Suddenly a light flashed in his face, followed by a +look in his eyes that they had not known for weeks--not since the Swede +left. The light came when his glance fell upon Tod's lithe figure +swinging along the road; the look kindled when he saw Tod stop and wave +his hand triumphantly over his head. + +The letter had arrived! + +With a movement as quick as that of a horse touched by a whip, he +started across the sand to meet the surfman. + +"Guess we got it all right this time, captain," cried Tod. "It's got +the Nassau postmark, anyhow. There warn't nothin' else in the box but +the newspapers," and he handed the package to his chief. + +The two walked to the house and entered the captain's office. Tod hung +back, but the captain laid his hand on his shoulder. + +"Come in with me, Fogarty. Shut the door. I'll send these papers in to +the men soon's I open this." + +Tod obeyed mechanically. There was a tone in the captain's voice that +was new to him. It sounded as if he were reluctant to be left alone +with the letter. + +"Now hand me them spectacles." + +Tod reached over and laid the glasses in his chief's hand. The captain +settled himself deliberately in his revolving chair, adjusted his +spectacles, and slit the envelope with his thumb-nail. Out came a sheet +of foolscap closely written on both sides. This he read to the end, +turning the page as carefully as if it had been a set of official +instructions, his face growing paler and paler, his mouth tight shut. +Tod stood beside him watching the lights and shadows playing across his +face. The letter was as follows: + + +"Nassau, No. 4 Calle Valenzuela, + +"Aug. 29, 18--. + +"Father: Your letter was not what I expected, although it is, perhaps, +all I deserve. I am not going into that part of it, now I know that +Lucy and my child are alive. What has been done in the past I can't +undo, and maybe I wouldn't if I could, for if I am worth anything +to-day it comes from what I have suffered; that's over now, and I won't +rake it up, but I think you would have written me some word of kindness +if you had known what I have gone through since I left you. I don't +blame you for what you did--I don't blame anybody; all I want now is to +get back home among the people who knew me when I was a boy, and try +and make up for the misery I have caused you and the Cobdens. I would +have done this before, but it has only been for the last two years that +I have had any money. I have got an interest in the mine now and am +considerably ahead, and I can do what I have always determined to do if +I ever had the chance and means--come home to Lucy and the child; it +must be big now--and take them back with me to Bolivia, where I have a +good home and where, in a few years, I shall be able to give them +everything they need. That's due to her and to the child, and it's due +to you; and if she'll come I'll do my best to make her happy while she +lives. I heard about five years ago from a man who worked for a short +time in Farguson's ship-yard how she was suffering, and what names the +people called the child, and my one thought ever since has been to do +the decent thing by both. I couldn't then, for I was living in a hut +back in the mountains a thousand miles from the coast, or tramping from +place to place; so I kept still. He told me, too, how you felt toward +me, and I didn't want to come and have bad blood between us, and so I +stayed on. When Olssen Strom, my foreman, sailed for Perth Amboy, where +they are making some machinery for the company, I thought I'd try +again, so I sent him to find out. One thing in your letter is wrong. I +never went to the hospital with yellow fever; some of the men had it +aboard ship, and I took one of them to the ward the night I ran away. +The doctor at the hospital wanted my name, and I gave it, and this may +have been how they thought it was me, but I did not intend to deceive +you or anybody else, nor cover up any tracks. Yes, father, I'm coming +home. If you'll hold out your hand to me I'll take it gladly. I've had +a hard time since I left you; you'd forgive me if you knew how hard it +has been. I haven't had anybody out here to care whether I lived or +died, and I would like to see how it feels. But if you don't I can't +help it. My hope is that Lucy and the boy will feel differently. There +is a steamer sailing from here next Wednesday; she goes direct to +Amboy, and you may expect me on her. Your son, + +"Barton." + + +"It's him, Tod," cried the captain, shaking the letter over his head; +"it's him!" The tears stood in his eyes now, his voice trembled; his +iron nerve was giving way. "Alive, and comin' home! Be here next week! +Keep the door shut, boy, till I pull myself together. Oh, my God, Tod, +think of it! I haven't had a day's peace since I druv him out nigh on +to twenty year ago. He hurt me here"--and he pointed to his +breast--"where I couldn't forgive him. But it's all over now. He's come +to himself like a man, and he's square and honest, and he's goin' to +stay home till everything is straightened out. O God! it can't be true! +it CAN'T be true!" + +He was sobbing now, his face hidden by his wrist and the cuff of his +coat, the big tears striking his pea-jacket and bounding off. It had +been many years since these springs had yielded a drop--not when +anybody could see. They must have scalded his rugged cheeks as molten +metal scalds a sand-pit. + +Tod stood amazed. The outburst was a revelation. He had known the +captain ever since he could remember, but always as an austere, +exacting man. + +"I'm glad, captain," Tod said simply; "the men'll be glad, too. Shall I +tell 'em?" + +The captain raised his head. + +"Wait a minute, son." His heart was very tender, all discipline was +forgotten now; and then he had known Tod from his boyhood. "I'll go +myself and tell 'em," and he drew his hand across his eyes as if to dry +them. "Yes, tell 'em. Come, I'll go 'long with ye and tell 'em myself. +I ain't 'shamed of the way I feel, and the men won't be 'shamed +neither." + +The sitting-room was full when he entered. Dinner had been announced by +Morgan, who was cook that week, by shouting the glad tidings from his +place beside the stove, and the men were sitting about in their chairs. +Two fishermen who had come for their papers occupied seats against the +wall. + +The captain walked to the corner of the table, stood behind his own +chair and rested the knuckles of one hand on the white oilcloth. The +look on his face attracted every eye. Pausing for a moment, he turned +to Polhemus and spoke to him for the others: + +"Isaac, I got a letter just now. Fogarty brought it over. You knew my +boy Bart, didn't ye, the one that's been dead nigh on to twenty years?" + +The old surfman nodded, his eyes still fastened on the captain. This +calling him "Isaac" was evidence that something personal and unusual +was coming. The men, too, leaned forward in attention; the story of +Bart's disappearance and death had been discussed up and down the coast +for years. + +"Well, he's alive," rejoined the captain with a triumphant tone in his +voice, "and he'll be here in a week--comin' to Amboy on a steamer. +There ain't no mistake about it; here's his letter." + +The announcement was received in dead silence. To be surprised was not +characteristic of these men, especially over a matter of this kind. +Death was a part of their daily experience, and a resurrection neither +extraordinary nor uncommon. They were glad for the captain, if the +captain was glad--and he, evidently was. But what did Bart's turning up +at this late day mean? Had his money given out, or was he figuring to +get something out of his father--something he couldn't get as long as +he remained dead? + +The captain continued, his voice stronger and with a more positive ring +in it: + +"He's part owner in a mine now, and he's comin' home to see me and to +straighten out some things he's interested in." It was the first time +in nearly twenty years that he had ever been able to speak of his son +with pride. + +A ripple of pleasure went through the room. If the prodigal was +bringing some money with him and was not to be a drag on the captain, +that put a new aspect on the situation. In that case the father was to +be congratulated. + +"Well, that's a comfort to you, captain," cried Uncle Isaac in a cheery +tone. "A good son is a good thing. I never had one, dead or alive, but +I'd 'a' loved him if I had had. I'm glad for you, Captain Nat, and I +know the men are." (Polhemus's age and long friendship gave him this +privilege. Then, of course, the occasion was not an official one.) + +"Been at the mines, did ye say, captain?" remarked Green. Not that it +was of any interest to him; merely to show his appreciation of the +captain's confidence. This could best be done by prolonging the +conversation. + +"Yes, up in the mountains of Brazil some'er's, I guess, though he don't +say," answered the captain in a tone that showed that the subject was +still open for discussion. + +Mulligan now caught the friendly ball and tossed it back 'with: + +"I knowed a feller once who was in Brazil--so he said. Purty hot down +there, ain't it, captain?" + +"Yes; on the coast. I ain't never been back in the interior." + +Tod kept silent. It was not his time to speak, nor would it be proper +for him, nor necessary. His chief knew his opinion and sympathies and +no word of his could add to their sincerity. + +Archie was the only man in the room, except Uncle Isaac, who regarded +the announcement as personal to the captain. Boys without fathers and +fathers without boys had been topics which had occupied his mind ever +since he could remember. That this old man had found one of his own +whom he loved and whom he wanted to get his arms around, was an +inspiring thought to Archie. + +"There's no one happier than I am, captain," he burst out +enthusiastically. "I've often heard of your son, and of his going away +and of your giving him up for dead. I'm mighty glad for you," and he +grasped his chief's hand and shook it heartily. + +As the lad's fingers closed around the rough hand of the captain a +furtive look flashed from out Morgan's eyes. It was directed to +Parks--they were both Barnegat men--and was answered by that surfman +with a slow-falling wink. Tod saw it, and his face flushed. Certain +stories connected with Archie rose in his mind; some out of his +childhood, others since he had joined the crew. + +The captain's eyes filled as he shook the boy's hand, but he made no +reply to Archie's outburst. Pausing for a moment, as if willing to +listen to any further comments, and finding that no one else had any +word for him, he turned on his heel and reentered his office. + +Once inside, he strode to the window and looked out on the dunes, his +big hands hooked behind his back, his eyes fixed on vacancy. + +"It won't be long, now, Archie, not long, my lad," he said in a low +voice, speaking aloud to himself. "I kin say you're my grandson out +loud when Bart comes, and nothin' kin or will stop me! And now I kin +tell Miss Jane." + +Thrusting the letter into his inside pocket, he picked up his cap, and +strode across the dune in the direction of the new hospital. + +Jane was in one of the wards when the captain sent word to her to come +to the visiting-room. She had been helping the doctor in an important +operation. The building was but half way between the Station and +Warehold, which made it easier for the captain to keep his eye on the +sea should there be any change in the weather. + +Jane listened to the captain's outburst covering the announcement that +Bart was alive without a comment. Her face paled and her breathing came +short, but she showed no signs of either joy or sorrow. She had faced +too many surprises in her life to be startled at anything. Then again, +Bart alive or dead could make no difference now in either her own or +Lucy's future. + +The captain continued, his face brightening, his voice full of hope: + +"And your troubles are all over now, Miss Jane; your name will be +cleared up, and so will Archie's, and the doctor'll git his own, and +Lucy kin look everybody in the face. See what Bart says," and he handed +her the open letter. + +Jane read it word by word to the end and handed it back to the captain. +Once in the reading she had tightened her grasp on her chair as if to +steady herself, but she did not flinch; she even read some sentences +twice, so that she might be sure of their meaning. + +In his eagerness the captain had not caught the expression of agony +that crossed her face as her mind, grasping the purport of the letter, +began to measure the misery that would follow if Bart's plan was +carried out. + +"I knew how ye'd feel," he went on, "and I've been huggin' myself ever +since it come when I thought how happy ye'd be when I told ye; but I +ain't so sure 'bout Lucy. What do you think? Will she do what Bart +wants?" + +"No," said Jane in a quiet, restrained voice; "she will not do it." + +"Why?" said the captain in a surprised tone. He was not accustomed to +be thwarted in anything he had fixed his mind upon, and he saw from +Jane's expression that her own was in opposition. + +"Because I won't permit it." + +The captain leaned forward and looked at Jane in astonishment. + +"You won't permit it!" + +"No, I won't permit it." + +"Why?" The word came from the captain as if it had been shot from a gun. + +"Because it would not be right." Her eyes were still fixed on the +captain's. + +"Well, ain't it right that he should make some amends for what he's +done?" he retorted with increasing anger. "When he said he wouldn't +marry her I druv him out; now he says he's sorry and wants to do +squarely by her and my hand's out to him. She ain't got nothin' in her +life that's doin' her any good. And that boy's got to be baptized right +and take his father's name, Archie Holt, out loud, so everybody kin +hear." + +Jane made no answer except to shake her head. Her eyes were still on +the captain's, but her mind was neither on him nor on what fell from +his lips. She was again confronting that spectre which for years had +lain buried and which the man before her was exorcising back to life. + +The captain sprang from his seat and stood before her; the words now +poured from his lips in a torrent. + +"And you'll git out from this death blanket you been sleepin' under, +bearin' her sin; breakin' the doctor's heart and your own; and Archie +kin hold his head up then and say he's got a father. You ain't heard +how the boys talk 'bout him behind his back. Tod Fogarty's stuck to +him, but who else is there 'round here? We all make mistakes; that's +what half the folks that's livin' do. Everything's been a lie--nothin' +but lies--for near twenty years. You've lived a lie motherin' this boy +and breakin' your heart over the whitest man that ever stepped in shoe +leather. Doctor John's lived a lie, tellin' folks he wanted to devote +himself to his hospital when he'd rather live in the sound o' your +voice and die a pauper than run a college anywhere else. Lucy has lived +a lie, and is livin' it yet--and LIKES IT, TOO, that's the worst of it. +And I been muzzled all these years; mad one minute and wantin' to twist +his neck, and the next with my eyes runnin' tears that the only boy I +got was lyin' out among strangers. The only one that's honest is the +little Pond Lily. She ain't got nothin' to hide and you see it in her +face. Her father was square and her mother's with her and nothin' can't +touch her and don't. Let's have this out. I'm tired of it--" + +The captain was out of breath now, his emotions still controlling him, +his astonishment at the unexpected opposition from the woman of all +others on whose assistance he most relied unabated. + +Jane rose from her chair and stood facing him, a great light in her +eyes: + +"No! No! NO! A thousand times, no! You don't know Lucy; I do. What you +want done now should have been done when Archie was born. It was my +fault. I couldn't see her suffer. I loved her too much. I thought to +save her, I didn't care how. It would have been better for her if she +had faced her sin then and taken the consequences; better for all of +us. I didn't think so then, and it has taken me years to find it out. I +began to be conscious of it first in her marriage, then when she kept +on living her lie with her husband, and last when she deserted Ellen +and went off to Beach Haven alone--that broke my heart, and my mistake +rose up before me, and I KNEW!" + +The captain stared at her in astonishment. He could hardly credit his +ears. + +"Yes, better, if she'd faced it. She would have lived here then under +my care, and she might have loved her child as I have done. Now she has +no tie, no care, no responsibility, no thought of anything but the +pleasures of the moment. I have tried to save her, and I have only +helped to ruin her." + +"Make her settle down, then, and face the music!" blurted out the +captain, resuming his seat. "Bart warn't all bad; he was only young and +foolish. He'll take care of her. It ain't never too late to begin to +turn honest. Bart wants to begin; make her begin, too. He's got money +now to do it; and she kin live in South America same's she kin here. +She's got no home anywhere. She don't like it here, and never did; you +kin see that from the way she swings 'round from place to place. MAKE +her face it, I tell ye. You been too easy with her all your life; pull +her down now and keep her nose p'inted close to the compass." + +"You do not know of what you talk," Jane answered, her eyes blazing. +"She hates the past; hates everything connected with it; hates the very +name of Barton Holt. Never once has she mentioned it since her return. +She never loved Archie; she cared no more for him than a bird that has +dropped its young out of its nest. Besides, your plan is impossible. +Marriage does not condone a sin. The power to rise and rectify the +wrong lies in the woman. Lucy has not got it in her, and she never will +have it. Part of it is her fault; a large part of it is mine. She has +lived this lie all these years, and I have only myself to blame. I have +taught her to live it. I began it when I carried her away from here; I +should have kept her at home and had her face the consequences of her +sin then. I ought to have laid Archie in her arms and kept him there. I +was a coward and could not, and in my fear I destroyed the only thing +that could have saved her--the mother-love. Now she will run her +course. She's her own mistress; no one can compel her to do anything." + +The captain raised his clenched hand: + +"Bart will, when he comes." + +"How?" + +"By claimin' the boy and shamin' her before the world, if she don't. +She liked him well enough when he was a disgrace to himself and to me, +without a dollar to his name. What ails him now, when he comes back and +owns up like a man and wants to do the square thing, and has got money +enough to see it through? She's nothin' but a THING, if she knew it, +till this disgrace's wiped off'n her. By God, Miss Jane, I tell you +this has got to be put through just as Bart wants it, and quick!" + +Jane stepped closer and laid her hand on the captain's arm. The look in +her eyes, the low, incisive, fearless ring in her voice, overawed him. +Her courage astounded him. This side of her character was a revelation. +Under their influence he became silent and humbled--as a boisterous +advocate is humbled by the measured tones of a just judge. + +"It is not my friend, Captain Nat, who is talking now. It is the father +who is speaking. Think for a moment. Who has borne the weight of this, +you or I? You had a wayward son whom the people here think you drove +out of your home for gambling on Sunday. No other taint attaches to him +or to you. Dozens of other sons and fathers have done the same. He +returns a reformed man and lives out his life in the home he left. + +"I had a wayward sister who forgot her mother, me, her womanhood, and +herself, and yet at whose door no suspicion of fault has been laid. I +stepped in and took the brunt and still do. I did this for my father's +name and for my promise to him and for my love of her. To her child I +have given my life. To him I am his mother and will always be--always, +because I will stand by my fault. That is a redemption in itself, and +that is the only thing that saves me from remorse. You and I, outside +of his father and mother, are the only ones living that know of his +parentage. The world has long since forgotten the little they +suspected. Let it rest; no good could come--only suffering and misery. +To stir it now would only open old wounds and, worst of all, it would +make a new one." + +"In you?" + +"No, worse than that. My heart is already scarred all over; no fresh +wound would hurt." + +"In the doctor?" + +"Yes and no. He has never asked the truth and I have never told him." + +"Who, then?" + +"In little Ellen. Let us keep that one flower untouched." + +The captain rested his head in his hand, and for some minutes made no +answer. Ellen was the apple of his eye. + +"But if Bart insists?" + +"He won't insist when he sees Lucy. She is no more the woman that he +loved and wronged than I am. He would not know her if he met her +outside this house." + +"What shall I do?" + +"Nothing. Let matters take their course. If he is the man you think he +is he will never break the silence." + +"And you will suffer on--and the doctor?" + +Jane bowed her head and the tears sprang to her eyes. + +"Yes, always; there is nothing else to do." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE UNDERTOW + + +Within the month a second letter was handed to the captain by Tod, now +regularly installed as postman. It was in answer to one of Captain +Holt's which he had directed to the expected steamer and which had met +the exile on his arrival. It was dated "Amboy," began "My dear father," +and was signed "Your affectionate son, Barton." + +This conveyed the welcome intelligence--welcome to the father--that the +writer would be detained a few days in Amboy inspecting the new +machinery, after which he would take passage for Barnegat by the Polly +Walters, Farguson's weekly packet. Then these lines followed: "It will +be the happiest day of my life when I can come into the inlet at high +tide and see my home in the distance." + +Again the captain sought Jane. + +She was still at the hospital, nursing some shipwrecked men--three with +internal injuries--who had been brought in from Forked River Station, +the crew having rescued them the week before. Two of the regular +attendants were worn out with the constant nursing, and so Jane +continued her vigils. + +She had kept at her work--turning neither to the right nor to the left, +doing her duty with the bravery and patience of a soldier on the +firing-line, knowing that any moment some stray bullet might end her +usefulness. She would not dodge, nor would she cower; the danger was no +greater than others she had faced, and no precaution, she knew, could +save her. Her lips were still sealed, and would be to the end; some +tongue other than her own must betray her sister and her trust. In the +meantime she would wait and bear bravely whatever was sent to her. + +Jane was alone when the captain entered, the doctor having left the +room to begin his morning inspection. She was in her gray-cotton +nursing-dress, her head bound about with a white kerchief. The pathos +of her face and the limp, tired movement of her figure would have been +instantly apparent to a man less absorbed in his own affairs than the +captain. + +"He'll be here to-morrow or next day!" he cried, as he advanced to +where she sat at her desk in the doctor's office, the same light in his +eyes and the same buoyant tone in his voice, his ruddy face aglow with +his walk from the station. + +"You have another letter then?" she said in a resigned tone, as if she +had expected it and was prepared to meet its consequences. In her +suffering she had even forgotten her customary welcome of him--for +whatever his attitude and however gruff he might be, she never forgot +the warm heart beneath. + +"Yes, from Amboy," panted the captain, out of breath with his quick +walk, dragging a chair beside Jane's desk as he spoke. "He got mine +when the steamer come in. He's goin' to take the packet so he kin bring +his things--got a lot o' them, he says. And he loves the old home, +too--he says so--you kin read it for yourself." As he spoke he +unbuttoned his jacket, and taking Bart's letter from its inside pocket, +laid his finger on the paragraph and held it before her face. + +"Have you talked about it to anybody?" Jane asked calmly; she hardly +glanced at the letter. + +"Only to the men; but it's all over Barnegat. A thing like that's +nothin' but a cask o' oil overboard and the bung out--runs +everywhere--no use tryin' to stop it." He was in the chair now, his +arms on the edge of the desk. + +"But you've said nothing to anybody about Archie and Lucy, and what +Bart intends to do when he comes, have you?" Jane inquired in some +alarm. + +"Not a word, and won't till ye see him. She's more your sister than she +is his wife, and you got most to say 'bout Archie, and should. You been +everything to him. When you've got through I'll take a hand, but not +before." The captain always spoke the truth, and meant it; his word +settled at once any anxieties she might have had on that score. + +"What have you decided to do?" She was not looking at him as she spoke; +she was toying with a penholder that lay before her on the desk, +apparently intent on its construction. + +"I'm goin' to meet him at Farguson's ship-yard when the Polly comes +in," rejoined the captain in a positive tone, as if his mind had long +since been made up regarding details, and he was reciting them for her +guidance--"and take him straight to my house, and then come for you. +You kin have it out together. Only one thing, Miss Jane"--here his +voice changed and something of his old quarter-deck manner showed +itself in his face and gestures--"if he's laid his course and wants to +keep hold of the tiller I ain't goin' to block his way and he shall +make his harbor, don't make no difference who or what gits in the +channel. Ain't neither of us earned any extry pay for the way we've run +this thing. You've got Lucy ashore flounderin' 'round in the fog, and I +had no business to send him off without grub or compass. If he wants to +steer now he'll STEER. I don't want you to make no mistake 'bout this, +and you'll excuse me if I put it plain." + +Jane put her hand to her head and looked out of the window toward the +sea. All her life seemed to be narrowing to one small converging path +which grew smaller and smaller as she looked down its perspective. + +"I understand, captain," she sighed. All the fight was out of her; she +was like one limping across a battlefield, shield and spear gone, the +roads unknown. + +The door opened and the doctor entered. His quick, sensitive eye +instantly caught the look of despair on Jane's face and the air of +determination on the captain's. What had happened he did not know, but +something to hurt Jane; of that he was positive. He stepped quickly +past the captain without accosting him, rested his hand on Jane's +shoulder, and said in a tender, pleading tone: + +"You are tired and worn out; get your cloak and hat and I'll drive you +home." Then he turned to the captain: "Miss Jane's been up for three +nights. I hope you haven't been worrying her with anything you could +have spared her from--at least until she got rested," and he frowned at +the captain. + +"No, I ain't and wouldn't. I been a-tellin' her of Bart's comin' home. +That ain't nothin' to worry over--that's something to be glad of. You +heard about it, of course?" + +"Yes, Morgan told me. Twenty years will make a great difference in +Bart. It must have been a great surprise to you, captain." + +Both Jane and the captain tried to read the doctor's face, and both +failed. Doctor John might have been commenting on the weather or some +equally unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone. + +He turned to Jane again. + +"Come, dear--please," he begged. It was only when he was anxious about +her physical condition or over some mental trouble that engrossed her +that he spoke thus. The words lay always on the tip of his tongue, but +he never let them fall unless someone was present to overhear. + +"You are wrong, John," she answered, bridling her shoulders as if to +reassure him. "I am not tired--I have a little headache, that's all." +With the words she pressed both hands to her temples and smoothed back +her hair--a favorite gesture when her brain fluttered against her skull +like a caged pigeon. "I will go home, but not now--this afternoon, +perhaps. Come for me then, please," she added, looking up into his face +with a grateful expression. + +The captain picked up his cap and rose from his seat. One of his dreams +was the marriage of these two. Episodes like this only showed him the +clearer what lay in their hearts. The doctor's anxiety and Jane's +struggle to bear her burdens outside of his touch and help only +confirmed the old sea-dog in his determination. When Bart had his way, +he said to himself, all this would cease. + +"I'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one to the other and +putting on his cap. "See you later, Miss Jane. Morgan's back ag'in to +work, thanks to you, doctor. That was a pretty bad sprain he had--he's +all right now, though; went on practice yesterday. I'm glad of +it--equinox is comin' on and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these +days. May be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out. Good-by, Miss +Jane; good-by, doctor." And he shut the door behind him. + +With the closing of the door the sound of wheels was heard--a crisp, +crunching sound--and then the stamping of horses' feet. Max Feilding's +drag, drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive Bones, had +driven up and now stood beside the stone steps of the front door of the +hospital. The coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub and +plate glistened in the sunshine. On the seat, the reins in one pretty +gloved hand, a gold-mounted whip in the other, sat Lucy. She was +dressed in her smartest driving toilette--a short yellow-gray jacket +fastened with big pearl buttons and a hat bound about with the breast +of a tropical bird. Her eyes were dancing, her cheeks like ripe peaches +with all the bloom belonging to them in evidence, and something more, +and her mouth all curves and dimples. + +When the doctor reached her side--he had heard the sound of the wheels, +and looking through the window had caught sight of the drag--she had +risen from her perch and was about to spring clear of the equipage +without waiting for the helping hand of either Bones or himself. She +was still a girl in her suppleness. + +"No, wait until I can give you my hand," he said, hurrying toward her. + +"No--I don't want your hand, Sir Esculapius. Get out of the way, +please--I'm going to jump! There--wasn't that lovely?" And she landed +beside him. "Where's sister? I've been all the way to Yardley, and +Martha tells me she has been here almost all the week. Oh, what a +dreadful, gloomy-looking place! How many people have you got here +anyhow, cooped up in this awful-- Why, it's like an almshouse," she +added, looking about her. "Where did you say sister was?" + +"I'll go and call her," interpolated the doctor when he could get a +chance to speak. + +"No, you won't do anything of the kind; I'll go myself. You've had her +all the week, and now it's my turn." + +Jane had by this time closed the lid of her desk, had moved out into +the hall, and now stood on the top step of the entrance awaiting Lucy's +ascent. In her gray gown, simple head-dress, and resigned face, the +whole framed in the doorway with its connecting background of dull +stone, she looked like one of Correggio's Madonnas illumining some old +cloister wall. + +"Oh, you dear, DEAR sister!" Lucy cried, running up the short steps to +meet her. "I'm so glad I've found you; I was afraid you were tying up +somebody's broken head or rocking a red-flannelled baby." With this she +put her arms around Jane's neck and kissed her rapturously. + +"Where can we talk? Oh, I've got such a lot of things to tell you! You +needn't come, you dear, good doctor. Please take yourself off, +sir--this way, and out the gate, and don't you dare come back until I'm +gone." + +My Lady of Paris was very happy this morning; bubbling over with +merriment--a condition that set the doctor to thinking. Indeed, he had +been thinking most intently about my lady ever since he had heard of +Bart's resurrection. He had also been thinking of Jane and Archie. +These last thoughts tightened his throat; they had also kept him awake +the past few nights. + +The doctor bowed with one of his Sir Roger bows, lifted his hat first +to Jane in all dignity and reverence, and then to Lucy with a +flourish--keeping up outwardly the gayety of the occasion and seconding +her play of humor--walked to the shed where his horse was tied and +drove off. He knew these moods of Lucy's; knew they were generally +assumed and that they always concealed some purpose--one which neither +a frown nor a cutting word nor an outbreak of temper would accomplish; +but that fact rarely disturbed him. Then, again, he was never anything +but courteous to her--always remembering Jane's sacrifice and her pride +in her. + +"And now, you dear, let us go somewhere where we can be quiet," Lucy +cried, slipping her arm around Jane's slender waist and moving toward +the hall. + +With the entering of the bare room lined with bottles and cases of +instruments her enthusiasm began to cool. Up to this time she had done +all the talking. Was Jane tired out nursing? she asked herself; or did +she still feel hurt over her refusal to take Ellen with her for the +summer? She had remembered for days afterward the expression on her +face when she told of her plans for the summer and of her leaving Ellen +at Yardley; but she knew this had all passed out of her sister's mind. +This was confirmed by Jane's continued devotion to Ellen and her many +kindnesses to the child. It was true that whenever she referred to her +separation from Ellen, which she never failed to do as a sort of probe +to be assured of the condition of Jane's mind, there was no direct +reply--merely a changing of the topic, but this had only proved Jane's +devotion in avoiding a subject which might give her beautiful sister +pain. What, then, was disturbing her to-day? she asked herself with a +slight chill at her heart. Then she raised her head and assumed a +certain defiant air. Better not notice anything Jane said or did; if +she was tired she would get rested and if she was provoked with her she +would get pleased again. It was through her affections and her +conscience that she could hold and mould her sister Jane--never through +opposition or fault-finding. Besides, the sun was too bright and the +air too delicious, and she herself too blissfully happy to worry over +anything. In time all these adverse moods would pass out of Jane's +heart as they had done a thousand times before. + +"Oh, you dear, precious thing!" Lucy began again, all these matters +having been reviewed, settled, and dismissed from her mind in the time +it took her to cross the room. "I'm so sorry for you when I think of +you shut up here with these dreadful people; but I know you wouldn't be +happy anywhere else," she laughed in a meaning way. (The bringing in of +the doctor even by implication was always a good move.) "And Martha +looks so desolate. Dear, you really ought to be more with her; but for +my darling Ellen I don't know what Martha would do. I miss the child +so, and yet I couldn't bear to take her from the dear old woman." + +Jane made no answer. Lucy had found a chair now and had laid her +gloves, parasol, and handkerchief on another beside her. Jane had +resumed her seat; her slender neck and sloping shoulders and sparely +modelled head with its simply dressed hair--she had removed the +kerchief--in silhouette against the white light of the window. + +"What is it all about, Lucy?" she asked in a grave tone after a slight +pause in Lucy's talk. + +"I have a great secret to tell you--one you mustn't breathe until I +give you leave." + +She was leaning back in her chair now, her eyes trying to read Jane's +thoughts. Her bare hands were resting in her lap, the jewels flashing +from her fingers; about her dainty mouth there hovered, like a +butterfly, a triumphant smile; whether this would alight and spread its +wings into radiant laughter, or disappear, frightened by a gathering +frown, depended on what would drop from her sister's lips. + +Jane looked up. The strong light from the window threw her head into +shadow; only the slight fluff of her hair glistened in the light. This +made an aureole which framed the Madonna's face. + +"Well, Lucy, what is it?" she asked again simply. + +"Max is going to be married." + +"When?" rejoined Jane in the same quiet tone. Her mind was not on Max +or on anything connected with him. It was on the shadow slowly settling +upon all she loved. + +"In December," replied Lucy, a note of triumph in her voice, her smile +broadening. + +"Who to?" + +"Me." + +With the single word a light ripple escaped from her lips. + +Jane straightened herself in her chair. A sudden faintness passed over +her--as if she had received a blow in the chest, stopping her breath. + +"You mean--you mean--that you have promised to marry Max Feilding!" she +gasped. + +"That's exactly what I do mean." + +The butterfly smile about Lucy's mouth had vanished. That straightening +of the lips and slow contraction of the brow which Jane knew so well +was taking its place. Then she added nervously, unclasping her hands +and picking up her gloves: + +"Aren't you pleased?" + +"I don't know," answered Jane, gazing about the room with a dazed look, +as if seeking for a succor she could not find. "I must think. And so +you have promised to marry Max!" she repeated, as if to herself. "And +in December." For a brief moment she paused, her eyes again downcast; +then she raised her voice quickly and in a more positive tone asked, +"And what do you mean to do with Ellen?" + +"That's what I want to talk to you about, you dear thing." Lucy had +come prepared to ignore any unfavorable criticisms Jane might make and +to give her only sisterly affection in return. "I want to give her to +you for a few months more," she added blandly, "and then we will take +her abroad with us and send her to school either in Paris or Geneva, +where her grandmother can be near her. In a year or two she will come +to us in Paris." + +Jane made no answer. + +Lucy moved uncomfortably in her chair. She had never, in all her life, +seen her sister in any such mood. She was not so much astonished over +her lack of enthusiasm regarding the engagement; that she had +expected--at least for the first few days, until she could win her over +to her own view. It was the deadly poise--the icy reserve that +disturbed her. This was new. + +"Lucy!" Again Jane stopped and looked out of the window. "You remember +the letter I wrote you some years ago, in which I begged you to tell +Ellen's father about Archie and Barton Holt?" + +Lucy's eyes flashed. + +"Yes, and you remember my answer, don't you?" she answered sharply. +"What a fool I would have been, dear, to have followed your advice!" + +Jane went straight on without heeding the interruption or noticing +Lucy's changed tone. + +"Do you intend to tell Max?" + +"I tell Max! My dear, good sister, are you crazy! What should I tell +Max for? All that is dead and buried long ago! Why do you want to dig +up all these graves? Tell Max--that aristocrat! He's a dear, sweet +fellow, but you don't know him. He'd sooner cut his hand off than marry +me if he knew!" + +"I'm afraid you will have to--and this very day," rejoined Jane in a +calm, measured tone. + +Lucy moved uneasily in her chair; her anxiety had given way to a +certain ill-defined terror. Jane's voice frightened her. + +"Why?" she asked in a trembling voice. + +"Because Captain Holt or someone else will, if you don't." + +"What right has he or anybody else to meddle with my affairs?" Lucy +retorted in an indignant tone. + +"Because he cannot help it. I intended to keep the news from you for a +time, but from what you have just told me you had best hear it now. +Barton Holt is alive. He has been in Brazil all these years, in the +mines. He has written to his father that he is coming home." + +All the color faded from Lucy's cheeks. + +"Bart! Alive! Coming home! When?" + +"He will be here day after to-morrow; he is at Amboy, and will come by +the weekly packet. What I can do I will. I have worked all my life to +save you, and I may yet, but it seems now as if I had reached the end +of my rope." + +"Who said so? Where did you hear it? It CAN'T be true!" + +Jane shook her head. "I wish it was not true--but it is--every word of +it. I have read his letter." + +Lucy sank back in her chair, her cheeks livid, a cold perspiration +moistening her forehead. Little lines that Jane had never noticed began +to gather about the corners of her mouth; her eyes were wide open, with +a strained, staring expression. What she saw was Max's eyes looking +into her own, that same cold, cynical expression on his face she had +sometimes seen when speaking of other women he had known. + +"What's he coming for?" Her voice was thick and barely audible. + +"To claim his son." + +"He--says--he'll--claim--Archie--as--his--son!" she gasped. "I'd like +to see any man living dare to--" + +"But he can TRY, Lucy--no one can prevent that, and in the trying the +world will know." + +Lucy sprang from her seat and stood over her sister: + +"I'll deny it!" she cried in a shrill voice; "and face him down. He +can't prove it! No one about here can!" + +"He may have proofs that you couldn't deny, and that I would not if I +could. Captain Holt knows everything, remember," Jane replied in her +same calm voice. + +"But nobody else does but you and Martha!" The thought gave her renewed +hope--the only ray she saw. + +"True; but the captain is enough. His heart is set on Archie's name +being cleared, and nothing that I can do or say will turn him from his +purpose. Do you know what he means to do?" + +"No," she replied faintly, more terror than curiosity in her voice. + +"He means that you shall marry Barton, and that Archie shall be +baptized as Archibald Holt. Barton will then take you both back to +South America. A totally impossible plan, but--" + +"I marry Barton Holt! Why, I wouldn't marry him if he got down on his +knees. Why, I don't even remember what he looks like! Did you ever hear +of such impudence! What is he to me?" The outburst carried with it a +certain relief. + +"What he is to you is not the question. It is what YOU are to Archie! +Your sin has been your refusal to acknowledge him. Now you are brought +face to face with the consequences. The world will forgive a woman all +the rest, but never for deserting her child, and that, my dear sister, +IS PRECISELY WHAT YOU DID TO ARCHIE." + +Jane's gaze was riveted on Lucy. She had never dared to put this fact +clearly before--not even to herself. Now that she was confronted with +the calamity she had dreaded all these years, truth was the only thing +that would win. Everything now must be laid bare. + +Lucy lifted her terrified face, burst into tears, and reached out her +hands to Jane. + +"Oh, sister,--sister!" she moaned. "What shall I do? Oh, if I had never +come home! Can't you think of some way? You have always been so +good--Oh, please! please!" + +Jane drew Lucy toward her. + +"I will do all I can, dear. If I fail there is only one resource left. +That is the truth, and all of it. Max can save you, and he will if he +loves you. Tell, him everything!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT + + +The wooden arrow on the top of the cupola of the Life-Saving Station +had had a busy night of it. With the going down of the sun the wind had +continued to blow east-southeast--its old course for weeks--and the +little sentinel, lulled into inaction, had fallen into a doze, its +feather end fixed on the glow of the twilight. + +At midnight a rollicking breeze that piped from out the north caught +the sensitive vane napping, and before the dawn broke had quite tired +it out, shifting from point to point, now west, now east, now +nor'east-by-east, and now back to north again. By the time Morgan had +boiled his coffee and had cut his bacon into slivers ready for the +frying-pan the restless wind, as if ashamed of its caprices, had again +veered to the north-east, and then, as if determined ever after to lead +a better life, had pulled itself together and had at last settled down +to a steady blow from that quarter. + +The needle of the aneroid fastened to the wall of the sitting-room, and +in reach of everybody's eye, had also made a night of it. In fact, it +had not had a moment's peace since Captain Holt reset its register the +day before. All its efforts for continued good weather had failed. +Slowly but surely the baffled and disheartened needle had sagged from +"Fair" to "Change," dropped back to "Storm," and before noon the next +day had about given up the fight and was in full flight for "Cyclones +and Tempests." + +Uncle Isaac Polhemus, sitting at the table with one eye on his game of +dominoes (Green was his partner) and the other on the patch of sky +framed by the window, read the look of despair on the honest face of +the aneroid, and rising from his chair, a "double three" in his hand, +stepped to where the weather prophet hung. + +"Sompin's comin' Sam," he said solemnly. "The old gal's got a bad +setback. Ain't none of us goin' to git a wink o' sleep to-night, or I +miss my guess. Wonder how the wind is." Here he moved to the door and +peered out. "Nor'-east and puffy, just as I thought. We're goin' to hev +some weather, Sam--ye hear?--some WEATHER!" With this he regained his +chair and joined the double three to the long tail of his successes. +Good weather or bad weather--peace or war--was all the same to Uncle +Isaac. What he wanted was the earliest news from the front. + +Captain Holt took a look at the sky, the aneroid and the wind--not the +arrow; old sea-dogs know which way the wind blows without depending on +any such contrivance--the way the clouds drift, the trend of the +white-caps, the set of a distant sail, and on black, almost breathless +nights, by the feel of a wet finger held quickly in the air, the +coolest side determining the wind point. + +On this morning the clouds attracted the captain's attention. They hung +low and drifted in long, straggling lines. Close to the horizon they +were ashy pale; being nearest the edge of the brimming sea, they had, +no doubt, seen something the higher and rosier-tinted clouds had +missed; something of the ruin that was going on farther down the round +of the sphere. These clouds the captain studied closely, especially a +prismatic sun-dog that glowed like a bit of rainbow snipped off by +wind-scissors, and one or two dirt spots sailing along by themselves. + +During the captain's inspection Archie hove in sight, wiping his hands +with a wad of cotton waste. He and Parks had been swabbing out the +firing gun and putting the polished work of the cart apparatus in order. + +"It's going to blow, captain, isn't it?" he called out. Blows were what +Archie was waiting for. So far the sea had been like a mill-pond, +except on one or two occasions, when, to the boy's great regret, +nothing came ashore. + +"Looks like it. Glass's been goin' down and the wind has settled to the +nor'east. Some nasty dough-balls out there I don't like. See 'em goin' +over that three-master?" + +Archie looked, nodded his head, and a certain thrill went through him. +The harder it blew the better it would suit Archie. + +"Will the Polly be here to-night?" he added. "Your son's coming, isn't +he?" + +"Yes; but you won't see him to-night, nor to-morrow, not till this is +over. You won't catch old Ambrose out in this weather" (Captain Ambrose +Farguson sailed the Polly). "He'll stick his nose in the basin +some'er's and hang on for a spell. I thought he'd try to make the +inlet, and I 'spected Bart here to-night till I saw the glass when I +got up. Ye can't fool Ambrose--he knows. Be two or three days now 'fore +Bart comes," he added, a look of disappointment shadowing his face. + +Archie kept on to the house, and the captain, after another sweep +around, turned on his heel and reentered the sitting-room. + +"Green!" + +"Yes, captain." The surfman was on his feet in an instant, his ears +wide open. + +"I wish you and Fogarty would look over those new Costons and see if +they're all right. And, Polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them +cork jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward on practice +yesterday--they ought to slip on easier; guess they're considerable +dried out and a little mite stiff." + +Green nodded his head in respectful assent and left the room. Polhemus, +at the mention of his name, had dropped his chair legs to the floor; he +had finished his game of dominoes and had been tilted back against the +wall, awaiting the dinner-hour. + +"It's goin' to blow a livin' gale o' wind, Polhemus," the captain +continued; "that's what it's goin' to do. Ye kin see it yerself. There +she comes now!" + +As he spoke the windows on the sea side of the house rattled as if +shaken by the hand of a man and as quickly stopped. + +"Them puffs are jest the tootin' of her horn--" this with a jerk of his +head toward the windows. "I tell ye, it looks ugly!" + +Polhemus gained his feet and the two men stepped to the sash and peered +out. To them the sky was always an open book--each cloud a letter, each +mass a paragraph, the whole a warning. + +"But I'm kind o' glad, Isaac." Again the captain forgot the surfman in +the friend. "As long as it's got to blow it might as well blow now and +be over. I'd kind o' set my heart on Bart's comin', but I guess I've +waited so long I kin wait a day or two more. I wrote him to come by +train, but he wrote back he had a lot o' plunder and he'd better put it +'board the Polly; and, besides, he said he kind o' wanted to sail into +the inlet like he used to when he was a boy. Then again, I couldn't +meet him; not with this weather comin' on. No--take it all in all, I'm +glad he ain't comin'." + +"Well, I guess yer right, captain," answered uncle Isaac in an even +tone, as he left the room to overhaul the cork jackets. The occasion +was not one of absorbing interest to Isaac. + +By the time the table was cleared and the kitchen once more in order +not only were the windows on the sea side of the house roughly shaken +by the rising gale, but the sand caught from the dunes was being +whirled against their panes. The tide, too, egged on by the storm, had +crept up the slope of the dunes, the spray drenching the grass-tufts. + +At five o'clock the wind blew forty miles an hour at sundown it had +increased to fifty; at eight o'clock it bowled along at sixty. Morgan, +who had been to the village for supplies, reported that the tide was +over the dock at Barnegat and that the roof of the big bathing-house at +Beach Haven had been ripped off and landed on the piazza. He had had +all he could do to keep his feet and his basket while crossing the +marsh on his way back to the station. Then he added: + +"There's a lot o' people there yit. That feller from Philadelphy who's +mashed on Cobden's aunt was swellin' around in a potato-bug suit o' +clothes as big as life." This last was given from behind his hand after +he had glanced around the room and found that Archie was absent. + +At eight o'clock, when Parks and Archie left the Station to begin their +patrol, Parks was obliged to hold on to the rail of the porch to steady +himself, and Archie, being less sure of his feet, was blown against the +water-barrel before he could get his legs well under him. At the edge +of the surf the two separated for their four hours' patrol, Archie +breasting the gale on his way north, and Parks hurrying on, helped by +the wind, to the south. + +At ten o'clock Parks returned. He had made his first round, and had +exchanged his brass check with the patrol at the next station. As he +mounted the sand-dune he quickened his steps, hurried to the Station, +opened the sitting-room door, found it empty, the men being in bed +upstairs awaiting their turns, and then strode on to the captain's +room, his sou'wester and tarpaulin drenched with spray and sand, his +hip-boots leaving watery tracks along the clean floor. + +"Wreck ashore at No. 14, sir!" Parks called out in a voice hoarse with +fighting the wind. + +The captain sprang from his cot--he was awake, his light still burning. + +"Anybody drownded?" + +"No, sir; got 'em all. Seven of 'em, so the patrol said. Come ashore +'bout supper-time." + +"What is she?" + +"A two-master from Virginia loaded with cord-wood. Surf's in bad shape, +sir; couldn't nothin' live in it afore; it's wuss now. Everything's a +bobble; turrible to see them sticks thrashin' 'round and slammin' +things." + +"Didn't want no assistance, did they?" + +"No, sir; they got the fust line 'round the foremast and come off in +less'n a hour; warn't none of 'em hurted." + +"Is it any better outside?" + +"No, sir; wuss. I ain't seen nothin' like it 'long the coast for years. +Good-night," and Parks took another hole in the belt holding his +tarpaulins together, opened the back door, walked to the edge of the +house, steadied himself against the clapboards, and boldly facing the +storm, continued his patrol. + +The captain stretched himself again on his bed; he had tried to sleep, +but his brain was too active. As he lay listening to the roar of the +surf and the shrill wail of the wind, his thoughts would revert to Bart +and what his return meant; particularly to its effect on the fortunes +of the doctor, of Jane and of Lucy. + +Jane's attitude continued to astound him. He had expected that Lucy +might not realize the advantages of his plan at first--not until she +had seen Bart and listened to what he had to say; but that Jane, after +the confession of her own weakness should still oppose him, was what he +could not under stand, he would keep his promise, however, to the very +letter. She should have free range to dissuade Bart from his purpose. +After that Bart should have his way. No other course was possible, and +no other course either honest or just. + +Then he went over in his mind all that had happened to him since the +day he had driven Bart out into the night, and from that same House of +Refuge, too, which, strange to say, lay within sight of the Station. He +recalled his own and Bart's sufferings; his loneliness; the bitterness +of the terrible secret which had kept his mouth closed all these years, +depriving him of even the intimate companionship of his own grandson. +With this came an increased love for the boy; he again felt the warm +pressure of his hand and caught the look in his eyes the morning Archie +congratulated him so heartily on Bart's expected return, he had always +loved him; he would love him now a thousand times more when he could +put his hand on the boy's shoulder and tell him everything. + +With the changing of the patrol, Tod and Polhemus taking the places of +Archie and Parks, he fell into a doze, waking with a sudden start some +hours later, springing from his bed, and as quickly turning up the lamp. + +Still in his stocking feet and trousers--on nights like this the men +lie down in half their clothes--he walked to the window and peered out. +It was nearing daylight; the sky still black. The storm was at its +height; the roar of the surf incessant and the howl of the wind +deafening. Stepping into the sitting-room he glanced at the +aneroid--the needle had not advanced a point; then turning into the +hall, he mounted the steps to the lookout in the cupola, walked softly +past the door of the men's room so as not to waken the sleepers, +particularly Parks and Archie, whose cots were nearest the door--both +had had four hours of the gale and would have hours more if it +continued--and reaching the landing, pressed his face against the cool +pane and peered out. + +Below him stretched a dull waste of sand hardly distinguishable in the +gloom until his eyes became accustomed to it, and beyond this the white +line of the surf, whiter than either sky or sand. This writhed and +twisted like a cobra in pain. To the north burned Barnegat Light, only +the star of its lamp visible. To the south stretched alternate bands of +sand, sky, and surf, their dividing lines lost in the night. Along this +beach, now stopping to get their breath, now slanting the brim of their +sou'westers to escape the slash of the sand and spray, strode Tod and +Polhemus, their eyes on and beyond the tumbling surf, their ears open +to every unusual sound, their Costons buttoned tight under their coats +to keep them from the wet. + +Suddenly, while his eyes were searching the horizon line, now hardly +discernible in the gloom, a black mass rose from behind a cresting of +foam, see-sawed for an instant, clutched wildly at the sky, and dropped +out of sight behind a black wall of water. The next instant there +flashed on the beach below him, and to the left of the station, the red +flare of a Coston signal. + +With the quickness of a cat Captain Holt sprang to the stairs shouting: + +"A wreck, men, a wreck!" The next instant he had thrown aside the door +of the men's room. "Out every one of ye! Who's on the beach?" And he +looked over the cots to find the empty ones. + +The men were on their feet before he had ceased speaking, Archie before +the captain's hand had left the knob of the door. + +"Who's on the beach, I say?" he shouted again. + +"Fogarty and Uncle Ike," someone answered. + +"Polhemus! Good! All hands on the cart, men; boat can't live in that +surf. She lies to the north of us!" And he swung himself out of the +door and down the stairs. + +"God help 'em, if they've got to come through that surf!" Parks said, +slinging on his coat. "The tide's just beginnin' to make flood, and all +that cord-wood'll come a-waltzin' back. Never see nothin' like it!" + +The front door now burst in and another shout went ringing through the +house: + +"Schooner in the breakers!" + +It was Tod. He had rejoined Polhemus the moment before he flared his +light and had made a dash to rouse the men. + +"I seen her, Fogarty, from the lookout," cried the captain, in answer, +grabbing his sou'wester; he was already in his hip-boots and tarpaulin. +"What is she?" + +"Schooner, I guess, sir." + +"Two or three masts?" asked the captain hurriedly, tightening the strap +of his sou'wester and slipping the leather thong under his gray +whiskers. + +"Can't make out, sir; she come bow on. Uncle Ike see her fust." And he +sprang out after the men. + +A double door thrown wide; a tangle of wild cats springing straight at +a broad-tired cart; a grappling of track-lines and handle-bars; a whirl +down the wooden incline, Tod following with the quickly lighted +lanterns; a dash along the runway, the sand cutting their cheeks like +grit from a whirling stone; over the dune, the men bracing the cart on +either side, and down the beach the crew swept in a rush to where +Polhemus stood waving his last Coston. + +Here the cart stopped. + +"Don't unload nothin'," shouted Polhemus. "She ain't fast; looks to me +as if she was draggin' her anchors." + +Captain Holt canted the brim of his sou'wester, held his bent elbow +against his face to protect it from the cut of the wind, and looked in +the direction of the surfman's fingers. The vessel lay about a quarter +of a mile from the shore and nearer the House of Refuge than when the +captain had first seen her from the lookout. She was afloat and +drifting broadside on to the coast. Her masts were still standing and +she seemed able to take care of herself. Polhemus was right. Nothing +could be done till she grounded. In the meantime the crew must keep +abreast of her. Her fate, however, was but a question of time, for not +only had the wind veered to the southward--a-dead-on-shore wind--but +the set of the flood must eventually strand her. + +At the track-lines again, every man in his place, Uncle Isaac with his +shoulder under the spokes of the wheels, the struggling crew keeping +the cart close to the edge of the dune, springing out of the way of the +boiling surf or sinking up to their waists into crevices of sluiceways +gullied out by the hungry sea. Once Archie lost his footing and would +have been sucked under by a comber had not Captain Holt grapped him by +the collar and landed him on his feet again. Now and then a roller more +vicious than the others would hurl a log of wood straight at the cart +with the velocity of a torpedo, and swoop back again, the log missing +its mark by a length. + +When the dawn broke the schooner could be made out more clearly. Both +masts were still standing, their larger sails blown away. The bowsprit +was broken short off close to her chains. About this dragged the +remnants of a jib sail over which the sea soused and whitened. She was +drifting slowly and was now but a few hundred yards from the beach, +holding, doubtless, by her anchors. Over her deck the sea made a clean +breach. + +Suddenly, and while the men still tugged at the track-ropes, keeping +abreast of her so as to be ready with the mortar and shot-line, the +ill-fated vessel swung bow on toward the beach, rose on a huge mountain +of water, and threw herself headlong. When the smother cleared her +foremast was overboard and her deck-house smashed. Around her hull the +waves gnashed and fought like white wolves, leaping high, flinging +themselves upon her. In the recoil Captain Holt's quick eye got a +glimpse of the crew; two were lashed to the rigging and one held the +tiller--a short, thickset man, wearing what appeared to be a slouch hat +tied over his ears by a white handkerchief. + +With the grounding of the vessel a cheer went up from around the cart. + +"Now for the mortar!" + +"Up with it on the dune, men!" shouted the captain, his voice ringing +above the roar of the tempest. + +The cart was forced up the slope--two men at the wheels, the others +straining ahead--the gun lifted out and set, Polhemus ramming the +charge home, Captain Holt sighting the piece; there came a belching +sound, a flash of dull light, and a solid shot carrying a line rose in +the air, made a curve like a flying rocket, and fell athwart the wreck +between her forestay and jib. A cheer went up from the men about the +gun. When this line was hauled in and the hawser attached to it made +fast high up on the mainmast and above the raging sea, and the car run +off to the wreck, the crew could be landed clear of the surf and the +slam of the cord-wood. + +At the fall of the line the man in the slouch hat was seen to edge +himself forward in an attempt to catch it. The two men in the rigging +kept their hold. The men around the cart sprang for the hawser and +tally-blocks to rig the buoy, when a dull cry rose from the wreck. To +their horror they saw the mainmast waver, flutter for a moment, and sag +over the schooner's side. The last hope of using the life-car was gone! +Without the elevation of the mast and with nothing but the smashed hull +to make fast to, the shipwrecked men would be pounded into pulp in the +attempt to drag them through the boil of wreckage. + +"Haul in, men!" cried the captain. "No use of another shot; we can't +drag 'em through that surf!" + +"I'll take my chances," said Green, stepping forward. "Let me, cap'n. I +can handle 'em if they haul in the slack and make fast." + +"No, you can't," said the captain calmly. "You couldn't get twenty feet +from shore. We got to wait till the tide cleans this wood out. It's +workin' right now. They kin stand it for a while. Certain death to +bring 'em through that smother--that stuff'd knock the brains out of +'em fast as they dropped into it. Signal to 'em to hang on, Parks." + +An hour went by--an hour of agony to the men clinging to the grounded +schooner, and of impatience to the shore crew, who were powerless. The +only danger was of exhaustion to the shipwrecked men and the breaking +up of the schooner. If this occurred there was nothing left but a +plunge of rescuing men through the surf, the life of every man in his +hand. + +The beach began filling up. The news of a shipwreck had spread with the +rapidity of a thunder-shower. One crowd, denser in spots where the +stronger men were breasting the wind, which was now happily on the +wane, were moving from the village along the beach, others were +stumbling on through the marshes. From the back country, along the road +leading from the hospital, rattled a gig, the horse doing his utmost. +In this were Doctor John and Jane. She had, contrary to his advice, +remained at the hospital. The doctor had been awakened by the shouts of +a fisherman, and had driven with all speed to the hospital to get his +remedies and instruments. Jane had insisted upon accompanying him, +although she had been up half the night with one of the sailors rescued +the week before by the crew of No. 14. The early morning air--it was +now seven o'clock--would do her good, she pleaded, and she might be of +use if any one of the poor fellows needed a woman's care. + +Farther down toward Beach Haven the sand was dotted with wagons and +buggies; some filled with summer boarders anxious to see the crew at +work. One used as the depot omnibus contained Max Feilding, Lucy, and +half a dozen others. She had passed a sleepless night, and hearing the +cries of those hurrying by had thrown a heavy cloak around her and +opening wide the piazza door had caught sight of the doomed vessel +fighting for its life. Welcoming the incident as a relief from her own +maddening thoughts, she had joined Max, hoping that the excitement +might divert her mind from the horror that overshadowed her. Then, too, +she did not want to be separated a single moment from him. Since the +fatal hour when Jane had told her of Bart's expected return Max's face +had haunted her. As long as he continued to look into her eyes, +believing and trusting in her there was hope. He had noticed her +haggard look, but she had pleaded one of her headaches, and had kept up +her smiles, returning his caresses. Some way would be opened; some way +MUST be opened! + +While waiting for the change of wind and tide predicted by Captain Holt +to clear away the deadly drift of the cord-wood so dangerous to the +imperilled men, the wreckage from the grounded schooner began to come +ashore--crates of vegetables, barrels of groceries, and boxes filled +with canned goods. Some of these were smashed into splinters by end-on +collisions with cord-wood; others had dodged the floatage and were +landed high on the beach. + +During the enforced idleness Tod occupied himself in rolling away from +the back-suck of the surf the drift that came ashore. Being nearest a +stranded crate he dragged it clear and stood bending over it, reading +the inscription. With a start he beckoned to Parks, the nearest man to +him, tore the card from the wooden slat, and held it before the +surfman's face. + +"What's this? Read! That's the Polly Walters out there, I tell ye, and +the captain's son's aboard! I've been suspicionin' it all the mornin'. +That's him with the slouch hat. I knowed he warn't no sailor from the +way he acted. Don't say nothin' till we're sure." + +Parks lunged forward, dodged a stick of cord-wood that drove straight +at him like a battering-ram and, watching his chance, dragged a +floating keg from the smother, rolled it clear of the surf, canted it +on end, and took a similar card from its head. Then he shouted with all +his might: + +"It's the Polly, men! It's the Polly--the Polly Walters! O God, ain't +that too bad! Captain Ambrose's drowned, or we'd a-seen him! That +feller in the slouch hat is Bart Holt! Gimme that line!" He was +stripping off his waterproofs now ready for a plunge into the sea. + +With the awful words ringing in his ears Captain Holt made a spring +from the dune and came running toward Parks, who was now knotting the +shot-line about his waist. + +"What do you say she is?" he shouted, as he flung himself to the edge +of the roaring surf and strained his eyes toward the wreck. + +"The Polly--the Polly Walters!" + +"My God! How do ye know? She ain't left Amboy, I tell ye!" + +"She has! That's her--see them kerds! They come off that stuff behind +ye. Tod got one and I got t'other!" he held the bits of cardboard under +the rim of the captain's sou'wester. + +Captain Holt snatched the cards from Parks's hand, read them at a +glance, and a dazed, horror-stricken expression crossed his face. Then +his eye fell upon Parks knotting the shot-line about his waist. + +"Take that off! Parks, stay where ye are; don't ye move, I tell ye." + +As the words dropped from the captain's lips a horrified shout went up +from the bystanders. The wreck, with a crunching sound, was being +lifted from the sand. She rose steadily, staggered for an instant and +dropped out of sight. She had broken amidships. With the recoil two +ragged bunches showed above the white wash of the water. On one +fragment--a splintered mast--crouched the man with the slouch hat; to +the other clung the two sailors. The next instant a great roller, +gathering strength as it came, threw itself full length on both +fragments and swept on. Only wreckage was left and one head. + +With a cry to the men to stand by and catch the slack, the captain +ripped a line from the drum of the cart, dragged off his high boots, +knotted the bight around his waist, and started on a run for the surf. + +Before his stockinged feet could reach the edge of the foam, Archie +seized him around the waist and held him with a grip of steel. + +"You sha'n't do it, captain!" he cried, his eyes blazing. "Hold him, +men--I'll get him!" With the bound of a cat he landed in the middle of +the floatage, dived under the logs, rose on the boiling surf, worked +himself clear of the inshore wreckage, and struck out in the direction +of the man clinging to the shattered mast, and who was now nearing the +beach, whirled on by the inrushing seas. + +Strong men held their breath, tears brimming their eyes. Captain Holt +stood irresolute, dazed for the moment by Archie's danger. The beach +women--Mrs. Fogarty among them--were wringing their hands. They knew +the risk better than the others. + +Jane, at Archie's plunge, had run down to the edge of the surf and +stood with tight-clenched fingers, her gaze fixed on the lad's head as +he breasted the breakers--her face white as death, the tears streaming +down her cheeks. Fear for the boy she loved, pride in his pluck and +courage, agony over the result of the rescue, all swept through her as +she strained her eyes seaward. + +Lucy, Max, and Mrs. Coates were huddled together under the lee of the +dune. Lucy's eyes were staring straight ahead of her; her teeth +chattering with fear and cold. She had heard the shouts of Parks and +the captain, and knew now whose life was at stake. There was no hope +left; Archie would win and pull him out alive, and her end would come. + +The crowd watched the lad until his hand touched the mast, saw him pull +himself hand over hand along its slippery surface and reach out his +arms. Then a cheer went up from a hundred throats, and as instantly +died away in a moan of terror. Behind, towering over them like a huge +wall, came a wave of black water, solemn, merciless, uncrested, as if +bent on deadly revenge. Under its impact the shattered end of the mast +rose clear of the water, tossed about as if in agony, veered suddenly +with the movement of a derrick-boom, and with its living freight dashed +headlong into the swirl of cord-wood. + +As it ploughed through the outer drift and reached the inner line of +wreckage, Tod, whose eyes had never left Archie since his leap into the +surf, made a running jump from the sand, landed on a tangle of drift, +and sprang straight at the section of the mast to which Archie clung. +The next instant the surf rolled clear, submerging the three men. + +Another ringing order now rose above the roar of the waters, and a +chain of rescuing surfmen--the last resort--with Captain Nat at the +head dashed into the turmoil. + +It was a hand-to-hand fight now with death. At the first onslaught of +the battery of wreckage Polhemus was knocked breathless by a blow in +the stomach and rescued by the bystanders just as a log was curling +over him. Green was hit by a surging crate, and Mulligan only saved +from the crush of the cord-wood by the quickness of a fisherman. +Morgan, watching his chance, sprang clear of a tangle of barrels and +cord-wood, dashed into the narrow gap of open water, and grappling Tod +as he whirled past, twisted his fingers in Archie's waistband. The +three were then pounced upon by a relay of fishermen led by Tod's +father and dragged from under the crunch and surge of the smother. Both +Tod and Morgan were unhurt and scrambled to their feet as soon as they +gained the hard sand, but Archie lay insensible where the men had +dropped him, his body limp, his feet crumpled under him. + +All this time the man in the slouch hat was being swirled in the hell +of wreckage, the captain meanwhile holding to the human chain with one +hand and fighting with the other until he reached the half-drowned man +whose grip had now slipped from the crate to which he clung. As the two +were shot in toward the beach, Green, who had recovered his breath, +dodged the recoil, sprang straight for them, threw the captain a line, +which he caught, dashed back and dragged the two high up on the beach, +the captain's arm still tightly locked about the rescued man. + +A dozen hands were held out to relieve the captain of his burden, but +he only waved them away. + +"I'll take care of him!" he gasped in a voice almost gone from +buffeting the waves, as the body slipped from his arms to the wet sand. +"Git out of the way, all of you!" + +Once on his feet, he stood for an instant to catch his breath, wrung +the grime from his ears with his stiff fingers, and then shaking the +water from his shoulders as a dog would after a plunge, he passed his +great arms once more under the bedraggled body of the unconscious man +and started up the dune toward the House of Refuge, the water dripping +from both their wet bodies. Only once did he pause, and then to shout: + +"Green,--Mulligan! Go back, some o' ye, and git Archie. He's hurt bad. +Quick, now! And one o' ye bust in them doors. And-- Polhemus, pull some +coats off that crowd and a shawl or two from them women if they can +spare 'em, and find Doctor John, some o' ye! D'ye hear! DOCTOR JOHN!" + +A dozen coats were stripped from as many backs, a shawl of Mrs. +Fogarty's handed to Polhemus, the doors burst in and Uncle Isaac +lunging in tumbled the garments on the floor. On these the captain laid +the body of the rescued man, the slouch hat still clinging to his head. + +While this was being done another procession was approaching the house. +Tod and Parks were carrying Archie's unconscious form, the water +dripping from his clothing. Tod had his hands under the boy's armpits +and Parks carried his feet. Behind the three walked Jane, half +supported by the doctor. + +"Dead!" she moaned. "Oh, no--no--no, John; it cannot be! Not my Archie! +my brave Archie!" + +The captain heard the tramp of the men's feet on the board floor of the +runway outside and rose to his feet. He had been kneeling beside the +form of the rescued man. His face was knotted with the agony he had +passed through, his voice still thick and hoarse from battling with the +sea. + +"What's that she says?" he cried, straining his ears to catch Jane's +words. "What's that! Archie dead! No! 'Tain't so, is it, doctor?" + +Doctor John, his arm still supporting Jane, shook his head gravely and +pointed to his own forehead. + +"It's all over, captain," he said in a broken voice. "Skull fractured." + +"Hit with them logs! Archie! Oh, my God! And this man ain't much better +off--he ain't hardly breathin'. See for yerself, doctor. Here, Tod, lay +Archie on these coats. Move back that boat, men, to give 'em room, and +push them stools out of the way. Oh, Miss Jane, maybe it ain't true, +maybe he'll come round! I've seen 'em this way more'n a dozen times. +Here, doctor let's get these wet clo'es off 'em." He dropped between +the two limp, soggy bodies and began tearing open the shirt from the +man's chest. Jane, who had thrown herself in a passion of grief on the +water-soaked floor beside Archie, commenced wiping the dead boy's face +with her handkerchief, smoothing the short wet curls from his forehead +as she wept. + +The man's shirt and collar loosened, Captain Holt pulled the slouch hat +from his head, wrenched the wet shoes loose, wrapped the cold feet in +the dry shawl, and began tucking the pile of coats closer about the +man's shoulders that he might rest the easier. For a moment he looked +intently at the pallid face smeared with ooze and grime, and limp body +that the doctor was working over, and then stepped to where Tod now +crouched beside his friend, the one he had loved all his life. The +young surfman's strong body was shaking with the sobs he could no +longer restrain. + +"It's rough, Tod," said the captain, in a choking voice, which grew +clearer as he talked on. "Almighty rough on ye and on all of us. You +did what you could--ye risked yer life for him, and there ain't nobody +kin do more. I wouldn't send ye out again, but there's work to do. Them +two men of Cap'n Ambrose's is drowned, and they'll come ashore +some'er's near the inlet, and you and Parks better hunt 'em up. They +live up to Barnegat, ye know, and their folks'll be wantin' 'em." It +was strange how calm he was. His sense of duty was now controlling him. + +Tod had raised himself to his feet when the captain had begun to speak +and stood with his wet sou'wester in his hand. + +"Been like a brother to me," was all he said, as he brushed the tears +from his eyes and went to join Parks. + +The captain watched Tod's retreating figure for a moment, and bending +again over Archie's corpse, stood gazing at the dead face, his hands +folded across his girth--as one does when watching a body being slowly +lowered into a grave. + +"I loved ye, boy," Jane heard him say between her sobs. "I loved ye! +You knowed it, boy. I hoped to tell ye so out loud so everybody could +hear. Now they'll never know." + +Straightening himself up, he walked firmly to the open door about which +the people pressed, held back by the line of surfmen headed by +Polhemus, and calmly surveyed the crowd. Close to the opening, trying +to press her way in to Jane, his eyes fell on Lucy. Behind her stood +Max Feilding. + +"Friends," said the captain, in a low, restrained voice, every trace of +his grief and excitement gone, "I've got to ask ye to git considerable +way back and keep still. We got Doctor John here and Miss Jane, and +there ain't nothin' ye kin do. When there is I'll call ye. Polhemus, +you and Green see this order is obeyed." + +Again he hesitated, then raising his eyes over the group nearest the +door, he beckoned to Lucy, pushed her in ahead of him, caught the +swinging doors in his hands, and shut them tight. This done, he again +dropped on his knees beside the doctor and the now breathing man. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE CLAW OF THE SEA-PUSS + + +With the closing of the doors the murmur of the crowd, the dull glare +of the gray sky, and the thrash of the wind were shut out. The only +light in the House of Refuge now came from the two small windows, one +above the form of the suffering man and the other behind the dead body +of Archie. Jane's head was close to the boy's chest, her sobs coming +from between her hands, held before her face. The shock of Archie's +death had robbed her of all her strength. Lucy knelt beside her, her +shoulder resting against a pile of cordage. Every now and then she +would steal a furtive glance around the room--at the boat, at the +rafters overhead, at the stove with its pile of kindling--and a slight +shudder would pass through her. She had forgotten nothing of the past, +nor of the room in which she crouched. Every scar and stain stood out +as clear and naked as those on some long-buried wreck dug from shifting +sands by a change of tide. + +A few feet away the doctor was stripping the wet clothes from the +rescued man and piling the dry coats over him to warm him back to life. +His emergency bag, handed in by Polhemus through the crack of the +closed doors, had been opened, a bottle selected, and some spoonfuls of +brandy forced down the sufferer's throat. He saw that the sea-water had +not harmed him; it was the cordwood and wreckage that had crushed the +breath out of him. In confirmation he pointed to a thin streak of blood +oozing from one ear. The captain nodded, and continued chafing the +man's hands--working with the skill of a surfman over the water-soaked +body. Once he remarked in a half-whisper--so low that Jane could not +hear him: + +"I ain't sure yet, doctor. I thought it was Bart when I grabbed him +fust; but he looks kind o' different from what I expected to see him. +If it's him he'll know me when he comes to. I ain't changed so much +maybe. I'll rub his feet now," and he kept on with his work of +resuscitation. + +Lucy's straining ears had caught the captain's words of doubt, but they +gave her no hope. She had recognized at the first glance the man of all +others in the world she feared most. His small ears, the way the hair +grew on the temples, the bend of the neck and slope from the chin to +the throat. No--she had no misgivings. These features had been part of +her life--had been constantly before her since the hour Jane had told +her of Bart's expected return. Her time had come; nothing could save +her. He would regain consciousness, just as the captain had said, and +would open those awful hollow eyes and would look at her, and then that +dreadful mouth, with its thin, ashen lips, would speak to her, and she +could deny nothing. Trusting to her luck--something which had never +failed her--she had continued in her determination to keep everything +from Max. Now it would all come as a shock to him, and when he asked +her if it was true she could only bow her head. + +She dared not look at Archie--she could not. All her injustice to him +and to Jane; her abandonment of him when a baby; her neglect of him +since, her selfish life of pleasure; her triumph over Max--all came +into review, one picture after another, like the unrolling of a chart. +Even while her hand was on Jane's shoulder, and while comforting words +fell from her lips, her mind and eyes were fixed on the face of the man +whom the doctor was slowly bringing back to life. + +Not that her sympathy was withheld from Archie and Jane. It was her +terror that dominated her--a terror that froze her blood and clogged +her veins and dulled every sensibility and emotion. She was like one +lowered into a grave beside a corpse upon which every moment the earth +would fall, entombing the living with the dead. + +The man groaned and turned his head, as if in pain. A convulsive +movement of the lips and face followed, and then the eyes partly opened. + +Lucy clutched at the coil of rope, staggered to her feet, and braced +herself for the shock. He would rise now, and begin staring about, and +then he would recognize her. The captain knew what was coming; he was +even now planning in his mind the details of the horrible plot of which +Jane had told her! + +Captain Holt stooped closer and peered under the half-closed lids. + +"Brown eyes," she heard him mutter to himself, "just 's the Swede told +me." She knew their color; they had looked into her own too often. + +Doctor John felt about with his hand and drew a small package of +letters from inside the man's shirt. They were tied with a string and +soaked with salt water. This he handed to the captain. + +The captain pulled them apart and examined them carefully. + +"It's him," he said with a start, "it's Bart! It's all plain now. +Here's my letter," and he held it up. "See the printing at the +top--'Life-Saving Service'? And here's some more--they're all stuck +together. Wait! here's one--fine writing." Then his voice dropped so +that only the doctor could hear: "Ain't that signed 'Lucy'? +Yes--'Lucy'--and it's an old one." + +The doctor waved the letters away and again laid his hand on the +sufferer's chest, keeping it close to his heart. The captain bent +nearer. Jane, who, crazed with grief, had been caressing Archie's cold +cheeks, lifted her head as if aware of the approach of some crisis, and +turned to where the doctor knelt beside the rescued man. Lucy leaned +forward with straining eyes and ears. + +The stillness of death fell upon the small room. Outside could be heard +the pound and thrash of the surf and the moan of the gale; no human +voice--men and women were talking in whispers. One soul had gone to God +and another life hung by a thread. + +The doctor raised his finger. + +The man's face twitched convulsively, the lids opened wider, there came +a short, inward gasp, and the jaw dropped. + +"He's dead," said the doctor, and rose to his feet. Then he took his +handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the dead man's face. + +As the words fell from his lips Lucy caught at the wall, and with an +almost hysterical cry of joy threw herself into Jane's arms. + +The captain leaned back against the life-boat and for some moments his +eyes were fixed on the body of his dead son. + +"I ain't never loved nothin' all my life, doctor," he said, his voice +choking, "that it didn't go that way." + +Doctor John made no reply except with his eyes. Silence is ofttimes +more sympathetic than the spoken word. He was putting his remedies back +into his bag so that he might rejoin Jane. The captain continued: + +"All I've got is gone now--the wife, Archie, and now Bart. I counted on +these two. Bad day's work, doctor--bad day's work." Then in a firm +tone, "I'll open the doors now and call in the men; we got to git these +two bodies up to the Station, and then we'll get 'em home somehow." + +Instantly all Lucy's terror returned. An unaccountable, unreasoning +panic took possession of her. All her past again rose before her. She +feared the captain now more than she had Bart. Crazed over the loss of +his son he would blurt out everything. Max would hear and know--know +about Archie and Bart and all her life! + +Springing to her feet, maddened with an undefinable terror, she caught +the captain's hand as he reached out for the fastenings of the door. + +"Don't--don't tell them who he is! Promise me you won't tell them +anything! Say it's a stranger! You are not sure it's he--I heard you +say so!" + +"Not say it's my own son! Why?" He was entirely unconscious of what was +in her mind. + +Jane had risen to her feet at the note of agony in Lucy's voice and had +stepped to her side as if to protect her. The doctor stood listening in +amazement to Lucy's outbreak. He knew her reasons, and was appalled at +her rashness. + +"No! Don't--DON'T!" Lucy was looking up into the captain's face now, +all her terror in her eyes. + +"Why, I can't see what good that'll do!" For the moment he thought that +the excitement had turned her head. "Isaac Polhemus'll know him," he +continued, "soon's he sets his eyes on him. And even if I was mean +enough to do it, which I ain't, these letters would tell. They've got +to go to the Superintendent 'long with everything else found on bodies. +Your name's on some o' 'em and mine's on some others. We'll git 'em +ag'in, but not till Gov'ment see 'em." + +These were the letters which had haunted her! + +"Give them to me! They're mine!" she cried, seizing the captain's +fingers and trying to twist the letters from his grasp. + +A frown gathered on the captain's brow and his voice had an ugly ring +in it: + +"But I tell ye the Superintendent's got to have 'em for a while. That's +regulations, and that's what we carry out. They ain't goin' to be +lost--you'll git 'em ag'in." + +"He sha'n't have them, I tell you!" Her voice rang now with something +of her old imperious tone. "Nobody shall have them. They're mine--not +yours--nor his. Give them--" + +"And break my oath!" interrupted the captain. For the first time he +realized what her outburst meant and what inspired it. + +"What difference does that make in a matter like this? Give them to me. +You dare not keep them," she cried, tightening her fingers in the +effort to wrench the letters from his hand. "Sister--doctor--speak to +him! Make him give them to me--I will have them!" + +The captain brushed aside her hand as easily as a child would brush +aside a flower. His lips were tight shut, his eyes flashing. + +"You want me to lie to the department?" + +"YES!" She was beside herself now with fear and rage. "I don't care who +you lie to! You brute--you coward-- I want them! I will have them!" +Again she made a spring for the letters. + +"See here, you she-devil. Look at me!"--the words came in cold, cutting +tones. "You're the only thing livin', or dead, that ever dared ask +Nathaniel Holt to do a thing like that. And you think I'd do it to +oblige ye? You're rotten as punk--that's what ye are! Rotten from yer +keel to yer top-gallant! and allus have been since I knowed ye!" + +Jane started forward and faced the now enraged man. + +"You must not, captain--you shall not speak to my sister that way!" she +commanded. + +The doctor stopped between them: "You forget that she is a woman. I +forbid you to--" + +"I will, I tell ye, doctor! It's true, and you know it." The captain's +voice now dominated the room. + +"That's no reason why you should abuse her. You're too much of a man to +act as you do." + +"It's because I'm a man that I do act this way. She's done nothin' but +bring trouble to this town ever since she landed in it from school nigh +twenty year ago. Druv out that dead boy of mine lyin' there, and made a +tramp of him; throwed Archie off on Miss Jane; lied to the man who +married her, and been livin' a lie ever since. And now she wants me to +break my oath! Damn her--" + +The doctor laid his hand over the captain's mouth. "Stop! And I mean +it!" His own calm eyes were flashing now. "This is not the place for +talk of this kind. We are in the presence of death, and--" + +The captain caught the doctor's wrist and held it like a vice. + +"I won't stop. I'll have it out--I've lived all the lies I'm goin' to +live! I told you all this fifteen year ago when I thought Bart was +dead, and you wanted me to keep shut, and I did, and you did, too, and +you ain't never opened your mouth since. That's because you're a +man--all four square sides of ye. You didn't want to hurt Miss Jane, +and no more did I. That's why I passed Archie there in the street; +that's why I turned round and looked after him when I couldn't see +sometimes for the tears in my eyes; and all to save that THING there +that ain't worth savin'! By God, when I think of it I want to tear my +tongue out for keepin' still as long as I have!" + +Lucy, who had shrunk back against the wall, now raised her head: + +"Coward! Coward!" she muttered. + +The captain turned and faced her, his eyes blazing, his rage +uncontrollable: + +"Yes, you're a THING, I tell ye!--and I'll say it ag'in. I used to +think it was Bart's fault. Now I know it warn't. It was yours. You +tricked him, damn ye! Do ye hear? Ye tricked him with yer lies and yer +ways. Now they're over--there'll be no more lies--not while I live! I'm +goin' to strip ye to bare poles so's folks 'round here kin see. Git out +of my way--all of ye! Out, I tell ye!" + +The doctor had stepped in front of the infuriated man, his back to the +closed door, his open palm upraised. + +"I will not, and you shall not!" he cried. "What you are about do to is +ruin--for Lucy, for Jane, and for little Ellen. You cannot--you shall +not put such a stain upon that child. You love her, you--" + +"Yes--too well to let that woman touch her ag'in if I kin help it!" The +fury of the merciless sea was in him now--the roar and pound of the +surf in his voice. "She'll be a curse to the child all her days; she'll +go back on her when she's a mind to just as she did on Archie. There +ain't a dog that runs the streets that would 'a' done that. She didn't +keer then, and she don't keer now, with him a-lyin' dead there. She +ain't looked at him once nor shed a tear. It's too late. All hell can't +stop me! Out of my way, I tell ye, doctor, or I'll hurt ye!" + +With a wrench he swung back the doors and flung himself into the light. + +"Come in, men! Isaac, Green--all of ye--and you over there! I got +something to say, and I don't want ye to miss a word of it! You, too, +Mr. Feilding, and that lady next ye--and everybody else that kin hear! + +"That's my son, Barton Holt, lyin' there dead! The one I druv out o' +here nigh twenty year ago. It warn't for playin' cards, but on account +of a woman; and there she stands--Lucy Cobden! That dead boy beside him +is their child--my own grandson, Archie! Out of respect to the best +woman that ever lived, Miss Jane Cobden, I've kep' still. If anybody +ain't satisfied all they got to do is to look over these letters. +That's all!" + +Lucy, with a wild, despairing look at Max, had sunk to the floor and +lay cowering beneath the lifeboat, her face hidden in the folds of her +cloak. + +Jane had shrunk back behind one of the big folding doors and stood +concealed from the gaze of the astonished crowd, many of whom were +pressing into the entrance. Her head was on the doctor's shoulder, her +fingers had tight hold of his sleeve. Doctor John's arms were about her +frail figure, his lips close to her cheek. + +"Don't, dear--don't," he said softly. "You have nothing to reproach +yourself with. Your life has been one long sacrifice." + +"Oh, but Archie, John! Think of my boy being gone! Oh, I loved him so, +John!" + +"You made a man of him, Jane. All he was he owed to you." He was +holding her to him--comforting her as a father would a child. + +"And my poor Lucy," Jane moaned on, "and the awful, awful disgrace!" +Her face was still hidden in his shoulder, her frame shaking with the +agony of her grief, the words coming slowly, as if wrung one by one out +of her breaking heart. + +"You did your duty, dear--all of it." His lips were close to her ear. +No one else heard. + +"And you knew it all these years, John--and you did not tell me." + +"It was your secret, dear; not mine." + +"Yes, I know--but I have been so blind--so foolish. I have hurt you so +often, and you have been so true through it all. O John, please--please +forgive me! My heart has been so sore at times--I have suffered so!" + +Then, with a quick lifting of her head, as if the thought alarmed her, +she asked in sudden haste: + +"And you love me, John, just the same? Say you love me, John!" + +He gathered her closer, and his lips touched her cheek: + +"I never remember, my darling, when I did not love you. Have you ever +doubted me?" + +"No, John, no! Never, never! Kiss me again, my beloved. You are all I +have in the world!" + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tides of Barnegat, by F. Hopkinson Smith + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT *** + +***** This file should be named 4398.txt or 4398.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/9/4398/ + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. 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Hopkinson Smith + + + +THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + +THE DOCTOR'S GIG + + +One lovely spring morning--and this story begins +on a spring morning some fifty years or more ago-- +a joy of a morning that made one glad to be alive, +when the radiant sunshine had turned the ribbon +of a road that ran from Warehold village to Barnegat +Light and the sea to satin, the wide marshes to +velvet, and the belts of stunted pines to bands of +purple--on this spring morning, then, Martha Sands, +the Cobdens' nurse, was out with her dog Meg. She +had taken the little beast to the inner beach for a +bath--a custom of hers when the weather was fine +and the water not too cold--and was returning to +Warehold by way of the road, when, calling the dog +to her side, she stopped to feast her eyes on the +picture unrolled at her feet. + +To the left of where she stood curved the coast, +glistening like a scimitar, and the strip of yellow +beach which divided the narrow bay from the open +sea; to the right, thrust out into the sheen of silver, +lay the spit of sand narrowing the inlet, its edges +scalloped with lace foam, its extreme point dominated +by the grim tower of Barnegat Light; aloft, +high into the blue, soared the gulls, flashing like +jewels as they lifted their breasts to the sun, while +away and beyond the sails of the fishing-boats, gray +or silver in their shifting tacks, crawled over the +wrinkled sea. + +The glory of the landscape fixed in her mind, +Martha gathered her shawl about her shoulders, +tightened the strings of her white cap, smoothed out +her apron, and with the remark to Meg that he'd +"never see nothin' so beautiful nor so restful," +resumed her walk. + +They were inseparable, these two, and had been +ever since the day she had picked him up outside +the tavern, half starved and with a sore patch on his +back where some kitchen-maid had scalded him. +Somehow the poor outcast brought home to her a sad +page in her own history, when she herself was homeless +and miserable, and no hand was stretched out +to her. So she had coddled and fondled him, gaining +his confidence day by day and talking to him by the +hour of whatever was uppermost in her mind. + +Few friendships presented stronger contrasts: She +stout and motherly-looking--too stout for any waistline +--with kindly blue eyes, smooth gray hair-- +gray, not white--her round, rosy face, framed in a +cotton cap, aglow with the freshness of the morning +--a comforting, coddling-up kind of woman of fifty, +with a low, crooning voice, gentle fingers, and soft, +restful hollows about her shoulders and bosom for the +heads of tired babies; Meg thin, rickety, and sneak- +eyed, with a broken tail that hung at an angle, and +but one ear (a black-and-tan had ruined the other)-- +a sandy-colored, rough-haired, good-for-nothing cur +of multifarious lineage, who was either crouching +at her feet or in full cry for some hole in a fence +or rift in a wood-pile where he could flatten out +and sulk in safety. + +Martha continued her talk to Meg. While she +had been studying the landscape he had taken the +opportunity to wallow in whatever came first, and +his wet hair was bristling with sand and matted with +burrs. + +"Come here, Meg--you measly rascal!" she cried, +stamping her foot. "Come here, I tell ye!" + +The dog crouched close to the ground, waited until +Martha was near enough to lay her hand upon him, +and then, with a backward spring, darted under a +bush in full blossom. + +"Look at ye now!" she shouted in a commanding +tone. "'Tain't no use o' my washin' ye. Ye're +full o' thistles and jest as dirty as when I throwed +ye in the water. Come out o' that, I tell ye! Now, +Meg, darlin'"--this came in a coaxing tone--"come +out like a good dog--sure I'm not goin' in them +brambles to hunt ye!" + +A clatter of hoofs rang out on the morning air. +A two-wheeled gig drawn by a well-groomed sorrel +horse and followed by a brown-haired Irish setter +was approaching. In it sat a man of thirty, dressed +in a long, mouse-colored surtout with a wide cape +falling to the shoulders. On his head was a soft gray +hat and about his neck a white scarf showing above +the lapels of his coat. He had thin, shapely legs, +a flat waist, and square shoulders, above which rose +a clean-shaven face of singular sweetness and refinement. + +At the sound of the wheels the tattered cur poked +his head from between the blossoms, twisted his one +ear to catch the sound, and with a side-spring bounded +up the road toward the setter. + +"Well, I declare, if it ain't Dr. John Cavendish +and Rex!" Martha exclaimed, raising both hands +in welcome as the horse stopped beside her. "Good- +mornin' to ye, Doctor John. I thought it was you, +but the sun blinded me, and I couldn't see. And +ye never saw a better nor a brighter mornin'. These +spring days is all blossoms, and they ought to be. +Where ye goin', anyway, that ye're in such a hurry? +Ain't nobody sick up to Cap'n Holt's, be there?" +she added, a shade of anxiety crossing her face. + +"No, Martha; it's the dressmaker," answered the +doctor, tightening the reins on the restless sorrel as +he spoke. The voice was low and kindly and had a +ring of sincerity through it. + +"What dressmaker?" + +"Why, Miss Gossaway!" His hand was extended +now--that fine, delicately wrought, sympathetic hand +that had soothed so many aching heads. + +"You've said it," laughed Martha, leaning over +the wheel so as to press his fingers in her warm +palm. "There ain't no doubt 'bout that skinny +fright being 'Miss,' and there ain't no doubt 'bout +her stayin' so. Ann Gossaway she is, and Ann Gossaway +she'll die. Is she took bad?" she continued, a +merry, questioning look lighting up her kindly face, +her lips pursed knowingly. + +"No, only a sore throat" the doctor replied, loosening +his coat. + +"Throat!" she rejoined, with a wry look on her +face. "Too bad 'twarn't her tongue. If ye could +snip off a bit o' that some day it would help folks +considerable 'round here." + +The doctor laughed in answer, dropped the lines +over the dashboard and leaned forward in his seat, +the sun lighting up his clean-cut face. Busy as he +was--and there were few busier men in town, as +every hitching-post along the main street of Warehold +village from Billy Tatham's, the driver of the +country stage, to Captain Holt's, could prove--he +always had time for a word with the old nurse. + +"And where have YOU been, Mistress Martha?" +he asked, with a smile, dropping his whip into the +socket, a sure sign that he had a few more minutes +to give her. + +"Oh, down to the beach to git some o' the dirt off +Meg. Look at him--did ye ever see such a rapscallion! +Every time I throw him in he's into the +sand ag'in wallowin' before I kin git to him." + +The doctor bent his head, and for an instant +watched the two dogs: Meg circling about Rex, all +four legs taut, his head jerking from side to side in +his eagerness to be agreeable to his roadside acquaintance; +the agate-eyed setter returning Meg's attentions +with the stony gaze of a club swell ignoring a +shabby relative. The doctor smiled thoughtfully. +There was nothing he loved to study so much as dogs +--they had a peculiar humor of their own, he often +said, more enjoyable sometimes than that of men-- +then he turned to Martha again. + +"And why are you away from home this morning +of all others?" he asked. "I thought Miss Lucy +was expected from school to-day?" + +"And so she is, God bless her! And that's why +I'm here. I was that restless I couldn't keep still, +and so I says to Miss Jane, 'I'm goin' to the beach +with Meg and watch the ships go by; that's the only +thing that'll quiet my nerves. They're never in a +hurry with everybody punchin' and haulin' them.' +Not that there's anybody doin' that to me, 'cept like +it is to-day when I'm waitin' for my blessed baby to +come back to me. Two years, doctor--two whole +years since I had my arms round her. Wouldn't ye +think I'd be nigh crazy?" + +"She's too big for your arms now, Martha," +laughed the doctor, gathering up his reins. "She's +a woman--seventeen, isn't she?" + +"Seventeen and three months, come the fourteenth +of next July. But she's not a woman to me, and she +never will be. She's my wee bairn that I took from +her mother's dyin' arms and nursed at my own breast, +and she'll be that wee bairn to me as long as I live. +Ye'll be up to see her, won't ye, doctor?" + +"Yes, to-night. How's Miss Jane?" As he made +the inquiry his eyes kindled and a slight color suffused +his cheeks. + +"She'll be better for seein' ye," the nurse answered +with a knowing look. Then in a louder and +more positive tone, "Oh, ye needn't stare so with +them big brown eyes o' yourn. Ye can't fool old +Martha, none o' you young people kin. Ye think +I go round with my eyelids sewed up. Miss Jane +knows what she wants--she's proud, and so are you; +I never knew a Cobden nor a Cavendish that warn't. +I haven't a word to say--it'll be a good match when +it comes off. Where's that Meg? Good-by, doctor. +I won't keep ye a minute longer from MISS Gossaway. +I'm sorry it ain't her tongue, but if it's only +her throat she may get over it. Go 'long, Meg!" + +Dr. Cavendish laughed one of his quiet laughs-- +a laugh that wrinkled the lines about his eyes, with +only a low gurgle in his throat for accompaniment, +picked up his whip, lifted his hat in mock courtesy +to the old nurse, and calling to Rex, who, bored by +Meg's attentions, had at last retreated under the gig, +chirruped to his horse, and drove on. + +Martha watched the doctor and Rex until they +were out of sight, walked on to the top of the low +hill, and finding a seat by the roadside--her breath +came short these warm spring days--sat down to +rest, the dog stretched out in her lap. The little outcast +had come to her the day Lucy left Warehold +for school, and the old nurse had always regarded +him with a certain superstitious feeling, persuading +herself that nothing would happen to her bairn as +long as this miserable dog was well cared for. + +"Ye heard what Doctor John said about her bein' +a woman, Meg?" she crooned, when she had caught +her breath. "And she with her petticoats up to her +knees! That's all he knows about her. Ye'd know +better than that, Meg, wouldn't ye--if ye'd seen her +grow up like he's done? But grown up or not, Meg" +--here she lifted the dog's nose to get a clearer view +of his sleepy eyes--"she's my blessed baby and she's +comin' home this very day, Meg, darlin'; d'ye hear +that, ye little ruffian? And she's not goin' away +ag'in, never, never. There'll be nobody drivin' +round in a gig lookin' after her--nor nobody else +as long as I kin help it. Now git up and come +along; I'm that restless I can't sit still," and sliding +the dog from her lap, she again resumed her walk +toward Warehold. + +Soon the village loomed in sight, and later on the +open gateway of "Yardley," the old Cobden Manor, +with its two high brick posts topped with white balls +and shaded by two tall hemlocks, through which +could be seen a level path leading to an old colonial +house with portico, white pillars supporting a balcony, +and a sloping roof with huge chimneys and +dormer windows. + +Martha quickened her steps, and halting at the +gate-posts, paused for a moment with her eyes up the +road. It was yet an hour of the time of her bairn's +arrival by the country stage, but her impatience was +such that she could not enter the path without this +backward glance. Meg, who had followed behind +his mistress at a snail's pace, also came to a halt and, +as was his custom, picked out a soft spot in the road +and sat down on his haunches. + +Suddenly the dog sprang up with a quick yelp +and darted inside the gate. The next instant a young +girl in white, with a wide hat shading her joyous +face, jumped from behind one of the big hemlocks +and with a cry pinioned Martha's arms to her side. + +"Oh, you dear old thing, you! where have you +been? Didn't you know I was coming by the early +stage?" she exclaimed in a half-querulous tone. + +The old nurse disengaged one of her arms from +the tight clasp of the girl, reached up her hand until +she found the soft cheek, patted it gently for an +instant as a blind person might have done, and then +reassured, hid her face on Lucy's shoulder and burst +into tears. The joy of the surprise had almost +stopped her breath. + +"No, baby, no," she murmured. "No, darlin', +I didn't. I was on the beach with Meg. No, no-- +Oh, let me cry, darlin'. To think I've got you at +last. I wouldn't have gone away, darlin', but they +told me you wouldn't be here till dinner-time. Oh, +darlin', is it you? And it's all true, isn't it? and +ye've come back to me for good? Hug me close. Oh, +my baby bairn, my little one! Oh, you precious!" +and she nestled the girl's head on her bosom, smoothing +her cheek as she crooned on, the tears running +down her cheeks. + +Before the girl could reply there came a voice +calling from the house: "Isn't she fine, Martha?" +A woman above the middle height, young and of +slender figure, dressed in a simple gray gown and +without her hat, was stepping from the front porch +to meet them. + +"Too fine, Miss Jane, for her old Martha," the +nurse called back. "I've got to love her all over +again. Oh, but I'm that happy I could burst meself +with joy! Give me hold of your hand, darlin'-- +I'm afraid I'll lose ye ag'in if ye get out of reach +of me." + +The two strolled slowly up the path to meet Jane, +Martha patting the girl's arm and laying her cheek +against it as she walked. Meg had ceased barking +and was now sniffing at Lucy's skirts, his bent tail +wagging slowly, his sneaky eyes looking up into +Lucy's face. + +"Will he bite, Martha?" she asked, shrinking to +one side. She had an aversion to anything physically +imperfect, no matter how lovable it might be to +others. This tattered example struck her as particularly +objectionable. + +"No, darlin'--nothin' 'cept his food," and Martha +laughed. + +"What a horrid little beast!" Lucy said half +aloud to herself, clinging all the closer to the nurse. +"This isn't the dog sister Jane wrote me about, is +it? She said you loved him dearly--you don't, do +you?" + +"Yes, that's the same dog. You don't like him, +do you, darlin'?" + +"No, I think he's awful," retorted Lucy in a positive +tone. + +"It's all I had to pet since you went away," +Martha answered apologetically. + +"Well, now I'm home, give him away, please. +Go away, you dreadful dog!" she cried, stamping +her foot as Meg, now reassured, tried to jump upon +her. + +The dog fell back, and crouching close to Martha's +side raised his eyes appealingly, his ear and tail +dragging. + +Jane now joined them. She had stopped to pick +some blossoms for the house. + +"Why, Lucy, what's poor Meg done?" she asked, +as she stooped over and stroked the crestfallen beast's +head. "Poor old doggie--we all love you, don't +we?" + +"Well, just please love him all to yourselves, +then," retorted Lucy with a toss of her head. "I +wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs. I never +saw anything so ugly. Get away, you little brute!" + +"Oh, Lucy, dear, don't talk so," replied the older +sister in a pitying tone. "He was half starved when +Martha found him and brought him home--and look +at his poor back--" + +"No, thank you; I don't want to look at his poor +back, nor his poor tail, nor anything else poor about +him. And you will send him away, won't you, like +a dear good old Martha?" she added, patting +Martha's shoulder in a coaxing way. Then encircling +Jane's waist with her arm, the two sisters sauntered +slowly back to the house. + +Martha followed behind with Meg. + +Somehow, and for the first time where Lucy was +concerned, she felt a tightening of her heart-strings, +all the more painful because it had followed so +closely upon the joy of their meeting. What had +come over her bairn, she said to herself with a sigh, +that she should talk so to Meg--to anything that +her old nurse loved, for that matter? Jane interrupted +her reveries. + +"Did you give Meg a bath, Martha?" she asked +over her shoulder. She had seen the look of disappointment +in the old nurse's face and, knowing +the cause, tried to lighten the effect. + +"Yes--half water and half sand. Doctor John +came along with Rex shinin' like a new muff, and +I was ashamed to let him see Meg. He's comin' up +to see you to-night, Lucy, darlin'," and she bent forward +and tapped the girl's shoulder to accentuate +the importance of the information. + +Lucy cut her eye in a roguish way and twisted +her pretty head around until she could look into +Jane's eyes. + +"Who do you think he's coming to see, sister?" + +"Why, you, you little goose. They're all coming +--Uncle Ephraim has sent over every day to find out +when you would be home, and Bart Holt was here +early this morning, and will be back to-night." + +"What does Bart Holt look like?"--she had +stopped in her walk to pluck a spray of lilac blossoms. +"I haven't seen him for years; I hear he's +another one of your beaux," she added, tucking the +flowers into Jane's belt. "There, sister, that's just +your color; that's what that gray dress needs. Tell +me, what's Bart like?" + +"A little like Captain Nat, his father," answered +Jane, ignoring Lucy's last inference, "not so stout +and--" + +"What's he doing?" + +"Nothin', darlin', that's any good," broke in +Martha from behind the two. "He's sailin' a boat +when he ain't playin' cards or scarin' everybody +down to the beach with his gun, or shyin' things at +Meg." + +"Don't you mind anything Martha says, Lucy," +interrupted Jane in a defensive tone. "He's got +a great many very good qualities; he has no mother +and the captain has never looked after him. It's a +great wonder that he is not worse than he is." + +She knew Martha had spoken the truth, but she +still hoped that her influence might help him, and +then again, she never liked to hear even her acquaintances +criticised. + +"Playing cards! That all?" exclaimed Lucy, +arching her eyebrows; her sister's excuses for the +delinquent evidently made no impression on her. +"I don't think playing cards is very bad; and I don't +blame him for throwing anything he could lay his +hands on at this little wretch of Martha's. We all +played cards up in our rooms at school. Miss Sarah +never knew anything about it--she thought we were +in bed, and it was just lovely to fool her. And what +does the immaculate Dr. John Cavendish look like? +Has he changed any?" she added with a laugh. + +"No," answered Jane simply. + +"Does he come often?" She had turned her +head now and was looking from under her lids at +Martha. "Just as he used to and sit around, or has +he--" Here she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, and +a laugh bubbled out from between her lips. + +"Yes, that's just what he does do," cried Martha +in a triumphant tone; "every minute he kin git. +And he can't come too often to suit me. I jest love +him, and I'm not the only one, neither, darlin'," +she added with a nod of her head toward Jane. + +"And Barton Holt as well?" persisted Lucy. +"Why, sister, I didn't suppose there would be a man +for me to look at when I came home, and you've got +two already! Which one are you going to take?" +Here her rosy face was drawn into solemn lines. + +Jane colored. "You've got to be a great tease, +Lucy," she answered as she leaned over and kissed +her on the cheek. "I'm not in the back of the doctor's +head, nor he in mine--he's too busy nursing the +sick--and Bart's a boy!" + +"Why, he's twenty-five years old, isn't he?" +exclaimed Lucy in some surprise. + +"Twenty-five years young, dearie--there's a difference, +you know. That's why I do what I can to +help him. If he'd had the right influences in his life +and could be thrown a little more with nice women +it would help make him a better man. Be very good +to him, please, even if you do find him a little +rough." + +They had mounted the steps of the porch and +were now entering the wide colonial hall--a bare +white hall, with a staircase protected by spindling +mahogany banisters and a handrail. Jane passed +into the library and seated herself at her desk. Lucy +ran on upstairs, followed by Martha to help unpack +her boxes and trunks. + +When they reached the room in which Martha had +nursed her for so many years--the little crib still +occupied one corner--the old woman took the wide +hat from the girl's head and looked long and searchingly +into her eyes. + +"Let me look at ye, my baby," she said, as she +pushed Lucy's hair back from her forehead; "same +blue eyes, darlin', same pretty mouth I kissed so +often, same little dimples ye had when ye lay in my +arms, but ye've changed--how I can't tell. Somehow, +the face is different." + +Her hands now swept over the full rounded +shoulders and plump arms of the beautiful girl, and +over the full hips. + +"The doctor's right, child," she said with a sigh, +stepping back a pace and looking her over critically; +"my baby's gone--you've filled out to be a woman." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + + +SPRING BLOSSOMS + + +For days the neighbors in and about the village of +Warehold had been looking forward to Lucy's home- +coming as one of the important epochs in the history +of the Manor House, quite as they would have +done had Lucy been a boy and the expected function +one given in honor of the youthful heir's majority. +Most of them had known the father and mother of +these girls, and all of them loved Jane, the gentle +mistress of the home--a type of woman eminently +qualified to maintain its prestige. + +It had been a great house in its day. Built in +early Revolutionary times by Archibald Cobden, who +had thrown up his office under the Crown and openly +espoused the cause of the colonists, it had often been +the scene of many of the festivities and social events +following the conclusion of peace and for many years +thereafter: the rooms were still pointed out in which +Washington and Lafayette had slept, as well as the +small alcove where the dashing Bart de Klyn passed +the night whenever he drove over in his coach with +outriders from Bow Hill to Barnegat and the sea. + +With the death of Colonel Creighton Cobden, who +held a commission in the War of 1812, all this magnificence +of living had changed, and when Morton +Cobden, the father of Jane and Lucy, inherited the +estate, but little was left except the Manor House, +greatly out of repair, and some invested property +which brought in but a modest income. On his +death-bed Morton Cobden's last words were a prayer +to Jane, then eighteen, that she would watch over +and protect her younger sister, a fair-haired child +of eight, taking his own and her dead mother's place, +a trust which had so dominated Jane's life that it +had become the greater part of her religion. + +Since then she had been the one strong hand in +the home, looking after its affairs, managing their +income, and watching over every step of her sister's +girlhood and womanhood. Two years before she had +placed Lucy in one of the fashionable boarding- +schools of Philadelphia, there to study "music and +French," and to perfect herself in that "grace of +manner and charm of conversation," which the two +maiden ladies who presided over its fortunes claimed +in their modest advertisements they were so competent +to teach. Part of the curriculum was an enforced +absence from home of two years, during which +time none of her own people were to visit her except +in case of emergency. + +To-night, the once famous house shone with something +of its old-time color. The candles were lighted +in the big bronze candelabra--the ones which came +from Paris; the best glass and china and all the old +plate were brought out and placed on the sideboard +and serving-tables; a wood fire was started (the nights +were yet cold), its cheery blaze lighting up the brass +fender and andirons before which many of Colonel +Cobden's cronies had toasted their shins as they +sipped their toddies in the old days; easy-chairs +and hair-cloth sofas were drawn from the walls; the +big lamps lighted, and many minor details perfected +for the comfort of the expected guests. + +Jane entered the drawing-room in advance of Lucy +and was busying herself putting the final touches +to the apartment,--arranging the sprays of blossoms +over the clock and under the portrait of Morton Cobden, +which looked calmly down on the room from its +place on the walls, when the door opened softly and +Martha--the old nurse had for years been treated +as a member of the family--stepped in, bowing and +curtsying as would an old woman in a play, the +skirt of her new black silk gown that Ann Gossaway +had made for her held out between her plump fingers, +her mob-cap with its long lace strings bobbing with +every gesture. With her rosy cheeks, silver-rimmed +spectacles, self-satisfied smile, and big puffy sleeves, +she looked as if she might have stepped out of one +of the old frames lining the walls. + +"What do ye think of me, Miss Jane? I'm proud +as a peacock--that I am!" she cried, twisting herself +about. "Do ye know, I never thought that +skinny dressmaker could do half as well. Is it long +enough?" and she craned her head in the attempt +to see the edge of the skirt. + +"Fits you beautifully, Martha. You look fine," +answered Jane in all sincerity, as she made a survey +of the costume. "How does Lucy like it?" + +"The darlin' don't like it at all; she says I look +like a pall-bearer, and ye ought to hear her langhin' +at the cap. Is there anything the matter with it? +The pastor's wife's got one, anyhow, and she's a year +younger'n me." + +"Don't mind her, Martha--she laughs at everything; +and how good it is to hear her! She never +saw you look so well," replied Jane, as she moved a +jar from a table and placed it on the mantel to hold +the blossoms she had picked in the garden. "What's +she doing upstairs so long?" + +"Prinkin'--and lookin' that beautiful ye wouldn't +know her. But the width and the thickness of +her"--here the wrinkled fingers measured the increase +with a half circle in the air--"and the way +she's plumped out--not in one place, but all over-- +well, I tell ye, ye'd be astonished! She knows it, +too, bless her heart! I don't blame her. Let her +git all the comfort she kin when she's young--that's +the time for laughin'--the cryin' always comes +later." + +No part of Martha's rhapsody over Lucy described +Jane. Not in her best moments could she have been +called beautiful--not even to-night when Lucy's +home-coming had given a glow to her cheeks and a +lustre to her eyes that nothing else had done for +months. Her slender figure, almost angular in its +contour with its closely drawn lines about the hips +and back; her spare throat and neck, straight arms, +thin wrists and hands--transparent hands, though +exquisitely wrought, as were those of all her race +--all so expressive of high breeding and refinement, +carried with them none of the illusions of +beauty. The mould of the head, moreover, even +when softened by her smooth chestnut hair, worn +close to her ears and caught up in a coil behind, was +too severe for accepted standards, while her features +wonderfully sympathetic as they were, lacked the +finer modeling demanded in perfect types of female +loveliness, the eyebrows being almost straight, the +cheeks sunken, with little shadows under the cheek- +bones, and the lips narrow and often drawn. + +And yet with all these discrepancies and, to some +minds, blemishes there was a light in her deep gray +eyes, a melody in her voice, a charm in her manner, +a sureness of her being exactly the sort of woman +one hoped she would be, a quick responsiveness to +any confidence, all so captivating and so satisfying +that 'those who knew her forgot her slight physical +shortcomings and carried away only the remembrance +of one so much out of the common and of so distinguished +a personality that she became ever after +the standard by which they judged all good women. + +There were times, too--especially whenever Lucy +entered the room or her name was mentioned--that +there shone through Jane's eyes a certain instantaneous +kindling of the spirit which would irradiate her +whole being as a candle does a lantern--a light +betokening not only uncontrollable tenderness but +unspeakable pride, dimmed now and then when some +word or act of her charge brought her face to face +with the weight of the responsibility resting upon +her--a responsibility far outweighing that which +most mothers would have felt. This so dominated +Jane's every motion that it often robbed her of the +full enjoyment of the companionship of a sister so +young and so beautiful. + +If Jane, to quote Doctor John, looked like a lily +swaying on a slender stem, Lucy, when she bounded +into the room to-night, was a full-blown rose tossed +by a summer breeze. She came in with throat and +neck bare; a woman all curves and dimples, her skin +as pink as a shell; plump as a baby, and as fair, and +yet with the form of a wood-nymph; dressed in a +clinging, soft gown, the sleeves caught up at the +shoulders revealing her beautiful arms, a spray of +blossoms on her bosom, her blue eyes dancing with. +health, looking twenty rather than seventeen; glad +of her freedom, glad of her home and Jane and +Martha, and of the lights and blossoms and the glint +on silver and glass, and of all that made life breathable +and livable. + +"Oh, but isn't it just too lovely to be at home!" +she cried as she skipped about. "No lights out at +nine, no prayers, no getting up at six o'clock and +turning your mattress and washing in a sloppy little +washroom. Oh, I'm so happy! I can't realize it's +all true." As she spoke she raised herself on her toes +so that she could see her face in the mirror over the +mantel. "Why, do you know, sister," she rattled +on, her eyes studying her own face, "that Miss +Sarah used to make us learn a page of dictionary if +we talked after the silence bell!" + +"You must know the whole book by heart, then, +dearie," replied Jane with a smile, as she bent over +a table and pushed back some books to make room +for a bowl of arbutus she held in her hand. + +"Ah, but she didn't catch us very often. We +used to stuff up the cracks in the doors so she +couldn't hear us talk and smother our heads in the +pillows. Jonesy, the English teacher, was the +worst." She was still looking in the glass, her fingers +busy with the spray of blossoms on her bosom. "She +always wore felt slippers and crept around like a +cat. She'd tell on anybody. We had a play one +night in my room after lights were out, and Maria +Collins was Claude Melnotte and I was Pauline. +Maria had a mustache blackened on her lips with a +piece of burnt cork and I was all fixed up in a +dressing-gown and sash. We never heard Jonesy till +she put her hand on the knob; then we blew out the +candle and popped into bed. She smelled the candle- +wick and leaned over and kissed Maria good-night, +and the black all came off on her lips, and next day +we got three pages apiece--the mean old thing! +How do I look, Martha? Is my hair all right?" +Here she turned her head for the old woman's inspection. + +"Beautiful, darlin'. There won't one o' them +know ye; they'll think ye're a real livin' princess +stepped out of a picture-book." Martha had not +taken her eyes from Lucy since she entered the +room. + +"See my little beau-catchers," she laughed, twisting +her head so that Martha could see the tiny +Spanish curls she had flattened against her temples. +"They are for Bart Holt, and I'm going to cut sister +out. Do you think he'll remember me?" she +prattled on, arching her neck. + +"It won't make any difference if he don't," +Martha retorted in a positive tone. "But Cap'n +Nat will, and so will the doctor and Uncle Ephraim +and--who's that comin' this early?" and the old +nurse paused and listened to a heavy step on the +porch. "It must be the cap'n himself; there ain't +nobody but him's got a tread like that; ye'd think +he was trampin' the deck o' one of his ships." + +The door of the drawing-room opened and a bluff, +hearty, round-faced man of fifty, his iron-gray hair +standing straight up on his head like a shoe-brush, +dressed in a short pea-jacket surmounted by a low +sailor collar and loose necktie, stepped cheerily into +the room. + +"Ah, Miss Jane!" Somehow all the neighbors, +even the most intimate, remembered to prefix +"Miss" when speaking to Jane. "So you've got +this fly-away back again? Where are ye? By jingo! +let me look at you. Why! why! why! Did you +ever! What have you been doing to yourself, lassie, +that you should shed your shell like a bug and come +out with wings like a butterfly? Why you're the +prettiest thing I've seen since I got home from my +last voyage." + +He had Lucy by both bands now, and was turning +her about as if she had been one of Ann Gossaway's +models. + +"Have I changed, Captain Holt?" + +"No--not a mite. You've got a new suit of flesh +and blood on your bones, that's all. And it's the best +in the locker. Well! Well! WELL!" He was +still twisting her around. "She does ye proud, +Martha," he called to the old nurse, who was just +leaving the room to take charge of the pantry, now +that the guests had begun to arrive. "And so ye're +home for good and all, lassie?" + +"Yes--isn't it lovely?" + +"Lovely? That's no name for it. You'll be settin' +the young fellers crazy 'bout here before they're a +week older. Here come two of 'em now." + +Lucy turned her head quickly, just as the doctor +and Barton Holt reached the door of the drawing- +room. The elder of the two, Doctor John, greeted +Jane as if she had been a duchess, bowing low as he +approached her, his eyes drinking in her every movement; +then, after a few words, remembering the +occasion as being one in honor of Lucy, he walked +slowly toward the young girl. + +"Why, Lucy, it's so delightful to get you back!" +he cried, shaking her hand warmly. "And you are +looking so well. Poor Martha has been on pins and +needles waiting for you. I told her just how it would +be--that she'd lose her little girl--and she has," +and he glanced at her admiringly. "What did she +say when she saw you?" + +"Oh, the silly old thing began to cry, just as they +all do. Have you seen her dog?" + +The answer jarred on the doctor, although he excused +her in his heart on the ground of her youth and +her desire to appear at ease in talking to him. + +"Do you mean Meg?" he asked, scanning her face +the closer. + +"I don't know what she calls him--but he's the +ugliest little beast I ever saw." + +"Yes--but so amusing. I never get tired of +watching him. What is left of him is the funniest +thing alive. He's better than he looks, though. He +and Rex have great times together." + +"I wish you would take him, then. I told Martha +this morning that he mustn't poke his nose into my +room, and he won't. He's a perfect fright." + +"But the dear old woman loves him," he protested +with a tender tone in his voice, his eyes fixed +on Lucy. + +He had looked into the faces of too many young +girls in his professional career not to know something +of what lay at the bottom of their natures. +What he saw now came as a distinct surprise. + +"I don't care if she does," she retorted; "no, I +don't," and she knit her brow and shook her pretty +head as she laughed. + +While they stood talking Bart Holt, who had +lingered at the threshold, his eyes searching for the +fair arrival, was advancing toward the centre of the +room. Suddenly he stood still, his gaze fixed on the +vision of the girl in the clinging dress, with the blossoms +resting on her breast. The curve of her back, +the round of the hip; the way her moulded shoulders +rose above the lace of her bodice; the bare, full +arms tapering to the wrists;--the color, the movement, +the grace of it all had taken away his breath. +With only a side nod of recognition toward Jane, +he walked straight to Lucy and with an "Excuse +me," elbowed the doctor out of the way in his eagerness +to reach the girl's side. The doctor smiled at +the young man's impetuosity, bent his head to Lucy, +and turned to where Jane was standing awaiting the +arrival of her other guests. + +The young man extended his hand. "I'm Bart +Holt," he exclaimed; "you haven't forgotten me, +Miss Lucy, have you? We used to play together. +Mighty glad to see you--been expecting you for a +week." + +Lucy colored slightly and arched her head in a +coquettish way. His frankness pleased her; so did +the look of unfeigned admiration in his eyes. + +"Why, of course I haven't forgotten you, Mr. +Holt. It was so nice of you to come," and she gave +him the tips of her fingers--her own eyes meanwhile, +in one comprehensive glance, taking in his +round head with its closely cropped curls, searching +brown eyes, wavering mouth, broad shoulders, and +shapely body, down to his small, well-turned feet. +The young fellow lacked the polish and well-bred +grace of the doctor, just as he lacked his well-cut +clothes and distinguished manners, but there was a +sort of easy effrontery and familiar air about him +that some of his women admirers encouraged and +others shrank from. Strange to say, this had appealed +to Lucy before he had spoken a word. + +"And you've come home for good now, haven't +you?" His eyes were still drinking in the beauty +of the girl, his mind neither on his questions nor +her answers. + +"Yes, forever and ever," she replied, with a laugh +that showed her white teeth. + +"Did you like it at school?" It was her lips +now that held his attention and the little curves +under her dimpled chin. He thought he had never +seen so pretty a mouth and chin. + +"Not always; but we used to have lots of fun," +answered the girl, studying him in return--the way +his cravat was tied and the part of his hair. She +thought he had well-shaped ears and that his nose +and eyebrows looked like a picture she had in her +room upstairs. + +"Come and tell me about it. Let's sit down +here," he continued as he drew her to a sofa and +stood waiting until she took her seat. + +"Well, I will for a moment, until they begin to +come in," she answered, her face all smiles. She +liked the way he behaved towards her--not asking +her permission, but taking the responsibility and by +his manner compelling a sort of obedience. "But I +can't stay," she added. "Sister won't like it if I'm +not with her to shake hands with everybody." + +"Oh, she won't mind me; I'm a great friend of +Miss Jane's. Please go on; what kind of fun did +you have? I like to hear about girls' scrapes. We +had plenty of them at college, but I couldn't tell +you half of them." He had settled himself beside +her now, his appropriating eyes still taking in her +beauty. + +"Oh, all kinds," she replied as she bent her head +and glanced at the blossoms on her breast to be +assured of their protective covering. + +"But I shouldn't think you could have much fun +with the teachers watching you every minute," said +Bart, moving nearer to her and turning his body +so he could look squarely into her eyes. + +"Yes, but they didn't find out half that was going +on." Then she added coyly, "I don't know whether +you can keep a secret--do you tell everything you +hear?" + +"Never tell anything." + +"How do I know?" + +"I'll swear it." In proof he held up one hand +and closed both eyes in mock reverence as if he were +taking an oath. He was getting more interested now +in her talk; up to this time her beauty had dazzled +him. "Never! So help me--" he mumbled impressively. + +"Well, one day we were walking out to the park-- +Now you're sure you won't tell sister, she's so easily +shocked?" The tone was the same, but the inflection +was shaded to closer intimacy. + +Again Bart cast up his eyes. + +"And all the girls were in a string with Miss +Griggs, the Latin teacher, in front, and we all went +in a cake shop and got a big piece of gingerbread +apiece. We were all eating away hard as we could +when we saw Miss Sarah coming. Every girl let her +cake go, and when Miss Sarah got to us the whole +ten pieces were scattered along the sidewalk." + +Bart looked disappointed over the mild character +of the scrape. From what he had seen of her he +had supposed her adventures would be seasoned with +a certain spice of deviltry. + +"I wouldn't have done that, I'd have hidden it +in my pocket," he replied, sliding down on the sofa +until his head rested on the cushion next her own. + +"We tried, but she was too close. Poor old Griggsey +got a dreadful scolding. She wasn't like Miss +Jones--she wouldn't tell on the girls." + +"And did they let any of the fellows come to see +you?" Bart asked. + +"No; only brothers and cousins once in a long +while. Maria Collins tried to pass one of her beaux, +Max Feilding, off as a cousin, but Miss Sarah went +down to see him and poor Maria had to stay upstairs." + +"I'd have got in," said Bart with some emphasis, +rousing himself from his position and twisting his +body so he could again look squarely in her face. +This escapade was more to his liking. + +"How?" asked Lucy in a tone that showed she +not only quite believed it, but rather liked him the +better for saying so. + +"Oh I don't know. I'd have cooked up some +story." He was leaning over now, toying with the +lace that clung to Lucy's arms. "Did you ever have +any one of your own friends treated in that way?" + +Jane's voice cut short her answer. She had seen +the two completely absorbed in each other, to the +exclusion of the other guests who were now coming +in, and wanted Lucy beside her. + +The young girl waved her fan gayly in answer, +rose to her feet, turned her head close to Bart's, +pointed to the incoming guests, whispered something +in his ear that made him laugh, listened while he +whispered to her in return, and in obedience to the +summons crossed the room to meet a group of the +neighbors, among them old Judge Woolworthy, in a +snuff-colored coat, high black stock, and bald head, +and his bustling little wife. Bart's last whisper to +Lucy was in explanation of the little wife's manner +--who now, all bows and smiles, was shaking hands +with everybody about her. + +Then came Uncle Ephraim Tipple, and close beside +him walked his spouse, Ann, in a camel's-hair +shawl and poke-bonnet, the two preceded by Uncle +Ephraim's stentorian laugh, which had been heard +before their feet had touched the porch outside. +Mrs. Cromartin now bustled in, accompanied by her +two daughters--slim, awkward girls, both dressed +alike in high waists and short frocks; and after them +the Bunsbys, father, mother, and son--all smiles, +the last a painfully thin young lawyer, in a low collar +and a shock of whitey-brown hair, "looking like a +patent window-mop resting against a wall," so Lucy +described him afterward to Martha when she was +putting her to bed; and finally the Colfords and Bronsons, +young and old, together with Pastor Dellenbaugh, +the white-haired clergyman who preached in +the only church in Warehold. + +When Lucy had performed her duty and the several +greetings were over, and Uncle Ephraim had +shaken the hand of the young hostess in true pump- +handle fashion, the old man roaring with laughter +all the time, as if it were the funniest thing in the +world to find her alive; and the good clergyman in +his mildest and most impressive manner had said she +grew more and more like her mother every day-- +which was a flight of imagination on the part of +the dear man, for she didn't resemble her in the +least; and the two thin girls had remarked that it +must be so "perfectly blissful" to get home; and +the young lawyer had complimented her on her wonderful, +almost life-like resemblance to her grand- +father, whose portrait hung in the court-house--and +which was nearer the truth--to all of which the +young girl replied in her most gracious tones, thanking +them for their kindness in coming to see her +and for welcoming her so cordially--the whole of +Lucy's mind once more reverted to Bart. + +Indeed, the several lobes of her brain had been +working in opposition for the past hour. While one- +half of her mind was concocting polite speeches for +her guests the other was absorbed in the fear that +Bart would either get tired of waiting for her return +and leave the sofa, or that some other girl friend +of his would claim him and her delightful talk be +at an end. + +To the young girl fresh from school Bart represented +the only thing in the room that was entirely +alive. The others talked platitudes and themselves. +He had encouraged her to talk of HERSELF and of the +things she liked. He had, too, about him an assurance +and dominating personality which, although it +made her a little afraid of him, only added to his +attractiveness. + +While she stood wondering how many times the +white-haired young lawyer would tell her it was so +nice to have her back, she felt a slight pressure on +her arm and turned to face Bart. + +"You are wanted, please, Miss Lucy; may I offer +you my arm? Excuse me, Bunsby--I'll give her to +you again in a minute." + +Lucy slipped her arm into Bart's, and asked simply, +"What for?" + +"To finish our talk, of course. Do you suppose +I'm going to let that tow-head monopolize you?" he +answered, pressing her arm closer to his side with +his own. + +Lucy laughed and tapped Bart with her fan in +rebuke, and then there followed a bit of coquetry in +which the young girl declared that he was "too mean +for anything, and that she'd never seen anybody so +conceited, and if he only knew, she might really +prefer the 'tow head' to his own;" to which Bart +answered that his only excuse was that he was so +lonely he was nearly dead, and that he had only come +to save his life--the whole affair culminating in his +conducting her back to the sofa with a great flourish +and again seating himself beside her. + +"I've been watching you," he began when he had +made her comfortable with a small cushion behind +her shoulders and another for her pretty feet. "You +don't act a bit like Miss Jane." As he spoke he +leaned forward and flicked an imaginary something +from her bare wrist with that air which always +characterized his early approaches to most women. + +"Why?" Lucy asked, pleased at his attentions +and thanking him with a more direct look. + +"Oh, I don't know. You're more jolly, I think. +I don't like girls who turn out to be solemn after you +know them a while; I was afraid you might. You +know it's a long time since I saw you." + +"Why, then, sister can't be solemn, for everybody +says you and she are great friends," she replied with +a light laugh, readjusting the lace of her bodice. + +"So we are; nobody about here I think as much +of as I do of your sister. She's been mighty good +to me. But you know what I mean: I mean those +don't-touch-me kind of girls who are always thinking +you mean a lot of things when you're only trying +to be nice and friendly to them. I like to be a +brother to a girl and to go sailing with her, and fishing, +and not have her bother me about her feet getting +a little bit wet, and not scream bloody murder when +the boat gives a lurch. That's the kind of girl that's +worth having." + +"And you don't find them?" laughed Lucy, looking +at him out of the corners of her eyes. + +"Well, not many. Do you mind little things like +that?" + +As he spoke his eyes wandered over her bare shoulders +until they rested on the blossoms, the sort of +roaming, critical eyes that often cause a woman to +wonder whether some part of her toilet has not been +carelessly put together. Then he added, with a sudden +lowering of his voice: "That's a nice posy you've +got. Who sent it?" and he bent his head as if to +smell the cluster on her bosom. + +Lucy drew back and a slight flush suffused her +cheek; his audacity frightened her. She was fond +of admiration, but this way of expressing it was new +to her. The young man caught the movement and +recovered himself. He had ventured on a thin spot, +as was his custom, and the sound of the cracking ice +had warned him in time. + +"Oh, I see, they're apple blossoms," he added +carelessly as he straightened up. "We've got a lot +in our orchard. You like flowers, I see." The even +tone and perfect self-possession of the young man +reassured her. + +"Oh, I adore them; don't you?" Lucy answered +in a relieved, almost apologetic voice. She was sorry +she had misjudged him. She liked him rather the +better now for her mistake. + +"Well, that depends. Apple blossoms never +looked pretty to me before; but then it makes a good +deal of difference where they are," answered Bart +with a low chuckle. + +Jane had been watching the two and had noticed. +Bart's position and manner. His easy familiarity +of pose offended her. Instinctively she glanced about +the room, wondering if any of her guests had seen it. +That Lucy did not resent it surprised her. She +supposed her sister's recent training would have +made her a little more fastidious. + +"Come, Lucy," she called gently, moving toward +her, "bring Bart over here and join the other +girls." + +"All right, Miss Jane, we'll be there in a minute," +Bart answered in Lucy's stead. Then he bent his +head and said in a low voice: + +"Won't you give me half those blossoms?" + +"No; it would spoil the bunch." + +"Please--" + +"No, not a single one. You wouldn't care for +them, anyway." + +"Yes, I would." Here he stretched out his hand +and touched the blossoms on her neck. + +Lucy ducked her head in merry glee, sprang up, +and with a triumphant curtsy and a "No, you don't, +sir--not this time," joined her sister, followed by +art. + +The guests were now separated into big and little +groups. Uncle Ephraim and the judge were hob- +nobbing around the fireplace, listening to Uncle +Ephraim's stories and joining in the laughter which +every now and then filled the room. Captain Nat +was deep in a discussion with Doctor John over some +seafaring matter, and Jane and Mrs. Benson were +discussing a local charity with Pastor Dellenbaugh. + +The younger people being left to themselves soon +began to pair off, the white-haired young lawyer disappearing +with the older Miss Cromartin and Bart +soon following with Lucy:--the outer porch and +the long walk down the garden path among the +trees, despite the chilliness of the night, seemed to +be the only place in which they could be comfortable. + +During a lull in the discussion of Captain Nat's +maritime news and while Mrs. Benson was talking +to the pastor, Doctor John seized the opportunity +to seat himself again by Jane. + +"Don't you think Lucy improved?" she asked, +motioning the doctor to a place beside her. + +"She's much more beautiful than I thought she +would be," he answered in a hesitating way, looking +toward Lucy, and seating himself in his favorite +attitude, hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the +other and hanging straight beside its fellow; only a +man like the doctor, of more than usual repose and of +a certain elegance of form, Jane always said, could +sit this way any length of time and be comfortable +and unconscious of his posture. Then he added +slowly, and as if he had given the subject some consideration, +"You won't keep her long, I'm afraid." + +"Oh, don't say that," Jane cried with a nervous +start. "I don't know what I would do if she should +marry." + +"That don't sound like you, Miss Jane. You +would be the first to deny yourself. You are too +good to do otherwise." He spoke with a slight quiver +in his voice, and yet with an emphasis that showed +he believed it. + +"No; it is you who are good to think so," she +replied in a softer tone, bending her head as she +spoke, her eyes intent on her fan. "And now tell +me," she added quickly, raising her eyes to his as if +to bar any further tribute he might be on the point +of paying to her--"I hear your mother takes greatly +to heart your having refused the hospital appointment." + +"Yes, I'm afraid she does. Mother has a good +many new-fashioned notions nowadays." He laughed +--a mellow, genial laugh; more in the spirit of apology +than of criticism. + +"And you don't want to go?" she asked, her eyes +fixed on his. + +"Want to go? No, why should I? There would +be nobody to look after the people here if I went +away. You don't want me to leave, do you?" he +added suddenly in an anxious tone. + +"Nobody does, doctor," she replied, parrying the +question, her face flushing with pleasure. + +Here Martha entered the room hurriedly and +bending over Jane's shoulder, whispered something +in her ear. The doctor straightened himself and +leaned back out of hearing. + +"Well, but I don't think she will take cold," +Jane whispered in return, looking up into Martha's +face. "Has she anything around her?" + +"Yes, your big red cloak; but the child's head is +bare and there's mighty little on her neck, and she +ought to come in. The wind's begun to blow and it's +gettin' cold." + +"Where is she?" Jane continued, her face showing +her surprise at Martha's statement. + +"Out by the gate with that dare-devil. He don't +care who he gives cold. I told her she'd get her +death, but she won't mind me." + +"Why, Martha, how can you talk so!" Jane retorted, +with a disapproving frown. Then raising her +voice so that the doctor could be brought into the +conversation, she added in her natural tone, "Whom +did you say she was with?" + +"Bart Holt," cried Martha aloud, nodding to the +doctor as if to get his assistance in saving her bairn +from possible danger. + +Jane colored slightly and turned to Doctor John. + +"You go please, doctor, and bring them all in, +or you may have some new patients on your +hands." + +The doctor looked from one to the other in doubt +as to the cause of his selection, but Jane's face +showed none of the anxiety in Martha's. + +"Yes, certainly," he answered simply; "but I'll +get myself into a hornet's nest. These young people +don't like to be told what's good for them," he added +with a laugh, rising from his seat. "And after that +you'll permit me to slip away without telling anybody, +won't you? My last minute has come," and he +glanced at his watch. + +"Going so soon? Why, I wanted you to stay for +supper. It will be ready in a few minutes." Her +voice had lost its buoyancy now. She never wanted +him to go. She never let him know it, but it pained +her all the same. + +"I would like to, but I cannot." All his heart +was in his eyes as he spoke. + +"Someone ill?" she asked. + +"Yes, Fogarty's child. The little fellow may +develop croup before morning. I saw him to-day, +and his pulse was not right, he's a sturdy little +chap with a thick neck, and that kind always suffers +most. If he's worse Fogarty is to send word to my +office," he added, holding out his hand in parting. + +"Can I help?" Jane asked, retaining the doctor's +hand in hers as if to get the answer. + +"No, I'll watch him closely. Good-night," and +with a smile he bent his head and withdrew. + +Martha followed the doctor to the outer door, +and then grumbling her satisfaction went back to +the pantry to direct the servants in arranging upon +the small table in the supper-room the simple refreshments +which always characterized the Cobdens' entertainments. + +Soon the girls and their beaux came trooping in +to join their elders on the way to the supper-room. +Lucy hung back until the last (she had not liked the +doctor's interference), Jane's long red cloak draped +from her shoulders, the hood hanging down her back, +her cheeks radiant, her beautiful blond hair ruffled +with the night wind, an aureole of gold framing her +face. Bart followed close behind, a pleased, almost +triumphant smile playing about his lips. + +He had carried his point. The cluster of blossoms +which had rested upon Lucy's bosom was pinned +to the lapel of his coat. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +LITTLE TOD FOGARTY + + +With the warmth of Jane's parting grasp lingering +in his own Doctor John untied the mare, sprang +into his gig, and was soon clear of the village and +speeding along the causeway that stretched across +the salt marshes leading past his own home to the +inner beach beyond. As he drove slowly through his +own gate, so as to make as little noise as possible, +the cottage, blanketed under its clinging vines, +seemed in the soft light of the low-lying moon to be +fast asleep. Only one eye was open; this was the +window of his office, through which streamed the +glow of a lamp, its light falling on the gravel path +and lilac bushes beyond. + +Rex gave a bark of welcome and raced beside the +wheels. + +"Keep still, old dog! Down, Rex! Been +lonely, old fellow?" + +The dog in answer leaped in the air as his master +drew rein, and with eager springs tried to reach his +hands, barking all the while in short and joyful +yelps. + +Doctor John threw the lines across the dash-board, +jumped from the gig, and pushing open the hall +door--it was never locked--stepped quickly into his +office, and turning up the lamp, threw himself into +a chair at his desk. The sorrel made no attempt to +go to the stable--both horse and man were accustomed +to delays--sometimes of long hours and sometimes +of whole nights. + +The appointments and fittings of the office--old- +fashioned and practical as they were--reflected in +a marked degree the aims and tastes of the occupant. +While low bookcases stood against the walls surmounted +by rows of test-tubes, mortars and pestles, +cases of instruments, and a line of bottles labelled +with names of various mixtures (in those days doctors +were chemists as well as physicians), there could +also be found a bust of the young Augustus; one or +two lithographs of Heidelberg, where he had studied; +and some line engravings in black frames--one a +view of Oxford with the Thames wandering by, +another a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, and +still another of Nell Gwynn. Scattered about the +room were easy-chairs and small tables piled high +with books, a copy of Tacitus and an early edition +of Milton being among them, while under the wide, +low window stood a narrow bench crowded with flowering +plants in earthen pots, the remnants of the +winter's bloom. There were also souvenirs of his +earlier student life--a life which few of his friends +in Warehold, except Jane Cobden, knew or cared +anything about--including a pair of crossed foils +and two boxing-gloves; these last hung over a portrait +of Macaulay. + +What the place lacked was the touch of a woman's +hand in vase, flower, or ornament--a touch that his +mother, for reasons of her own, never gave and which +no other woman had yet dared suggest. + +For an instant the doctor sat with his elbows on +the desk in deep thought, the light illuminating his +calm, finely chiselled features and hands--those thin, +sure hands which could guide a knife within a hair's +breadth of instant death--and leaning forward, with +an indrawn sigh examined some letters lying under +his eye. Then, as if suddenly remembering, he +glanced at the office slate, his face lighting up as he +found it bare of any entry except the date. + +Rex had been watching his master with ears +cocked, and was now on his haunches, cuddling +close, his nose resting on the doctor's knee. Doctor +John laid his hand on the dog's head and smoothing +the long, silky ears, said with a sigh of relief, as he +settled himself in his chair: + +"Little Tod must be better, Rex, and we are going +to have a quiet night." + +The anxiety over his patients relieved, his thoughts +reverted to Jane and their talk. He remembered the +tone of her voice and the quick way in which she +had warded off his tribute to her goodness; he recalled +her anxiety over Lucy; he looked again into the deep, +trusting eyes that gazed into his as she appealed to +him for assistance; he caught once more the poise +of the head as she listened to his account of little +Tod Fogarty's illness and heard her quick offer to +help, and felt for the second time her instant tenderness +and sympathy, never withheld from the sick +and suffering, and always so generous and spontaneous. + +A certain feeling of thankfulness welled up in +his heart. Perhaps she had at last begun to depend +upon him--a dependence which, with a woman such +as Jane, must, he felt sure, eventually end in love. + +With these thoughts filling his mind, he settled +deeper in his chair. These were the times in which +he loved to think of her--when, with pipe in mouth, +he could sit alone by his fire and build castles in the +coals, every rosy mountain-top aglow with the love +he bore her; with no watchful mother's face trying +to fathom his thoughts; only his faithful dog +stretched at his feet. + +Picking up his brierwood, lying on a pile of books +on his desk, and within reach of his hand, he started +to fill the bowl, when a scrap of paper covered with +a scrawl written in pencil came into view. He +turned it to the light and sprang to his feet. + +"Tod worse," he said to himself. "I wonder +how long this has been here." + +The dog was now beside him looking up into the +doctor's eyes. It was not the first time that he had +seen his master's face grow suddenly serious as he +had read the tell-tale slate or had opened some note +awaiting his arrival. + +Doctor John lowered the lamp, stepped noiselessly +to the foot of the winding stairs that led to the sleeping +rooms above--the dog close at his heels, watching +his every movement--and called gently: + +"Mother! mother, dear!" He never left his +office when she was at home and awake without telling +her where he was going. + +No one answered. + +"She is asleep. I will slip out without waking +her. Stay where you are, Rex--I will be back some +time before daylight," and throwing his night-cloak +about his shoulders, he started for his gig. + +The dog stopped with his paws resting on the +outer edge of the top step of the porch, the line he +was not to pass, and looked wistfully after the doctor. +His loneliness was to continue, and his poor master +to go out into the night alone. His tail ceased to wag, +only his eyes moved. + +Once outside Doctor John patted the mare's neck +as if in apology and loosened the reins. "Come, +old girl," he said; "I'm sorry, but it can't be helped," +and springing into the gig, he walked the mare clear +of the gravel beyond the gate, so as not to rouse +his mother, touched her lightly with the whip, and +sent her spinning along the road on the way to +Fogarty's. + +The route led toward the sea, branching off within +the sight of the cottage porch, past the low, conical +ice-houses used by the fishermen in which to cool +their fish during the hot weather, along the sand- +dunes, and down a steep grade to the shore. The +tide was making flood, and the crawling surf spent +itself in long shelving reaches of foam. These so +packed the sand that the wheels of the gig hardly +made an impression upon it. Along this smooth +surface the mare trotted briskly, her nimble feet wet +with the farthest reaches of the incoming wash. + +As he approached the old House of Refuge, black +in the moonlight and looking twice its size in the +stretch of the endless beach, he noticed for the hundredth +time how like a crouching woman it appeared, +with its hipped roof hunched up like a shoulder close +propped against the dune and its overhanging eaves +but a draped hood shading its thoughtful brow; an +illusion which vanished when its square form, with +its wide door and long platform pointing to the sea, +came into view. + +More than once in its brief history the doctor had +seen the volunteer crew, aroused from their cabins +along the shore by the boom of a gun from some +stranded vessel, throw wide its door and with a wild +cheer whirl the life-boat housed beneath its roof into +the boiling surf, and many a time had he helped to +bring back to life the benumbed bodies drawn from +the merciless sea by their strong arms. + +There were other houses like it up and down the +coast. Some had remained unused for years, desolate +and forlorn, no unhappy ship having foundered +or struck the breakers within their reach; others +had been in constant use. The crews were gathered +from the immediate neighborhood by the custodian, +who was the only man to receive pay from the +Government. If he lived near by he kept the key; +if not, the nearest fisherman held it. Fogarty, the +father of the sick child, and whose cabin was within +gunshot of this house, kept the key this year. No +other protection was given these isolated houses and +none was needed. These black-hooded Sisters of the +Coast, keeping their lonely vigils, were as safe from +beach-combers and sea-prowlers as their white-capped +namesakes would have been threading the lonely +suburbs of some city. + +The sound of the mare's feet on the oyster-shell +path outside his cabin brought Fogarty, a tall, thin, +weather-beaten fisherman, to the door. He was still +wearing his hip-boots and sou'wester--he was just in +from the surf--and stood outside the low doorway +with a lantern. Its light streamed over the sand +and made wavering patterns about the mare's feet. + +"Thought ye'd never come, Doc," he whispered, +as he threw the blanket over the mare. "Wife's nigh +crazy. Tod's fightin' for all he's worth, but there +ain't much breath left in him. I was off the inlet +when it come on." + +The wife, a thick-set woman in a close-fitting cap, +her arms bared to the elbow, her petticoats above the +tops of her shoes, met him inside the door. She had +been crying and her eyelids were still wet and her +cheeks swollen. The light of the ship's lantern fastened +to the wall fell upon a crib in the corner, on +which lay the child, his short curls, tangled with +much tossing, smoothed back from his face. The +doctor's ears had caught the sound of the child's +breathing before he entered the room. + +"When did this come on?" Doctor John asked, +settling down beside the crib upon a stool that the +wife had brushed off with her apron. + +"'Bout sundown, sir," she answered, her tear- +soaked eyes fixed on little Tod's face. Her teeth +chattered as she spoke and her arms were tight +pressed against her sides, her fingers opening and +shutting in her agony. Now and then in her nervousness +she would wipe her forehead with the back of +her wrist as if it were wet, or press her two fingers +deep into her swollen cheek. + +Fogarty had followed close behind the doctor and +now stood looking down at the crib with fixed eyes, +his thin lips close shut, his square jaw sunk in the +collar of his shirt. There were no dangers that the +sea could unfold which this silent surfman had not +met and conquered, and would again. Every fisherman +on the coast knew Fogarty's pluck and skill, +and many of them owed their lives to him. To- +night, before this invisible power slowly closing +about his child he was as powerless as a skiff without +oars caught in the swirl of a Barnegat tide. + +"Why didn't you let me know sooner, Fogarty? +You understood my directions?" Doctor John asked +in a surprised tone. "You shouldn't have left him +without letting me know." It was only when his +orders were disobeyed and life endangered that he +spoke thus. + +The fisherman turned his head and was about to +reply when the wife stepped in front of him. + +"My husband got ketched in the inlet, sir," she +said in an apologetic tone, as if to excuse his absence. +"The tide set ag'in him and he had hard pullin' +makin' the p'int. It cuts in turrible there, you know, +doctor. Tod seemed to be all right when he left him +this mornin'. I had husband's mate take the note +I wrote ye. Mate said nobody was at home and he +laid it under your pipe. He thought ye'd sure find +it there when ye come in." + +Doctor John was not listening to her explanations; +he was leaning over the rude crib, his ear to the +child's breast. Regaining his position, he smoothed +the curls tenderly from the forehead of the little fellow, +who still lay with eyes closed, one stout brown +hand and arm clear of the coverlet, and stood watching +his breathing. Every now and then a spasm of +pain would cross the child's face; the chubby hand +would open convulsively and a muffled cry escape +him. Doctor John watched his breathing for some +minutes, laid his hand again on the child's forehead, +and rose from the stool. + +"Start up that fire, Fogarty," he said in a crisp +tone, turning up his shirt-cuffs, slipping off his evening +coat, and handing the garment to the wife, who +hung it mechanically over a chair, her eyes all the +time searching Doctor John's face for some gleam of +hope. + +"Now get a pan," he continued, "fill it with water +and some corn-meal, and get me some cotton cloth-- +half an apron, piece of an old petticoat, anything, +but be quick about it." + +The woman, glad of something to do, hastened to +obey. Somehow, the tones of his voice had put new +courage into her heart. Fogarty threw a heap of +driftwood on the smouldering fire and filled the +kettle; the dry splinters crackled into a blaze. + +The noise aroused the child. + +The doctor held up his finger for silence and +again caressed the boy's forehead. Fogarty, with a +fresh look of alarm in his face, tiptoed back of the +crib and stood behind the restless sufferer. Under +the doctor's touch the child once more became quiet. + +"Is he bad off?" the wife murmured when the +doctor moved to the fire and began stirring the mush +she was preparing. "The other one went this way; +we can't lose him. You won't lose him, will ye, +doctor, dear? I don't want to live if this one goes. +Please, doctor--" + +The doctor looked into the wife's eyes, blurred +with tears, and laid his hand tenderly on her +shoulder. + +"Keep a good heart, wife," he said; "we'll pull +him through. Tod is a tough little chap with plenty +of fight in him yet. I've seen them much worse. It +will soon be over; don't worry." + +Mrs. Fogarty's eyes brightened and even the fisherman's +grim face relaxed. Silent men in grave crises +suffer most; the habit of their lives precludes the +giving out of words that soothe and heal; when others +speak them, they sink into their thirsty souls like drops +of rain after a long drought. It was just such timely +expressions as these that helped Doctor John's patients +most--often their only hope hung on some +word uttered with a buoyancy of spirit that for a +moment stifled all their anxieties. + +The effect of the treatment began to tell upon the +little sufferer--his breathing became less difficult, +the spasms less frequent. The doctor whispered the +change to the wife, sitting close at his elbow, his impassive +face brightening as he spoke; there was an +oven chance now for the boy's life. + +The vigil continued. + +No one moved except Fogarty, who would now and +then tiptoe quickly to the hearth, add a fresh log to +the embers, and as quickly move back to his position +behind the child's crib. The rising and falling of +the blaze, keeping rhythm, as it were, to the hopes +and fears of the group, lighted up in turn each figure +in the room. First the doctor sitting with hands +resting on his knees, his aquiline nose and brow +clearly outlined against the shadowy background in +the gold chalk of the dancing flames, his black evening +clothes in strong contrast to the high white of the +coverlet, framing the child's face like a nimbus. +Next the bent body of the wife, her face in half- +tones, her stout shoulders in high relief, and behind, +swallowed up in the gloom, out of reach of the fire-. +gleam, the straight, motionless form of the fisherman, +standing with folded arms, grim and silent, his +unseen eyes fixed on his child. + +Far into the night, and until the gray dawn +streaked the sky, this vigil continued; the doctor, +assisted by Fogarty and the wife, changing the poultices, +filling the child's lungs with hot steam by +means of a paper funnel, and encouraging the mother +by his talk. At one time he would tell her in half- +whispered tones of a child who had recovered and +who had been much weaker than this one. Again he +would turn to Fogarty and talk of the sea, of the +fishing outside the inlet, of the big three-masted +schooner which had been built by the men at Tom's +River, of the new light they thought of building at +Barnegat to take the place of the old one--anything +to divert their minds and lessen their anxieties, stopping +only to note the sound of every cough the boy +gave or to change the treatment as the little sufferer +struggled on fighting for his life. + +When the child dozed no one moved, no word was +spoken. Then in the silence there would come to +their ears above the labored breathing of the boy the +long swinging tick of the clock, dull and ominous, +as if tolling the minutes of a passing life; the ceaseless +crunch of the sea, chewing its cud on the beach +outside or the low moan of the outer bar turning +restlessly on its bed of sand. + +Suddenly, and without warning, and out of an +apparent sleep, the child started up from his pillow +with staring eyes and began beating the air for breath. + +The doctor leaned quickly forward, listened for +a moment, his ear to the boy's chest, and said in +a quiet, restrained voice: + +"Go into the other room, Mrs. Fogarty, and stay +there till I call you." The woman raised her eyes +to his and obeyed mechanically. She was worn out, +mind and body, and had lost her power of resistance. + +As the door shut upon her Doctor John sprang +from the stool, caught the lamp from the wall, handed +it to Fogarty, and picking the child up from the +crib, laid it flat upon his knees. + +He now slipped his hand into his pocket and took +from it a leather case filled with instruments. + +"Hold the light, Fogarty," he said in a firm, +decided tone, "and keep your nerve. I thought he'd +pull through without it, but he'll strangle if I don't." + +"What ye goin' to do--not cut him?" whispered +the fisherman in a trembling voice. + +"Yes. It's his only chance. I've seen it coming +on for the last hour--no nonsense now. Steady, old +fellow. It'll be over in a minute. ... There, my +boy, that'll help you. Now, Fogarty, hand me that +cloth. ... All right, little man; don't cry; it's all. +over. Now open the door and let your wife in," +and he laid the child back on the pillow. + +When the doctor took the blanket from the sorrel +tethered outside Fogarty's cabin and turned his +horse's head homeward the sails of the fishing-boats +lying in a string on the far horizon flashed silver in +the morning sun, His groom met him at the stable +door, and without a word led the mare into the +barn. + +The lamp in his study was still burning in yellow +mockery of the rosy dawn. He laid his case of +instruments on the desk, hung his cloak and hat to +a peg in the closet, and ascended the staircase on the +way to his bedroom. As he passed his mother's +open door she heard his step. + +"Why, it's broad daylight, son," she called in a +voice ending in a yawn. + +"Yes, mother." + +"Where have you been?" + +"To see little Tod Fogarty," he answered simply. + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"Croup." + +"Is he going to die?" + +"No, not this time." + +"Well, what did you stay out all night for?" +The voice had now grown stronger, with a petulant +tone through it. + +"Well, I could hardly help it. They are very +simple people, and were so badly frightened that +they were helpless. It's the only child they have +left to them--the last one died of croup." + +"Well, are you going to turn nurse for half the +paupers in the county? All children have croup, +and they don't all die!" The petulant voice had +now developed into one of indignation. + +"No, mother, but I couldn't take any risks. This +little chap is worth saving." + +There came a pause, during which the tired man +waited patiently. + +"You were at the Cobdens'?" + +"Yes; or I should have reached Fogarty's sooner." + +"And Miss Jane detained you, of course." + +"No, mother." + +"Good-night, John." + +"Say rather 'Good-day,' mother," he answered +with a smile and continued on to his room. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +ANN GOSSAWAY'S RED CLOAK + + +The merrymakings at Yardley continued for +weeks, a new impetus and flavor being lent them by +the arrival of two of Lucy's friends--her schoolmate +and bosom companion, Maria Collins, of Trenton, +and Maria's devoted admirer, Max Feilding, of Walnut +Hill, Philadelphia. + +Jane, in her joy over Lucy's home-coming, and in +her desire to meet her sister's every wish, gladly +welcomed the new arrivals, although Miss Collins, +strange to say, had not made a very good impression +upon her. Max she thought better of. He was a +quiet, well-bred young fellow; older than either Lucy +or Maria, and having lived abroad a year, knew +something of the outside world. Moreover, their +families had always been intimate in the old days, +his ancestral home being always open to Jane's +mother when a girl. + +The arrival of these two strangers only added to +the general gayety. Picnics were planned to the +woods back of Warehold to which the young people +of the town were invited, and in which Billy Tatham +with his team took a prominent part. Sailing and +fishing parties outside of Barnegat were gotten up; +dances were held in the old parlor, and even tableaux +were arranged under Max's artistic guidance. In +one of these Maria wore a Spanish costume fashioned +out of a white lace shawl belonging to Jane's grand- +mother draped over her head and shoulders, and made +the more bewitching by a red japonica fixed in her +hair, and Lucy appeared as a dairy-maid decked out +in one of Martha's caps, altered to fit her shapely +head. + +The village itself was greatly stirred. + +"Have you seen them two fly-up-the-creeks?" +Billy Tatham, the stage-driver, asked of Uncle +Ephraim Tipple as he was driving him down to the +boat-landing. + +"No, what do they look like?" + +"The He-one had on a two-inch hat with a green +ribbon and wore a white bob-tail coat that 'bout +reached to the top o' his pants. Looks like he lived +on water-crackers and milk, his skin's that white. +The She-one had a set o' hoops on her big as a circus +tent. Much as I could do to git her in the 'bus +--as it was, she come in sideways. And her trunk! +Well, it oughter been on wheels--one o' them travellin' +houses. I thought one spell I'd take the old +plug out the shafts and hook on to it and git it up +that-a-way." + +"Some of Lucy's chums, I guess," chuckled Uncle +Ephraim. "Miss Jane told me they were coming. +How long are they going to stay?" + +"Dunno. Till they git fed up and fattened, +maybe. If they was mine I'd have killin' time +to-day." + +Ann Gossaway and some of her cronies also gave +free rein to their tongues. + +"Learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did +they?" broke out the dressmaker. (Lucy had been +the only young woman in Warehold who had ever +enjoyed that privilege.) "Wearin' each other's hats, +rollin' round in the sand, and hollerin' so you could +hear 'em clear to the lighthouse. If I had my way +I'd finish 'em, And that's where they'll git if they +don't mind, and quick, too!" + +The Dellenbaughs, Cromartins, and Bunsbys, being +of another class, viewed the young couple's visit +in a different light. "Mr. Feilding has such nice +hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger +Miss Cromartin said, and "Miss Collins is too sweet +for anything." Prim Mr. Bunsby, having superior +notions of life and deportment, only shook his head. +He looked for more dignity, he said; but then this +Byronic young man had not been invited to any of +the outings. + +In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was +the central figure. Her beauty, her joyous nature, +her freedom from affectation and conventionality, +her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and +the way she wore them, all added to her popularity. +In the swing and toss of her freedom, her true temperament +developed. She was like a summer rose, +making everything and everybody glad about her, +loving the air she breathed as much for the color +it put into her cheeks as for the new bound it gave +to her blood. Just as she loved the sunlight for its +warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. +So, too, when the roses were a glory of bloom, not +only would she revel in the beauty of the blossoms, +but intoxicated by their color and fragrance, would +bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking +in great draughts of their perfume, caressing +them with her cheeks, drinking in the honey of their +petals. + +This was also true of her voice--a rich, full, +vibrating voice, that dominated the room and thrilled +the hearts of all who heard her. When she sang she +sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own overcharged +little body, full to bursting with the music +in its soul, as to gladden the surrounding woods with +its melody--because, too, she could not help it and +because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart and +could find their only outlet through the lips. + +Bart was her constant companion. Under his instructions +she had learned to hold the tiller in sailing +in and out of the inlet; to swim over hand; to +dive from a plank, no matter how high the jump; and +to join in all his outdoor sports. Lucy had been his +constant inspiration in all of this. She had surveyed +the field that first night of their meeting and +had discovered that the young man's personality +offered the only material in Warehold available for +her purpose. With him, or someone like him--one +who had leisure and freedom, one who was quick +and strong and skilful (and Bart was all of these)-- +the success of her summer would be assured. Without +him many of her plans could not be carried +out. + +And her victory over him had been an easy one. +Held first by the spell of her beauty and controlled +later by her tact and stronger will, the young man's +effrontery--almost impudence at times--had changed +to a certain respectful subservience, which showed +itself in his constant effort to please and amuse her. +When they were not sailing they were back in the +orchard out of sight of the house, or were walking +together nobody knew where. Often Bart would call +for her immediately after breakfast, and the two +would pack a lunch-basket and be gone all day, Lucy +arranging the details of the outing, and Bart entering +into them with a dash and an eagerness which, +to a man of his temperament, cemented the bond +between them all the closer. Had they been two +fabled denizens of the wood--she a nymph and he a +dryad--they could not have been more closely linked +with sky and earth. + +As for Jane, she watched the increasing intimacy +with alarm. She had suddenly become aroused to +the fact that Lucy's love affair with Bart was going +far beyond the limits of prudence. The son of Captain +Nathaniel Holt, late of the Black Ball Line +of packets, would always be welcome as a visitor at +the home, the captain being an old and tried friend +of her father's; but neither Bart's education nor +prospects, nor, for that matter, his social position--a +point which usually had very little weight with Jane +--could possibly entitle him to ask the hand of the +granddaughter of Archibald Cobden in marriage. +She began to regret that she had thrown them together. +Her own ideas of reforming him had never +contemplated any such intimacy as now existed between +the young man and her sister. The side of +his nature which he had always shown her had been +one of respectful attention to her wishes; so much so +that she had been greatly encouraged in her efforts +to make something more of him than even his best +friends predicted could be done; but she had never +for one instant intended that her friendly interest +should go any further, nor could she have conceived +of such an issue. + +And yet Jane did nothing to prevent the meetings +and outings of the young couple, even after Maria's +and Max's departure. + +When Martha, in her own ever-increasing anxiety, +spoke of the growing intimacy she looked grave, but +she gave no indication of her own thoughts. Her +pride prevented her discussing the situation with +the old nurse and her love for Lucy from intervening +in her pleasures. + +"She has been cooped up at school so long, Martha, +dear," she answered in extenuation, "that I hate to +interfere in anything she wants to do. She is very +happy; let her alone. I wish, though, she would +return some of the calls of these good people who +have been so kind to her. Perhaps she will if +you speak to her. But don't worry about Bart; +that will wear itself out. All young girls must +have their love-affairs." + +Jane's voice had lacked the ring of true sincerity +when she spoke about "wearing itself out," and +Martha had gone to her room more dissatisfied than +before. This feeling became all the more intense +when, the next day, from her window she watched +Bart tying on Lucy's hat, puffing out the big bow under +her chin, smoothing her hair from the flying strings. +Lucy's eyes were dancing, her face turned toward +Bart's, her pretty lips near his own. There was a +knot or a twist, or a collection of knots and twists, +or perhaps Bart's fingers bungled, for minutes passed +before the hat could be fastened to suit either of them. +Martha's head had all this time been thrust out of +the easement, her gaze apparently fixed on a birdcage +hung from a hook near the shutter. + +Bart caught her eye and whispered to Lucy that +that "old spy-cat" was watching them; whereupon +Lucy faced about, waved her hand to the old nurse, +and turning quickly, raced up the orchard and out +of sight, followed by Bart carrying a shawl for them +to sit upon. + +After that Martha, unconsciously, perhaps, to herself, +kept watch, so far as she could, upon their +movements, without, as she thought, betraying herself: +making excuses to go to the village when they +two went off together in that direction; traversing +the orchard, ostensibly looking for Meg when she knew +all the time that the dog was sound asleep in the +woodshed; or yielding to a sudden desire to give the +rascal a bath whenever Lucy announced that she +and Bart were going to spend the morning down by +the water. + +As the weeks flew by and Lucy had shown no willingness +to assume her share of any of the responsibilities +of the house,--any that interfered with her personal +enjoyment,--Jane became more and more restless +and unhappy. The older village people had +shown her sister every attention, she said to herself,-- +more than was her due, considering her youth,--and +yet Lucy had never crossed any one of their thresholds. +She again pleaded with the girl to remember +her social duties and to pay some regard to the neighbors +who had called upon her and who had shown her +so much kindness; to which the happy-hearted sister +had laughed back in reply: + +"What for, you dear sister? These old fossils +don't want to see me, and I'm sure I don't want +to see them. Some of them give me the shivers, they +are so prim." + +It was with glad surprise, therefore, that Jane +heard Lucy say in Martha's hearing one bright +afternoon: + +"Now, I'm going to begin, sister, and you won't +have to scold me any more. Everyone of these old +tabbies I will take in a row: Mrs. Cavendish first, +and then the Cromartins, and the balance of the +bunch when I can reach them. I am going to Rose +Cottage to see Mrs. Cavendish this very afternoon." + +The selection of Mrs. Cavendish as first on her +list only increased Jane's wonder. Rose Cottage +lay some two miles from Warehold, near the upper +end of the beach, and few of their other friends +lived near it. Then again, Jane knew that Lucy +had not liked the doctor's calling her into the house +the night of her arrival, and had heretofore made one +excuse after another when urged to call on his mother. +Her delight, therefore, over Lucy's sudden sense of +duty was all the more keen. + +"I'll go with you, darling," she answered, slipping +her arm about Lucy's waist, "and we'll take Meg +for a walk." + +So they started, Lucy in her prettiest frock and +hat and Jane with her big red cloak over her arm +to protect the young girl from the breeze from the +sea, which in the early autumn was often cool, especially +if they should sit out on Mrs. Cavendish's +piazza. + +The doctor's mother met them on the porch. She +had seen them enter the garden gate, and had left +her seat by the window, and was standing on the top +step to welcome them. Rex, as usual, in the doctor's +absence, did the honors of the office. He loved Jane, +and always sprang straight at her, his big paws resting +on her shoulders. These courtesies, however, he +did not extend to Meg. The high-bred setter had no +other salutation for the clay-colored remnant than +a lifting of his nose, a tightening of his legs, and a +smothered growl when Meg ventured too near his +lordship. + +"Come up, my dear, and let me look at you," +were Mrs. Cavendish's first words of salutation to +Lucy. "I hear you have quite turned the heads of +all the gallants in Warehold. John says you are very +beautiful, and you know the doctor is a good judge, +is he not, Miss Jane?" she added, holding out her +hands to them both. "And he's quite right; you are +just like your dear mother, who was known as the +Rose of Barnegat long before you were born. Shall +we sit here, or will you come into my little salon +for a cup of tea?" It was always a salon to Mrs. +Cavendish, never a "sitting-room." + +"Oh, please let me sit here," Lucy answered, +checking a rising smile at the word, "the view is so +lovely," and without further comment or any reference +to the compliments showered upon her, she +took her seat upon the top step and began to play +with Rex, who had already offered to make friends +with her, his invariable habit with well-dressed +people. + +Jane meanwhile improved the occasion to ask the +doctor's mother about the hospital they were building +near Barnegat, and whether she and one or two of +the other ladies at Warehold would not be useful as +visitors, and, perhaps, in case of emergency, as +nurses. + +While the talk was in progress Lucy sat smoothing +Rex's silky ears, listening to every word her hostess +spoke, watching her gestures and the expressions that +crossed her face, and settling in her mind for all +time, after the manner of young girls, what sort of +woman the doctor's mother might be; any opinions +she might have had two years before being now outlawed +by this advanced young woman in her present +mature judgment. + +In that comprehensive glance, with the profound +wisdom of her seventeen summers to help her, she +had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Cavendish was +a high-strung, nervous, fussy little woman of fifty, +with an outward show of good-will and an inward +intention to rip everybody up the back who opposed +her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of her son, +and determined, if she could manage it, to break off +his attachment for Jane, no matter at what cost. +This last Lucy caught from a peculiar look in the +little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornful curve +of the lower lip as she listened to Jane's talk about +the hospital, all of which was lost on "plain Jane +Cobden," as the doctor's mother invariably called +her sister behind her back. + +Then the young mind-reader turned her attention +to the house and grounds and the buildings lying +above and before her, especially to the way the +matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over +the roof and dormers. Later on she listened to Mrs. +Cavendish's description of its age and ancestry: How +it had come down to her from her grandfather, whose +large estate was near Trenton, where as a girl she +had spent her life; how in those days it was but a +small villa to which old Nicholas Erskine, her great- +uncle, would bring his guests when the August days +made Trenton unbearable; and how in later years +under the big trees back of the house and over the +lawn--"you can see them from where you sit, my +dear"--tea had been served to twenty or more of +"the first gentlemen and ladies of the land." + +Jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and +so had every other visitor at Rose Cottage, but to +Lucy it was only confirmation of her latter-day opinion +of her hostess. Nothing, however, could be more +gracious than the close attention which the young +girl gave Mrs. Cavendish's every word when the +talk was again directed to her, bending her pretty +head and laughing at the right time--a courtesy +which so charmed the dear lady that she insisted on +giving first Lucy, and then Jane, a bunch of roses +from her "own favorite bush" before the two girls +took their leave. + +With these evidences of her delight made clear, +Lucy pushed Rex from her side--he had become presuming +and had left the imprint of his dusty paw +upon her spotless frock--and with the remark that +she had other visits to pay, her only regret being +that this one was so short, she got up from her seat +on the step, called Meg, and stood waiting for Jane +with some slight impatience in her manner. + +Jane immediately rose from her chair. She had +been greatly pleaded at the impression Lucy had +made. Her manner, her courtesy, her respect for +the older woman, her humoring her whims, show +her to be the daughter of a Cobden. As to her own +place during the visit, she had never given it a +thought. She would always be willing to act as +foil to her accomplished, brilliant sister if by so +doing she could make other people love Lucy the +more. + +As they walked through the doctor's study, Mrs. +Cavendish preceding them, Jane lingered for a +moment and gave a hurried glance about her. There +stood his chair and his lounge where he had thrown +himself so often when tired out. There, too, was the +closet where he hung his coat and hat, and the desk +covered with books and papers. A certain feeling +of reverence not unmixed with curiosity took possession +of her, as when one enters a sanctuary in the +absence of the priest. For an instant she passed her +hand gently over the leather back of the chair where +his head rested, smoothing it with her fingers. Then +her eyes wandered over the room, noting each appointment +in detail. Suddenly a sense of injustice +rose in her mind as she thought that nothing of +beauty had ever been added to these plain surroundings; +even the plants in the boxes by the windows +looked half faded. With a quick glance at the open +door she slipped a rose from the bunch in her hand, +leaned over, and with the feeling of a devotee laying +an offering on the altar, placed the flower hurried +on the doctor's slate. Then she joined Mrs. Cavendish. + +Lucy walked slowly from the gate, her eyes every +now and then turned to the sea. When she and +Jane had reached the cross-road that branched off +toward the beach--it ran within sight of Mrs. Cavendish's +windows--Lucy said: + +"The afternoon is so lovely I'm not going to pay +any more visits, sister. Suppose I go to the beach +and give Meg a bath. You won't mind, will you? +Come, Meg!" + +"Oh, how happy you will make him!" cried +Jane. "But you are not dressed warm enough, +dearie. You know how cool it gets toward evening. +Here, take my cloak. Perhaps I'd better go with +you--" + +"No, do you keep on home. I want to see if the +little wretch will be contented with me alone. Good- +by," and without giving her sister time to protest, +she called to Meg, and with a wave of her hand, the +red cloak flying from her shoulders, ran toward the +beach, Meg bounding after her. + +Jane waved back in answer, and kept her eyes +on the graceful figure skipping along the road, her +head and shoulders in silhouette against the blue +sea, her white skirts brushing the yellow grass of +the sand-dune. All the mother-love in her heart +welled up in her breast. She was so proud of her, +so much in love with her, so thankful for her! All +these foolish love affairs and girl fancies would soon +be over and Bart and the others like him out of +Lucy's mind and heart. Why worry about it? Some +great strong soul would come by and by and take +this child in his arms and make a woman of her. +Some strong soul-- + +She stopped short in her walk and her thoughts +went back to the red rose lying on the doctor's desk. + +"Will he know?" she said to herself; "he loves +flowers so, and I don't believe anybody ever puts +one on his desk. Poor fellow! how hard he works +and how good he is to everybody! Little Tod would +have died but for his tenderness." Then, with a +prayer in her heart and a new light in her eyes, she +kept on her way. + +Lucy, as she bounded along the edge of the bluff, +Meg scurrying after her, had never once lost sight +of her sister's slender figure. When a turn in the +road shut her from view, she crouched down behind +a sand-dune, waited until she was sure Jane would +not change her mind and join her, and then folding +the cloak over her arm, gathered up her skirts and +ran with all her speed along the wet sand to the +House of Refuge. As she reached its side, Bart +Holt stepped out into the afternoon light. + +"I thought you'd never come, darling," he said, +catching her in his arms and kissing her. + +"I couldn't help it, sweetheart. I told sister I +was going to see Mrs. Cavendish, and she was so +delighted she said she would go, too." + +"Where is she?" he interrupted, turning his head +and looking anxiously up the beach. + +"Gone home. Oh, I fixed that. I was scared to +death for a minute, but you trust me when I want +to get off." + +"Why didn't you let her take that beast of a dog +with her? We don't want him," he rejoined, pointing +to Meg, who had come to a sudden standstill +at the sight of Bart. + +"Why, you silly! That's how I got away. She +thought I was going to give him a bath. How long +have you been waiting, my precious?" Her hand +was on his shoulder now, her eyes raised to his. + +"Oh, 'bout a year. It really seems like a year, +Luce" (his pet name for her), "when I'm waiting +for you. I was sure something was up. Wait till +I open the door." The two turned toward the house. + +"Why! can we get in? I thought Fogarty, the +fisherman, had the key," she asked, with a tone of +pleasant surprise in her voice. + +"So he has," he laughed. "Got it now hanging +up behind his clock. I borrowed it yesterday and +had one made just like it. I'm of age." This +came with a sly wink, followed by a low laugh of +triumph. + +Lucy smiled. She liked his daring; she liked, too, +his resources. When a thing was to be done, Bart +always found the way to do it. She waited until +he had fitted the new bright key into the rusty lock, +her hand in his. + +"Now, come inside," he cried, swinging wide the +big doors. "Isn't it a jolly place?" He slipped +his arm about her and drew her to him. "See, +there's the stove with the kindling-wood all ready +to light when anything comes ashore, and up on that +shelf are life-preservers; and here's a table and some +stools and a lantern--two of 'em; and there's the big +life-boat, all ready to push out. Good place to come +Sundays with some of the fellows, isn't it? Play +all night here, and not a soul would find you out," +he chuckled as he pointed to the different things. +"You didn't think, now, I was going to have a +cubby-hole like this to hide you in where that old +spot-cat Martha can't be watching us, did you?" +he added, drawing her toward him and again kissing +her with a sudden intensity. + +Lucy slipped from his arms and began examining +everything with the greatest interest. She had never +seen anything but the outside of the house before +and she always wondered what it contained, and as +a child had stood up on her toes and tried to peep +in through the crack of the big door. When she +had looked the boat all over and felt the oars, and +wondered whether the fire could be lighted quick +enough, and pictured in her mind the half-drowned +people huddled around it in their sea-drenched +clothes, she moved to the door. Bart wanted her to +sit down inside, but she refused. + +"No, come outside and lie on the sand. Nobody +comes along here," she insisted. "Oh, see how beautiful +the sea is! I love that green," and drawing +Jane's red cloak around her, she settled herself on +the sand, Bart throwing himself at her feet. + +The sun was now nearing the horizon, and its +golden rays fell across their faces. Away off on the +sky-line trailed the smoke of an incoming steamer; +nearer in idled a schooner bound in to Barnegat +Inlet with every sail set. At their feet the surf rose +sleepily under the gentle pressure of the incoming +tide, its wavelets spreading themselves in widening +circles as if bent on kissing the feet of the radiant +girl. + +As they sat and talked, filled with the happiness +of being alone, their eyes now on the sea and now +looking into each other's, Meg, who had amused himself +by barking at the swooping gulls, chasing the +sand-snipe and digging holes in the sand for imaginary +muskrats, lifted his head and gave a short +yelp. Bart, annoyed by the sound, picked up a bit +of driftwood and hurled it at him, missing him by a +few inches. The narrowness of the escape silenced +the dog and sent him to the rear with drooping tail +and ears. + +Bart should have minded Meg's warning. A broad +beach in the full glare of the setting sun, even when +protected by a House of Refuge, is a poor place to +be alone in. + +A woman was passing along the edge of the bluffs, +carrying a basket in one hand and a green umbrella +in the other; a tall, thin, angular woman, with the +eye of a ferret. It was Ann Gossaway's day for +visiting the sick, and she had just left Fogarty's +cabin, where little Tod, with his throat tied up in +red flannel, had tried on her mitts and played with +her spectacles. Miss Gossaway had heard Meg's bark +and had been accorded a full view of Lucy's back +covered by Jane's red cloak, with Bart sitting beside +her, their shoulders touching. + +Lovers with their heads together interested the +gossip no longer, except as a topic to talk about. Such +trifles had these many years passed out of the dress- +maker's life. + +So Miss Gossaway, busy with her own thoughts, +kept on her way unnoticed by either Lucy or Bart. + +When she reached the cross-road she met Doctor +John driving in. He tightened the reins on the +sorrel and stopped. + +"Lovely afternoon, Miss Gossaway. Where are +you from--looking at the sunset?" + +"No, I ain't got no time for spoonin'. I might +be if I was Miss Jane and Bart Holt. Just see 'em +a spell ago squattin' down behind the House o' +Refuge. She wouldn't look at me. I been to +Fogarty's; she's on my list this week, and it's my day +for visitin', fust in two weeks. That two-year-old +of hers is all right ag'in after your sewing him up; +they'll never get over tellin' how you set up all night +with him. You ought to hear Mrs. Fogarty go on-- +'Oh, the goodness of him!'" and she mimicked the +good woman's dialect. "'If Tod'd been his own +child he couldn't a-done more for him.' That's the +way she talks. I heard, doctor, ye never left him till +daylight. You're a wonder." + +The doctor touched his hat and drove on. + +Miss Gossaway's sharp, rasping voice and incisive +manner of speaking grated upon him. He liked +neither her tone nor the way in which she spoke +of the mistress of Yardley. No one else dared as +much. If Jane was really on the beach and with +Bart, she had some good purpose in her mind. It +may have been her day for visiting, and Bart, perhaps, +had accompanied her. But why had Miss +Gossaway not met Miss Cobden at Fogarty's, his +being the only cabin that far down the beach? Then +his face brightened. Perhaps, after all, it was Lucy +whom she had seen. He had placed that same red +cloak around her shoulders the night of the reception +at Yardley--and when she was with Bart, +too. + +Mrs. Cavendish was sitting by her window when +the doctor entered his own house. She rose, and putting +down her book, advanced to meet him. + +"You should have come earlier, John," she said +with a laugh; "such a charming girl and so pretty +and gracious. Why, I was quite overcome. She is +very different from her sister. What do you think +Miss Jane wants to do now? Nurse in the new +hospital when it is built! Pretty position for a +lady, isn't it?" + +"Any position she would fill would gain by her +presence," said the doctor gravely. "Have they been +gone long?" he asked, changing the subject. He +never discussed Jane Cobden with his mother if he +could help it. + +"Oh, yes, some time. Lucy must have kept on +home, for I saw Miss Jane going toward the beach +alone." + +"Are you sure, mother?" There was a note of +anxiety in his voice. + +"Yes, certainly. She had that red cloak of hers +with her and that miserable little dog; that's how I +know. She must be going to stay late. You look +tired, my son; have you had a hard day?" added +she, kissing him on the cheek. + +"Yes, perhaps I am a little tired, but I'll be all +right. Have you looked at the slate lately? I'll +go myself," and he turned and entered his office. + +On the slate lay the rose. He picked it up and +held it to his nose in a preoccupied way. + +"One of mother's," he said listlessly, laying it +back among his papers. "She so seldom does that +sort of thing. Funny that she should have given +it to me to-day; and after Miss Jane's visit, too." +Then he shut the office door, threw himself into his +chair, and buried his face in his hands. He was +still there when his mother called him to supper. + +When Lucy reached home it was nearly dark. She +came alone, leaving Bart at the entrance to the village. +At her suggestion they had avoided the main +road and had crossed the marsh by the foot-path, +the dog bounding on ahead and springing at the +nurse, who stood in the gate awaiting Lucy's return. + +"Why, he's as dry as a bone!" Martha cried, +stroking Meg's rough hair with her plump hand. +"He didn't get much of a bath, did he?" + +"No, I couldn't get him into the water. Every +time I got my hand on him he'd dart away again." + +"Anybody on the beach, darlin'?" + +"Not a soul except Meg and the sandsnipe." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +CAPTAIN NAT'S DECISION + + +When Martha, with Meg at her heels, passed Ann +Gossaway's cottage the next morning on her way to +the post-office--her daily custom--the dressmaker, +who was sitting in the window, one eye on her needle +and the other on the street, craned her head clear of +the calico curtain framing the sash and beckoned +to her. + +This perch of Ann Gossaway's was the eyrie from +which she swept the village street, bordered with a +double row of wide-spreading elms and fringed with +sloping grassy banks spaced at short intervals by +hitching-posts and horse-blocks. Her own cottage +stood somewhat nearer the flagged street path than +the others, and as the garden fences were low and +her lookout flanked by two windows, one on each +end of her corner, she could not only note what went +on about the fronts of her neighbors' houses, but +much of what took place in their back yards. From +this angle, too, she could see quite easily, and without +more than twisting her attenuated neck, the whole +village street from the Cromartins' gate to the spire +of the village church, as well as everything that +passed up and down the shadow-flecked road: which +child, for instance, was late for school, and how +often, and what it wore and whether its clothes +were new or inherited from an elder sister; who +came to the Bronsons' next door, and how long they +stayed, and whether they brought anything with +them or carried anything away; the peddler with +his pack; the gunner on his way to the marshes, his +two dogs following at his heels in a leash; Dr. John +Cavendish's gig, and whether it was about to stop +at Uncle Ephraim Tipple's or keep on, as usual, +and whirl into the open gate of Cobden Manor; Billy +Tatham's passenger list, as the ricketty stage passed +with the side curtains up, and the number of trunks +and bags, and the size of them, all indicative of +where they were bound and for how long; details +of village life--no one of which concerned her in the +least--being matters of profound interest to Miss +Gossaway. + +These several discoveries she shared daily with +a faded old mother who sat huddled up in a rocking- +chair by the stove, winter and summer, whether it +had any fire in it or not. + +Uncle Ephraim Tipple, in his outspoken way, +always referred to these two gossips as the "spiders." +"When the thin one has sucked the life out of you," +he would say with a laugh, "she passes you on to her +old mother, who sits doubled up inside the web, +and when she gets done munching there isn't anything +left but your hide and bones." + +It was but one of Uncle Ephraim's jokes. The +mother was only a forlorn, half-alive old woman +who dozed in her chair by the hour--the relict of a +fisherman who had gone to sea in his yawl some +twenty years before and who had never come back. +The daughter, with the courage of youth, had then +stepped into the gap and had alone made the +fight for bread. Gradually, as the years went +by the roses in her cheeks--never too fresh at any +time--had begun to fade, her face and figure to +shrink, and her brow to tighten. At last, embitterred +by her responsibilities and disappointments, she had +lost faith in human kind and had become a shrew. +Since then her tongue had swept on as relentlessly +as a scythe, sparing neither flower nor noxious weed, +a movement which it was wise, sometimes, to check. + +When, therefore, Martha, with Meg now bounding +before her, caught sight of Ann Gossaway's beckoning +hand thrust out of the low window of her cottage +--the spider-web referred to by Uncle Ephraim--she +halted in her walk, lingered a moment as if undecided, +expressed her opinion of the dressmaker to +Meg in an undertone, and swinging open the gate +with its ball and chain, made her way over the grass- +plot and stood outside the window, level with the sill. + +"Well, it ain't none of my business, of course, +Martha Sands," Miss Gossaway began, "and that's +just what I said to mother when I come home, but +if I was some folks I'd see my company in my parlor, +long as I had one, 'stead of hidin' down behind the +House o' Refuge. I said to mother soon's I got in, +'I'm goin' to tell Martha Sands fust minute I see +her. She ain't got no idee how them girls of hers +is carryin' on or she'd stop it.' That's what I said, +didn't I, mother?" + +Martha caught an inarticulate sound escaping from +a figure muffled in a blanket shawl, but nothing else +followed. + +"I thought fust it was you when I heard that +draggle-tail dog of yours barkin', but it was only +Miss Jane and Bart Holt." + +"Down on the beach! When?" asked Martha. +She had not understood a word of Miss Gossaway's +outburst. + +"Why, yesterday afternoon, of course--didn't I +tell ye so? I'd been down to Fogarty's; it's my +week. Miss Jane and Bart didn't see me--didn't +want to. Might a' been a pair of scissors, they was +that close together." + +"Miss Jane warn't on the beach yesterday afternoon," +said Martha in a positive tone, still in the +dark. + +"She warn't, warn't she? Well, I guess I know +Miss Jane Cobden. She and Bart was hunched +up that close you couldn't get a bodkin 'tween 'em. +She had that red cloak around her and the hood up +ever her head. Not know her, and she within ten +feet o' me? Well, I guess I got my eyes left, +ain't I?" + +Martha stood stunned. She knew now who it was. +She had taken the red cloak from Lucy's shoulders +the evening before. Then a cold chill crept over her +as she remembered the lie Lucy had told--"not a +soul on the beach but Meg and the sandsnipe." For +an instant she stood without answering. But for +the window-sill on which her hand rested she would +have betrayed her emotion in the swaying of her +body. She tried to collect her thoughts. To deny +Jane's identity too positively would only make the +situation worse. If either one of the sisters were to be +criticised Jane could stand it best. + +"You got sharp eyes and ears, Ann Gossaway, +nobody will deny you them, but still I don't think +Miss Jane was on the beach yesterday." + +"Don't think, don't you? Maybe you think I +can't tell a cloak from a bed blanket, never havin' +made one, and maybe ye think I don't know my +own clo'es when I see 'em on folks. I made that red +cloak for Miss Jane two years ago, and I know every +stitch in it. Don't you try and teach Ann Gossaway +how to cut and baste or you'll git worsted," and the +gossip looked over her spectacles at Martha and +shook her side-curls in a threatening way. + +Miss Gossaway had no love for the old nurse. There +had been a time when Martha "weren't no better'n +she oughter be, so everybody said," when she came +to the village, and the dressmaker never let a chance +slip to humiliate the old woman. Martha's open +denunciation of the dressmaker's vinegar tongue had +only increased the outspoken dislike each had for the +other. She saw now, to her delight, that the incident +which had seemed to be only a bit of flotsam that +had drifted to her shore and which but from Martha's +manner would have been forgotten by her the +next day, might be a fragment detached from some +floating family wreck. Before she could press the +matter to an explanation Martha turned abruptly +on her heel, called Meg, and with the single remark, +"Well, I guess Miss Jane's of age," walked quickly +across the grass-plot and out of the gate, the ball and +chain closing it behind her with a clang. + +Once on the street Martha paused with her brain +on fire. The lie which Lucy had told frightened her. +She knew why she had told it, and she knew, too, +what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of +gossip got abroad in the village. She was no longer +the gentle, loving nurse with the soft caressing hand, +but a woman of purpose. The sudden terror aroused +in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip +and bracing her shoulders as if the better to withstand +some expected shock. + +She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; +forgot everything, in fact, except the safety +of the child she loved. That Lucy had neglected and +even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way +even when she was in the house, and that she had +received only cool indifference in place of loyal love, +had greatly grieved her, but it had not lessened the +idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn. +Hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain +trying to account for the change which had come over +the girl during two short years of school. She had +until now laid this change to her youth, her love +of admiration, and had forgiven it. Now she understood +it; it was that boy Bart. He had a way with +him. He had even ingratiated himself into Miss +Jane's confidence. And now this young girl had +fallen a victim to his wiles. That Lucy should lie +to her, of all persons, and in so calm and self- +possessed a manner; and about Bart, of all men-- +sent a shudder through her heart, that paled her +cheek and tightened her lips. Once before she had +consulted Jane and had been rebuffed. Now she +would depend upon herself. + +Retracing her steps and turning sharply to the +right, she ordered Meg home in a firm voice, watched +the dog slink off and then walked straight down a +side road to Captain Nat Holt's house. That the +captain occupied a different station in life from herself +did not deter her. She felt at the moment that +the honor of the Cobden name lay in her keeping. +The family had stood by her in her trouble; now +she would stand by them. + +The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper. +He was in his shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, +his straight hair standing straight out like the bristles +of a shoe-brush. Since the death of his wife +a few years before he had left the service, and now +spent most of his days at home, tending his garden +and enjoying his savings. He was a man of positive +character and generally had his own way in everything. +It was therefore with some astonishment that +he heard Martha say when she had mounted the +porch steps and pushed open the front door, her +breath almost gone in her hurried walk, "Come +inside." + +Captain Holt threw down his paper and rising +hurriedly from his chair, followed her into the sitting-room. +The manner of the nurse surprised him. +He had known her for years, ever since his old +friend, Lucy's father, had died, and the tones of her +voice, so different from her usual deferential air, +filled him with apprehension. + +"Ain't nobody sick, is there, Martha?" + +"No, but there will be. Are ye alone?" + +"Yes." + +"Then shut that door behind ye and sit down. +I've got something to say." + +The grizzled, weather-beaten man who had made +twenty voyages around Cape Horn, and who was +known as a man of few words, and those always of +command, closed the door upon them, drew down the +shade on the sunny side of the room and faced her. +He saw now that something of more than usual +importance absorbed her. + +"Now, what is it?" he asked. His manner had +by this time regained something of the dictatorial +tone he always showed those beneath him in authority. + +"It's about Bart. You've got to send him away." +She had not moved from her position in the middle +of the room. + +The captain changed color and his voice lost its +sharpness. + +"Bart! What's he done now?" + +"He sneaks off with our Lucy every chance he +gets. They were on the beach yesterday hidin' behind +the House o' Refuge with their heads together. +She had on Miss Jane's red cloak, and Ann Gossaway +thought it was Miss Jane, and I let it go at +that." + +The captain looked at Martha incredulously for a +moment, and then broke into a loud laugh as the +absurdity of the whole thing burst upon him. Then +dropping back a step, he stood leaning against the +old-fashioned sideboard, his elbows behind him, his +large frame thrust toward her. + +"Well, what if they were--ain't she pretty +enough?" he burst out. "I told her she'd have +'em all crazy, and I hear Bart ain't done nothin' +but follow in her wake since he seen her launched." + +Martha stepped closer to the captain and held her +fist in his face. + +"He's got to stop it. Do ye hear me?" she +shouted. "If he don't there'll be trouble, for you +and him and everybody. It's me that's crazy, not +him." + +"Stop it!" roared the captain, straightening up, +the glasses on the sideboard ringing with his sudden +lurch. "My boy keep away from the daughter of +Morton Cobden, who was the best friend I ever had +and to whom I owe more than any man who ever +lived! And this is what you traipsed up here to +tell me, is it, you mollycoddle?" + +Again Martha edged nearer; her body bent forward, +her eyes searching his--so close that she could +have touched his face with her knuckles. + +"Hold your tongue and stop talkin' foolishness," +she blazed out, the courage of a tigress fighting for +her young in her eyes, the same bold ring in her +voice. "I tell ye, Captain Holt, it's got to stop short +off, and NOW! I know men; have known 'em to my +misery. I know when they're honest and I know +when they ain't, and so do you, if you would open +your eyes. Bart don't mean no good to my bairn. +I see it in his face. I see it in the way he touches +her hand and ties on her bonnet. I've watched him +ever since the first night he laid eyes on her. He +ain't a man with a heart in him; he's a sneak with a +lie in his mouth. Why don't he come round like any +of the others and say where he's goin' and what he +wants to do instead of peepin' round the gate-posts +watchin' for her and sendin' her notes on the sly, +and makin' her lie to me, her old nurse, who's done +nothin' but love her? Doctor John don't treat Miss +Jane so--he loves her like a man ought to love a +woman and he ain't got nothin' to hide--and you +didn't treat your wife so. There's something here +that tells me"--and she laid her hand on her bosom +--"tells me more'n I dare tell ye. I warn ye now +ag'in. Send him to sea--anywhere, before it is too +late. She ain't got no mother; she won't mind a word +I say; Miss Jane is blind as a bat; out with him and +NOW!" + +The captain straightened himself up, and with his +clenched fist raised above his head like a hammer +about to strike, cried: + +"If he harmed the daughter of Morton Cobden +I'd kill him!" The words jumped hot from his +throat with a slight hissing sound, his eyes still +aflame. + +"Well, then, stop it before it gets too late. I +walk the floor nights and I'm scared to death every +hour I live." Then her voice broke. "Please, +captain, please," she added in a piteous tone. "Don't +mind me if I talk wild, my heart is breakin', and +I can't hold in no longer," and she burst into a paroxysm +of tears. + +The captain leaned against the sideboard again +and looked down upon the floor as if in deep thought. +Martha's tears did not move him. The tears of few +women did. He was only concerned in getting hold +of some positive facts upon which he could base his +judgment. + +"Come, now," he said in an authoritative voice, +"let me get that chair and set down and then I'll +see what all this amounts to. Sounds like a yarn of +a horse-marine." As he spoke he crossed the room +and, dragging a rocking-chair from its place beside +the wall, settled himself in it. Martha found a seat +upon the sofa and turned her tear-stained face toward +him. + +"Now, what's these young people been doin' that +makes ye so almighty narvous?" he continued, lying +back in his chair and looking at her from under +his bushy eyebrows, his fingers supporting his forehead. + +"Everything. Goes out sailin' with her and goes +driftin' past with his head in her lap. Fogarty's +man who brings fish to the house told me." She +had regained something of her old composure now. + +"Anything else?" The captain's voice had a +relieved, almost condescending tone in it. He had +taken his thumb and forefinger from his eyebrow +now and sat drumming with his stiffened knuckles on +the arm of the rocker. + +"Yes, a heap more--ain't that enough along with +the other things I've told ye?" Martha's eyes were +beginning to blaze again. + +"No, that's just as it ought to be. Boys and girls +will be boys and girls the world over." The tone +of the captain's voice indicated the condition of his +mind. He had at last arrived at a conclusion. Martha's +head was muddled because of her inordinate +and unnatural love for the child she had nursed. +She had found a spookship in a fog bank, that was +all. Jealousy might be at the bottom of it or a certain +nervous fussiness. Whatever it was it was too +trivial for him to waste his time over. + +The captain rose from his chair, crossed the sitting-room, +and opened the door leading to the porch, +letting in the sunshine. Martha followed close at +his heels. + +"You're runnin' on a wrong tack, old woman, +and first thing ye know ye'll be in the breakers," he +said, with his hand on the knob. "Ease off a little +and don't be too hard on 'em. They'll make harbor +all right. You're makin' more fuss than a hen over +one chicken. Miss Jane knows what she's about. +She's got a level head, and when she tells me that +my Bart ain't good enough to ship alongside the +daughter of Morton Cobden, I'll sign papers for +him somewhere else, and not before. I'll have to +get you to excuse me now; I'm busy. Good-day," +and picking up his paper, he re-entered the house +and closed the door upon her. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +A GAME OF CARDS + + +Should Miss Gossaway have been sitting at her. +lookout some weeks after Martha's interview with +Captain Nat Holt, and should she have watched the +movements of Doctor John's gig as it rounded into +the open gate of Cobden Manor, she must have +decided that something out of the common was either +happening or about to happen inside Yardley's hospitable +doors. Not only was the sorrel trotting at her +best, the doctor flapping the lines along her brown +back, his body swaying from side to side with the +motion of the light vehicle, but as he passed her house +he was also consulting the contents of a small envelope +which he had taken from his pocket. + +"Please come early," it read. "I have something +important to talk over with you." + +A note of this character signed with so adorable a +name as "Jane Cobden" was so rare in the doctor's +experience that he had at once given up his round +of morning visits and, springing into his waiting gig, +had started to answer it in person. + +He was alive with expectancy. What could she +want with him except to talk over some subject that +they had left unfinished? As he hurried on there +came into his mind half a dozen matters, any one +of which it would have been a delight to revive. He +knew from the way she worded the note that nothing +had occurred since he had seen her--within the week, +in fact--to cause her either annoyance or suffering. +No; it was only to continue one of their confidential +talks, which were the joy of his life. + +Jane was waiting for him in the morning-room. +Her face lighted up as he entered and took her +hand, and immediately relaxed again into an expression +of anxiety. + +All his eagerness vanished. He saw with a sinking +of the heart, even before she had time to speak, +that something outside of his own affairs, or hers, +had caused her to write the note. + +"I came at once," he said, keeping her hand in +his. "You look troubled; what has happened?" + +"Nothing yet," she answered, leading him to the +sofa, "It is about Lucy. She wants to go away for +the winter." + +"Where to?" he asked. He had placed a cushion +at her back and had settled himself beside her. + +"To Trenton, to visit her friend Miss Collins +and study music. She says Warehold bores her." + +"And you don't want her to go?" + +"No; I don't fancy Miss Collins, and I am afraid +she has too strong an influence over Lucy. Her personality +grates on me; she is so boisterous, and she +laughs so loud; and the views she holds are unaccountable +to me in so young a girl. She seems to +have had no home training whatever. Why Lucy +likes her, and why she should have selected her as +an intimate friend, has always puzzled me." She +spoke with her usual frankness and with that directness +which always characterized her in matters of +this kind. "I had no one else to talk to and am +very miserable about it all. You don't mind my +sending for you, do you?" + +"Mind! Why do you ask such a question? I am +never so happy as when I am serving you." + +That she should send for him at all was happiness. +Not sickness this time, nor some question of +investment, nor the repair of the barn or gate or out- +buildings--but Lucy, who lay nearest her heart! +That was even better than he had expected. + +"Tell me all about it, so I can get it right," he +continued in a straightforward tone--the tone of the +physician, not the lover. She had relied on him, +and he intended to give her the best counsel of which +he was capable. The lover could wait. + +"Well, she received a letter a week ago from Miss +Collins, saying she had come to Trenton for the +winter and had taken some rooms in a house belonging +to her aunt, who would live with her. She +wants to be within reach of the same music-teacher +who taught the girls at Miss Parkham's school. She +says if Lucy will come it will reduce the expenses +and they can both have the benefit of the tuition. At +first Lucy did not want to go at all, now she insists, +and, strange to say, Martha encourages her." + +"Martha wants her to leave?" he asked in surprise. + +"She says so." + +The doctor's face assumed a puzzled expression. +He could account for Lucy's wanting the freedom +and novelty of the change, but that Martha should be +willing to part with her bairn for the winter mystified +him. He knew nothing of the flirtation, of course, +and its effect on the old nurse, and could not, therefore, +understand Martha's delight in Lucy's and +Bart's separation. + +"You will be very lonely," he said, and a certain +tender tone developed in his voice. + +"Yes, dreadfully so, but I would not mind if I +thought it was for her good. But I don't think so. +I may be wrong, and in the uncertainty I wanted to +talk it over with you. I get so desolate sometimes. +I never seemed to miss my father so much as now. +Perhaps it is because Lucy's babyhood and childhood +are over and she is entering upon womanhood with +all the dangers it brings. And she frightens me so +sometimes," she continued after a slight pause. +"She is different; more self-willed, more self- +centred. Besides, her touch has altered. She doesn't +seem to love me as she did--not in the same way." + +"But she could never do anything else but love +you," he interrupted quickly, speaking for himself +as well as Lucy, his voice vibrating under his emotions. +It was all he could do to keep his hands +from her own; her sending for him alone restrained +him. + +"I know that, but it is not in the old way. It +used to be 'Sister, darling, don't tire yourself,' or +'Sister, dear, let me go upstairs for you,' or 'Cuddle +close here, and let us talk it all out together.' There +is no more of that. She goes her own way, and when +I chide her laughs and leaves me alone until I make +some new advance. Help me, please, and with all +the wisdom you can give me; I have no one else in +whom I can trust, no one who is big enough to know +what should be done. I might have talked to Mr. +Dellenbaugh about it, but he is away." + +"No; talk it all out to me," he said simply. "I +so want to help you"--his whole heart was going out +to her in her distress. + +"I know you feel sorry for me." She withdrew +her hand gently so as not to hurt him; she too did not +want to be misunderstood--having sent for him. "I +know how sincere your friendship is for me, but +put all that aside. Don't let your sympathy for me +cloud your judgment. What shall I do with Lucy? +Answer me as if you were her father and mine," +and she looked straight into his eyes. + +The doctor tightened the muscles of his throat, +closed his teeth, and summoned all his resolution. +If he could only tell her what was in his heart how +much easier it would all be! For some moments he +sat perfectly still, then he answered slowly--as her +man of business would have done: + +"I should let her go." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"Because she will find out in that way sooner +than in any other how to appreciate you and her +home. Living in two rooms and studying music +will not suit Lucy. When the novelty wears off she +will long for her home, and when she comes back it +will be with a better appreciation of its comforts. +Let her go, and make her going as happy as you can." + +And so Jane gave her consent--it is doubtful +whether Lucy would have waited for it once her mind +was made up--and in a week she was off, Doctor +John taking her himself as far as the Junction, and +seeing her safe on the road to Trenton. Martha +was evidently delighted at the change, for the old +nurse's face was wreathed in smiles that last morning +as they all stood out by the gate while Billy +Tatham loaded Lucy's trunks and boxes. Only +once did a frown cross her face, and that was when +Lucy leaned over and whispering something in Bart's +ear, slipped a small scrap of paper between his +fingers. Bart crunched it tight and slid his hand +carelessly into his pocket, but the gesture did not +deceive the nurse: it haunted her for days thereafter. + +As the weeks flew by and the letters from Trenton +told of the happenings in Maria's home, it became +more and more evident to Jane that the doctor's +advice had been the wisest and best. Lucy would +often devote a page or more of her letters to recalling +the comforts of her own room at Yardley, so +different from what she was enduring at Trenton, +and longing for them to come again. Parts of these +letters Jane read to the doctor, and all of them to +Martha, who received them with varying comment. +It became evident, too, that neither the excitement +of Bart's letters, nor the visits of the occasional +school friends who called upon them both, nor the +pursuit of her new accomplishment, had satisfied the +girl. + +Jane was not surprised, therefore, remembering +the doctor's almost prophetic words, to learn of the +arrival of a letter from Lucy begging Martha to come +to her at once for a day or two. The letter was +enclosed in one to Bart and was handed to the nurse +by that young man in person. As he did so he +remarked meaningly that Miss Lucy wanted Martha's +visit to be kept a secret from everybody but +Miss Jane, "just as a surprise," but Martha answered +in a positive tone that she had no secrets +from those who had a right to know them, and that +he could write Lucy she was coming next day, and +that Jane and everybody else who might inquire +would know of it before she started. + +She rather liked Bart's receiving the letter. As +long as that young man kept away from Trenton +and confined himself to Warehold, where she could +keep her eyes on him, she was content. + +To Jane Martha said: "Oh, bless the darlin'! +She can't do a day longer without her Martha. I'll +go in the mornin'. It's a little pettin' she wants-- +that's all." + +So the old nurse bade Meg good-by, pinned her +big gray shawl about her, tied on her bonnet, took +a little basket with some delicacies and a pot of +jelly, and like a true Mother Hubbard, started off, +while Jane, having persuaded herself that perhaps +"the surprise" was meant for her, and that she +might be welcoming two exiles instead of one the +following night, began to put Lucy's room in order +and to lay out the many pretty things she loved, +especially the new dressing-gown she had made for +her, lined with blue silk--her favorite color. + +All that day and evening, and far into the next +afternoon, Jane went about the house with the refrain +of an old song welling up into her heart--one that +had been stifled for months. The thought of the +round-about way in which Lucy had sent for Martha +did not dull its melody. That ruse, she knew, came +from the foolish pride of youth, the pride that could +not meet defeat. Underneath it she detected, with a +thrill, the love of home; this, after all, was what her +sister could not do without. It was not Bart this +time. That affair, as she had predicted and had +repeatedly told Martha, had worn itself out and had +been replaced by her love of music. She had simply +come to herself once more and would again be her +old-time sister and her child. Then, too--and this +sent another wave of delight tingling through her-- +it had all been the doctor's doing! But for his +advice she would never have let Lucy go. + +Half a dozen times, although the November afternoon +was raw and chilly, with the wind fresh from +the sea and the sky dull, she was out on the front porch +without shawl or hat, looking down the path, covered +now with dead leaves, and scanning closely every +team that passed the gate, only to return again to +her place by the fire, more impatient than ever. + +Meg's quick ear first caught the grating of the +wheels. Jane followed him with a cry of joyous expectation, +and flew to the door to meet the stage, which +for some reason--why, she could not tell--had +stopped for a moment outside the gate, dropping only +one passenger, and that one the nurse. + +"And Lucy did not come, Martha!" Jane exclaimed, +with almost a sob in her voice. She had +reached her side now, followed by Meg, who was +springing straight at the nurse in the joy of his +welcome. + +The old woman glanced back at the stage, as if +afraid of being overheard, and muttered under her +breath: + +"No, she couldn't come." + +"Oh, I am so disappointed! Why not?" + +Martha did not answer. She seemed to have lost +her breath. Jane put her arm about her and led +her up the path. Once she stumbled, her step was +so unsteady, and she would have fallen but for Jane's +assistance. + +The two had now reached the hand-railing of the +porch. Here Martha's trembling foot began to feel +about for the step. Jane caught her in her arms. + +"You're ill, Martha!" she cried in alarm. "Give +me the bag. What's the matter?" + +Again Martha did not answer. + +"Tell me what it is." + +"Upstairs! Upstairs!" Martha gasped in reply. +Quick!" + +"What has happened?" + +"Not here; upstairs." + +They climbed the staircase together, Jane half +carrying the fainting woman, her mind in a whirl. + +"Where were you taken ill? Why did you try +to come home? Why didn't Lucy come with +you?" + +They had reached the door of Jane's bedroom +now, Martha clinging to her arm. + +Once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the +door, put her bands to her face as if she would +shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank slowly to +the floor. + +"It is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands, +"not me--not--" + +"Who?" + +"Oh, I can't say it!" + +"Lucy?" + +"Yes" + +"Not ill?" + +"No; worse!" + +"Oh, Martha! Not dead?" + +"O God, I wish she were!" + +An hour passed--an hour of agony, of humiliation +and despair. + +Again the door opened and Jane stepped out-- +slowly, as if in pain, her lips tight drawn, her face +ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into deeper +hollows, the eyes burning. Only the mouth preserved +its lines, but firmer, more rigid, more severe, +as if tightened by the strength of some great resolve. +In her hand she held a letter. + +Martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her +head still in her palms. She had ceased sobbing +and was quite still, as if exhausted. + +Jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the +servants, and dropping the letter to the floor below, +said: + +"Take that to Captain Holt's. When he comes +bring him upstairs here into my sitting-room." + +Before the servant could reply there came a knock +at the front door. Jane knew its sound--it was +Doctor John's. Leaning far over, grasping the top +rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to +the servant in a low, restrained voice: + +"If that is Dr. Cavendish, please say to him that +Martha is just home from Trenton, greatly fatigued, +and I beg him to excuse me. When the doctor has +driven away, you can take the letter." + +She kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she +heard the tones of his voice through the open hall +door and caught the note of sorrow that tinged +them. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry! Poor Martha!" she heard +him say. "She is getting too old to go about alone. +Please tell Miss Jane she must not hesitate to send +for me if I can be of the slightest service." Then +she re-entered the room where Martha lay and closed +the door. + +Another and louder knock now broke the stillness +of the chamber and checked the sobs of the nurse; +Captain Holt had met Jane's servant as he was passing +the gate. He stopped for an instant in the hall, +slipped off his coat, and walked straight upstairs, +humming a tune as he came. Jane heard his firm +tread, opened the door of their room, and she and +Martha crossed the hall to a smaller apartment +where Jane always attended to the business affairs of +the house. The captain's face was wreathed in a +broad smile as he extended his hand to Jane in +welcome. + +"It's lucky ye caught me, Miss Jane. I was just +goin' out, and in a minute I'd been gone for the +night. Hello, Mother Martha! I thought you'd +gone to Trenton." + +The two women made no reply to his cheery salutation, +except to motion him to a seat. Then Jane +closed the door and turned the key in the lock. + +When the captain emerged from the chamber he +stepped out alone. His color was gone, his eyes flashing, +his jaw tight set. About his mouth there hovered +a savage, almost brutal look, the look of a bulldog +who bares his teeth before he tears and strangles +--a look his men knew when someone of them purposely +disobeyed his orders. For a moment he stood +as if dazed. All he remembered clearly was the +white, drawn face of a woman gazing at him with +staring, tear-drenched eyes, the slow dropping of +words that blistered as they fell, and the figure of +the nurse wringing her hands and moaning: "Oh, +I told ye so! I told ye so! Why didn't ye listen?" +With it came the pain of some sudden blow that +deadened his brain and stilled his heart. + +With a strong effort, like one throwing off a +stupor, he raised his head, braced his shoulders, and +strode firmly along the corridor and down the stairs +on his way to the front door. Catching up his coat, +he threw it about him, pulled his hat on, with +a jerk, slamming the front door, plunged along +through the dry leaves that covered the path, and +so on out to the main road. Once beyond the gate +he hesitated, looked up and down, turned to the right +and then to the left, as if in doubt, and lunged forward +in the direction of the tavern. + +It was Sunday night, and the lounging room was +full. One of the inmates rose and offered him a +chair--he was much respected in the village, especially +among the rougher class, some of whom had +sailed with him--but he only waved his hand in +thanks. + +"I don't want to sit down; I'm looking for Bart. +Has he been here?" The sound came as if from +between closed teeth. + +"Not as I know of, cap'n," answered the landlord; +"not since sundown, nohow." + +"Do any of you know where he is?" The look in +the captain's eyes and the sharp, cutting tones of +his voice began to be noticed. + +"Do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back +in a chair against the wall. + +"Yes." + +"Well, I kin tell ye where to find him," + +"Where?" + +"Down on the beach in the Refuge shanty. He +and the boys have a deck there Sunday nights. Been +at it all fall--thought ye knowed it." + +Out into the night again, and without a word of +thanks, down the road and across the causeway to +the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless thrash +of the rising sea. He followed no path, picked out +no road. Stumbling along in the half-gloom of the +twilight, he could make out the heads of the sand- +dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat against +their cheeks. Soon he reached the prow of the old +wreck with its shattered timbers and the water-holes +left by the tide. These he avoided, but the smaller +objects he trampled upon and over as he strode on, +without caring where he stepped or how often he +stumbled. Outlined against the sand-hills, bleached +white under the dull light, he looked like some evil +presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful +was his unceasing, persistent stride. + +When the House of Refuge loomed up against +the gray froth of the surf he stopped and drew breath. +Bending forward, he scanned the beach ahead, shading +his eyes with his hand as he would have done on +his own ship in a fog. He could make out now some +streaks of yellow light showing through the cracks +one above the other along the side of the house and +a dull patch of red. He knew what it meant. Bart +and his fellows were inside, and were using one of +the ship lanterns to see by. + +This settled in his mind, the captain strode on, +but at a slower pace. He had found his bearings, +and would steer with caution. + +Hugging the dunes closer, he approached the house +from the rear. The big door was shut and a bit of +matting had been tacked over the one window to +deaden the light. This was why the patch of red +was dull. He stood now so near the outside planking +that he could hear the laughter and talk of those +within. By this time the wind had risen to half a +gale and the moan on the outer bar could be heard +in the intervals of the pounding surf. The captain +crept under the eaves of the roof and listened. He +wanted to be sure of Bart's voice before he acted. + +At this instant a sudden gust of wind burst in the +big door, extinguishing the light of the lantern, and +Bart's voice rang out: + +"Stay where you are, boys! Don't touch the +cards. I know the door, and can fix it; it's only +the bolt that's slipped." + +As Bart passed out into the gloom the captain +darted forward, seized him with a grip of steel, +dragged him clear of the door, and up the sand- +dunes out of hearing. Then he flung him loose and +stood facing the cowering boy. + +"Now stand back and keep away from me, for +I'm afraid I'll kill you!" + +"What have I done?" cringed Bart, shielding +his face with his elbow as if to ward off a blow. The +suddenness of the attack had stunned him. + +"Don't ask me, you whelp, or I'll strangle you. +Look at me! That's what you been up to, is it?" + +Bart straightened himself, and made some show +of resistance. His breath was coming back to him. + +"I haven't done anything--and if I did--" + +"You lie! Martha's back from Trenton and Lucy +told her. You never thought of me. You never +thought of that sister of hers whose heart you've +broke, nor of the old woman who nursed her like a +mother. You thought of nobody but your stinkin' +self. You're not a man! You're a cur! a dog! +Don't move! Keep away from me, I tell ye, or I +may lose hold of myself." + +Bart was stretching out his hands now as if in +supplication. He had never seen his father like +this--the sight frightened him. + +"Father, will you listen--" he pleaded. + +"I'll listen to nothin'--" + +"Will you, please? It's not all my fault. She +ought to have kept out of my way--" + +"Stop! Take that back! You'd blame HER, +would ye--a child just out of school, and as innocent +as a baby? By God, you'll do right by her +or you'll never set foot inside my house again!" + +Bart faced his father again. + +"I want to tell you the whole story before you +judge me. I want to--" + +"You'll tell me nothin'! Will you act square +with her?" + +"I must tell you first. You wouldn't understand +unless--" + +"You won't? That's what you mean--you mean +you WON'T! Damn ye!" The captain raised his +clenched fist, quivered for an instant as if struggling +against something beyond his control, dropped +it slowly to his side and whirling suddenly, strode +back up the beach. + +Bart staggered back against the planking, threw +out his hand to keep from falling, and watched his +father's uncertain, stumbling figure until he was +swallowed up in the gloom. The words rang in his +ears like a knell. The realization of his position +and what it meant, and might mean, rushed over him. +For an instant he leaned heavily against the planking +until he had caught his breath. Then, with quivering +lips and shaking legs, he walked slowly back into +the house, shutting the big door behind him. + +"Boys," he said with a forced smile, "who do +you think's been outside? My father! Somebody +told him, and he's just been giving me hell for playing +cards on Sunday." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +THE EYES OF AN OLD PORTRAIT + + +Before another Sunday night had arrived Warehold +village was alive with two important pieces of +news. + +The first was the disappearance of Bart Holt. + +Captain Nat, so the story ran, had caught him +carousing in the House of Refuge on Sunday night +with some of his boon companions, and after a stormy +interview in which the boy pleaded for forgiveness, +had driven him out into the night. Bart had left +town the next morning at daylight and had shipped +as a common sailor on board a British bark bound +for Brazil. No one had seen him go--not even his +companions of the night before. + +The second announcement was more startling. + +The Cobden girls were going to Paris. Lucy Cobden +had developed an extraordinary talent for music +during her short stay in Trenton with her friend +Maria Collins, and Miss Jane, with her customary +unselfishness and devotion to her younger sister, had +decided to go with her. They might be gone two +years or five--it depended on Lucy's success. Martha +would remain at Yardley and take care of the old +home. + +Bart's banishment coming first served as a target +for the fire of the gossip some days before Jane's decision +had reached the ears of the villagers. + +"I always knew he would come to no good end," +Miss Gossaway called out to a passer-by from her +eyrie; "and there's more like him if their fathers +would look after 'em. Guess sea's the best place +for him." + +Billy Tatham, the stage-driver, did not altogether +agree with the extremist. + +"You hearn tell, I s'pose, of how Captain Nat +handled his boy t'other night, didn't ye?" he remarked +to the passenger next to him on the front seat. +"It might be the way they did things 'board the +Black Ball Line, but 'tain't human and decent, an' +I told Cap'n Nat so to-day. Shut his door in his +face an' told him he'd kill him if he tried to come in, +and all because he ketched him playin' cards on Sunday +down on the beach. Bart warn't no worse than +the others he run with, but ye can't tell what these +old sea-dogs will do when they git riled. I guess it +was the rum more'n the cards. Them fellers used to +drink a power o' rum in that shanty. I've seen 'em +staggerin' home many a Monday mornin' when I +got down early to open up for my team. It's the +rum that riled the cap'n, I guess. He wouldn't +stand it aboard ship and used to put his men in irons, +I've hearn tell, when they come aboard drunk. What +gits me is that the cap'n didn't know them fellers +met there every night they could git away, week-days +as well as Sundays. Everybody 'round here knew it +'cept him and the light-keeper, and he's so durned +lazy he never once dropped on to 'em. He'd git +bounced if the Gov'ment found out he was lettin' +a gang run the House o' Refuge whenever they felt +like it. Fogarty, the fisherman's, got the key, or +oughter have it, but the light-keeper's responsible, +so I hearn tell. Git-up, Billy," and the talk drifted +into other channels. + +The incident was soon forgotten. One young +man more or less did not make much difference in +Warehold. As to Captain Nat, he was known to be +a scrupulously honest, exact man who knew no law +outside of his duty. He probably did it for the +boy's good, although everybody agreed that he could +have accomplished his purpose in some more merciful +way. + +The other sensation--the departure of the two +Cobden girls, and their possible prolonged stay abroad +--did not subside so easily. Not only did the neighbors +look upon the Manor House as the show-place +of the village, but the girls themselves were greatly +beloved, Jane being especially idolized from Warehold +to Barnegat and the sea. To lose Jane's presence +among them was a positive calamity entailing +a sorrow that most of her neighbors could not bring +themselves to face. No one could take her place. + +Pastor Dellenbaugh, when he heard the news, sank +into his study chair and threw up his hands as if to +ward off some blow. + +"Miss Jane going abroad!" he cried; "and you +say nobody knows when she will come back! I can't +realize it! We might as well close the school; no +one else in the village can keep it together." + +The Cromartins and the others all expressed similar +opinions, the younger ladies' sorrow being aggravated +when they realized that with Lucy away there +would be no one to lead in their merrymakings. + +Martha held her peace; she would stay at home, +she told Mrs. Dellenbaugh, and wait for their return +and look after the place. Her heart was broken with +the loneliness that would come, she moaned, but +what was best for her bairn she was willing to bear. +It didn't make much difference either way; she +wasn't long for this world. + +The doctor's mother heard the news with ill-concealed +satisfaction. + +"A most extraordinary thing has occurred here, +my dear," she said to one of her Philadelphia friends +who was visiting her--she was too politic to talk +openly to the neighbors. "You have, of course, met +that Miss Cobden who lives at Yardley--not the +pretty one--the plain one. Well, she is the most +quixotic creature in the world. Only a few weeks +ago she wanted to become a nurse in the public hospital +here, and now she proposes to close her house +and go abroad for nobody knows how long, simply +because her younger sister wants to study music, as +if a school-girl couldn't get all the instruction of that +kind here that is necessary. Really, I never heard +of such a thing." + +To Mrs. Benson, a neighbor, she said, behind her +hand and in strict confidence: "Miss Cobden is morbidly +conscientious over trifles. A fine woman, one +of the very finest we have, but a little too strait-laced, +and, if I must say it, somewhat commonplace, especially +for a woman of her birth and education." + +To herself she said: "Never while I live shall +Jane Cobden marry my John! She can never help +any man's career. She has neither the worldly +knowledge, nor the personal presence, nor the +money." + +Jane gave but one answer to all inquiries--and +there were many. + +"Yes, I know the move is a sudden one," she +would say, "but it is for Lucy's good, and there +is no one to go with her but me." No one saw +beneath the mask that hid her breaking heart. To +them the drawn face and the weary look in her eyes +only showed her grief at leaving home and those +who loved her: to Mrs. Cavendish it seemed part +of Jane's peculiar temperament. + +Nor could they watch her in the silence of the +night tossing on her bed, or closeted with Martha +in her search for the initial steps that had led to this +horror. Had the Philadelphia school undermined +her own sisterly teachings or had her companions +been at fault? Perhaps it was due to the blood of +some long-forgotten ancestor, which in the cycle of +years had cropped out in this generation, poisoning +the fountain of her youth. Bart, she realized, had +played the villain and the ingrate, but yet it was also +true that Bart, and all his class, would have been +powerless before a woman of a different temperament. +Who, then, had undermined this citadel and +given it over to plunder and disgrace? Then with +merciless exactness she searched her own heart. Had +it been her fault? What safeguard had she herself +neglected? Wherein had she been false to her trust +and her promise to her dying father? What could +she have done to avert it? These ever-haunting, ever- +recurring doubts maddened her. + +One thing she was determined upon, cost what it +might--to protect her sister's name. No daughter +of Morton Cobden's should be pointed at in scorn. +For generations no stain of dishonor had tarnished +the family name. This must be preserved, no matter +who suffered. In this she was sustained by Martha, +her only confidante. + +Doctor John heard the news from Jane's lips before +it was known to the villagers. He had come to +inquire after Martha. + +She met him at the porch entrance, and led him +into the drawing-room, without a word of welcome. +Then shutting the door, she motioned him to a seat +opposite her own on the sofa. The calm, determined +way with which this was done--so unusual in one so +cordial--startled him. He felt that something of +momentous interest, and, judging from Jane's face, +of serious import, had happened. He invariably +took his cue from her face, and his own spirits always +rose or fell as the light in her eyes flashed or dimmed. + +"Is there anything the matter?" he asked nervously. +"Martha worse?" + +"No, not that; Martha is around again--it is +about Lucy and me." The voice did not sound like +Jane's. + +The doctor looked at her intently, but he did not +speak. Jane continued, her face now deathly pale, +her words coming slowly. + +"You advised me some time ago about Lucy's +going to Trenton, and I am glad I followed it. You +thought it would strengthen her love for us all and +teach her to love me the better. It has--so much so +that hereafter we will never be separated. I hope +now you will also approve of what I have just decided +upon. Lucy is going abroad to live, and I am +going with her." + +As the words fell from her lips her eyes crept up +to his face, watching the effect of her statement. It +was a cold, almost brutal way of putting it, she knew, +but she dared not trust herself with anything less +formal. + +For a moment he sat perfectly still, the color +gone from his cheeks, his eyes fixed on hers, a cold +chill benumbing the roots of his hair. The suddenness +of the announcement seemed to have stunned +him. + +"For how long?" he asked in a halting voice. + +"I don't know. Not less than two years; perhaps +longer." + +"TWO YEARS? Is Lucy ill?" + +"No; she wants to study music, and she couldn't +go alone." + +"Have you made up your mind to this?" he +asked, in a more positive tone. His self-control was +returning now. + +"Yes." + +Doctor John rose from his chair, paced the room +slowly for a moment, and crossing to the fireplace +with his back to Jane, stood under her father's portrait, +his elbows on the mantel, his head in his hand. +interwoven with the pain which the announcement +had given him was the sharper sorrow of her neglect +of him. In forming her plans she had never once +thought of her lifelong friend. + +"Why did you not tell me something of this +before?" The inquiry was not addressed to Jane, +but to the smouldering coals. "How have I ever +failed you? What has my daily life been but an +open book for you to read, and here you leave me for +years, and never give me a thought." + +Jane started in her seat. + +"Forgive me, my dear friend!" she answered +quickly in a voice full of tenderness. "I did not +mean to hurt you. It is not that I love all my friends +here the less--and you know how truly I appreciate +your own friendship--but only that I love my sister +more; and my duty is with her. I only decided +last night. Don't turn your back on me. Come +and sit by me, and talk to me," she pleaded, holding +out her hand. "I need all your strength." As she +spoke the tears started to her eyes and her voice sank +almost to a whisper. + +The doctor lifted his head from his palm and +walked quickly toward her. The suffering in her +voice had robbed him of all resentment. + +"Forgive me, I did not mean it. Tell me," he +said, in a sudden burst of tenderness--all feeling +about himself had dropped away--"why must you +go so soon? Why not wait until spring?" He had +taken his seat beside her now and sat looking into +her eyes. + +"Lucy wants to go at once," she replied, in a +tone as if the matter did not admit of any discussion. + +"Yes, I know. That's just like her. What she +wants she can never wait a minute for, but she certainly +would sacrifice some pleasure of her own to +please you. If she was determined to be a musician +it would be different, but it is only for her pleasure, +and as an accomplishment." He spoke earnestly +and impersonally, as he always did when she consulted +him on any of her affairs, He was trying, too, +to wipe from her mind all remembrance of his impatience. + +Jane kept her eyes on the carpet for a moment, +and then said quietly, and he thought in rather a +hopeless tone: + +"It is best we go at once." + +The doctor looked at her searchingly--with the +eye of a scientist, this time, probing for a hidden +meaning. + +"Then there is something else you have not told +me; someone is annoying her, or there is someone +with whom you are afraid she will fall in love. Who +is it? You know how I could help in a matter of that +kind." + +"No; there is no one." + +Doctor John leaned back thoughtfully and tapped +the arm of the sofa with his fingers. He felt as if a +door had been shut in his face. + +"I don't understand it," he said slowly, and in +a baffled tone. "I have never known you to do a +thing like this before. It is entirely unlike you. +There is some mystery you are keeping from me. +Tell me, and let me help." + +"I can tell you nothing more. Can't you trust +me to do my duty in my own way?" She stole a +look at him as she spoke and again lowered her +eyelids. + +"And you are determined to go?" he asked in his +former cross-examining tone. + +"Yes." + +Again the doctor kept silence. Despite her assumed +courage and determined air, his experienced +eye caught beneath it all the shrinking helplessness +of the woman. + +"Then I, too, have reached a sudden resolve," +he said in a manner almost professional in its precision. +"You cannot and shall not go alone." + +"Oh, but Lucy and I can get along together," +she exclaimed with nervous haste. "There is no +one we could take but Martha, and she is too old. +Besides she must look after the house while we are +away." + +"No; Martha will not do. No woman will do. +I know Paris and its life; it is not the place for two +women to live in alone, especially so pretty and +light-hearted a woman as Lucy." + +"I am not afraid." + +"No, but I am," he answered in a softened voice, +"very much afraid." It was no longer the physician +who spoke, but the friend. + +"Of what?" + +"Of a dozen things you do not understand, and +cannot until you encounter them," he replied, smoothing +her hand tenderly. + +"Yes, but it cannot be helped. There is no one +to go with us." This came with some positiveness, +yet with a note of impatience in her voice. + +"Yes, there is," he answered gently. + +"Who?" she asked slowly, withdrawing her hand +from his caress, an undefined fear rising in her +mind. + +"Me. I will go with you." + +Jane looked at him with widening eyes. She +knew now. She had caught his meaning in the tones +of his voice before he had expressed it, and had tried +to think of some way to ward off what she saw was +coming, but she was swept helplessly on. + +"Let us go together, Jane," he burst out, drawing +closer to her. All reserve was gone. The words +which had pressed so long for utterance could no +longer be held back. "I cannot live here alone without +you. You know it, and have always known it. +I love you so--don't let us live apart any more. If +you must go, go as my wife." + +A thrill of joy ran through her. Her lips quivered. +She wanted to cry out, to put her arms around +his neck, to tell him everything in her heart. Then +came a quick, sharp pain that stifled every other +thought. For the first time the real bitterness of +the situation confronted her. This phase of it she +had not counted upon. + +She shrank back a little. "Don't ask me that!" +she moaned in a tone almost of pain. "I can stand +anything now but that. Not now--not now!" + +Her hand was still under his, her fingers lying +limp, all the pathos of her suffering in her face: +determination to do her duty, horror over the situation, +and above them all her overwhelming love for +him. + +He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her +to him. + +"You love me, Jane, don't you?" + +"Yes, more than all else in the world," she +answered simply. "Too well"--and her voice broke +--"to have you give up your career for me or mine." + +"Then why should we live apart? I am willing +to do as much for Lucy as you would. Let me share +the care and responsibility. You needn't, perhaps, +be gone more than a year, and then we will all come +back together, and I take up my work again. I +need you, my beloved. Nothing that I do seems of +any use without you. You are my great, strong +light, and have always been since the first day I +loved you. Let me help bear these burdens. You +have carried them so long alone." + +His face lay against hers now, her hand still +clasped tight in his. For an instant she did not +answer or move; then she straightened a little and +lifted her cheek from his. + +"John," she said--it was the first time in all her +life she had called him thus--"you wouldn't love +me if I should consent. You have work to do here +and I now have work to do on the other side. We +cannot work together; we must work apart. Your +heart is speaking, and I love you for it, but we must +not think of it now. It may come right some time-- +God only knows! My duty is plain--I must go with +Lucy. Neither you nor my dead father would love +me if I did differently." + +"I only know that I love you and that you love +me and nothing else should count," he pleaded impatiently. +"Nothing else shall count. There is +nothing you could do would make me love you less. +You are practical and wise about all your plans. +Why has this whim of Lucy's taken hold of you as +it has? And it is only a whim; Lucy will want +something else in six months. Oh, I cannot--cannot +let you go. I'm so desolate without you--my +whole life is yours--everything I do is for you. +O Jane, my beloved, don't shut me out of your life! +I will not let you go without me!" His voice +vibrated with a certain indignation, as if he had been +unjustly treated. She raised one hand and laid +it on his forehead, smoothing his brow as a mother +would that of a child. The other still lay in his. + +"Don't, John," she moaned, in a half-piteous tone. +"Don't! Don't talk so! I can only bear comforting +words to-day. I am too wretched--too utterly broken +and miserable. Please! please, John!" + +He dropped her hand and leaning forward put both +of his own to his head. He knew how strong was +her will and how futile would be his efforts to +change her mind unless her conscience agreed. + +"I won't," he answered, as a strong man answers +who is baffled. "I did not mean to be impatient or +exacting." Then he raised his head and looked +steadily into her eyes. "What would you have me +do, then?" + +"Wait." + +"But you give me no promise." + +"No, I cannot--not now. I am like one staggering +along, following a dim light that leads hither +and thither, and which may any moment go out +and leave me in utter darkness." + +"Then there is something you have not told me?" + +"O John! Can't you trust me?" + +"And yet you love me?" + +"As my life, John." + +When he had gone and she had closed the door +upon him, she went back to the sofa where the two +had sat together, and with her hands clasped tight +above her head, sank down upon its cushions. The +tears came like rain now, bitter, blinding tears that +she could not check. + +"I have hurt him," she moaned. "He is so good, +and strong, and helpful. He never thinks of himself; +it is always of me--me, who can do nothing. +The tears were in his eyes--I saw them. Oh, I've +hurt him--hurt him! And yet, dear God, thou +knowest I could not help it." + +Maddened with the pain of it all she sprang up, +determined to go to him and tell him everything. +To throw herself into his arms and beg forgiveness +for her cruelty and crave the protection of his +strength. Then her gaze fell upon her father's portrait! +The cold, steadfast eyes were looking down +upon her as if they could read her very soul. "No! +No!" she sobbed, putting her hands over her eyes +as if to shut out some spectre she had not the courage +to face. "It must not be--it CANNOT be," and she +sank back exhausted. + +When the paroxysm was over she rose to her feet, +dried her eyes, smoothed her hair with both hands, +and then, with lips tight pressed and faltering steps, +walked upstairs to where Martha was getting Lucy's +things ready for the coming journey. Crossing the +room, she stood with her elbows on the mantel, her +cheeks tight pressed between her palms, her eyes on +the embers. Martha moved from the open trunk and +stood behind her. + +"It was Doctor John, wasn't it?" she asked in a +broken voice that told of her suffering. + +"Yes," moaned Jane from between her hands. + +"And ye told him about your goin'?" + +"Yes, Martha." Her frame was shaking with +her sobs. + +"And about Lucy?" + +"No, I could not." + +Martha leaned forward and laid her hand on +Jane's shoulder. + +"Poor lassie!" she said, patting it softly. "Poor +lassie! That was the hardest part. He's big and +strong and could 'a' comforted ye. My heart aches +for ye both!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +AN ARRIVAL + + +With the departure of Jane and Lucy the old +homestead took on that desolate, abandoned look +which comes to most homes when all the life and +joyousness have gone from them. Weeds grew in the +roadway between the lilacs, dandelions flaunted themselves +over the grass-plots; the shutters of the porch +side of the house were closed, and the main gate +always thrown wide day and night in ungoverned +welcome, was seldom opened except to a few intimate +friends of the old nurse. + +At first Pastor Dellenbaugh had been considerate +enough to mount the long path to inquire for news +of the travelers and to see how Martha was getting +along, but after the receipt of the earlier letters from +Jane telling of their safe arrival and their sojourn +in a little village but a short distance out of Paris, +convenient to the great city, even his visits ceased. +Captain Holt never darkened the door; nor did he +ever willingly stop to talk to Martha when he met +her on the road. She felt the slight, and avoided +him when she could. This resulted in their seldom +speaking to each other, and then only in the most +casual way. She fancied he might think she wanted +news of Bart, and so gave him no opportunity to discuss +him or his whereabouts; but she was mistaken. +The captain never mentioned his name to friend or +stranger. To him the boy was dead for all time. +Nor had anyone of his companions heard from him +since that stormy night on the beach. + +Doctor John's struggle had lasted for months, but +he had come through it chastened and determined. +For the first few days he went about his work as +one in a dream, his mind on the woman he loved, +his hand mechanically doing its duty. Jane had so +woven herself into his life that her sudden departure +had been like the upwrenching of a plant, tearing +out the fibres twisted about his heart, cutting off all +his sustenance and strength. The inconsistencies of +her conduct especially troubled him. If she loved +him--and she had told him that she did, and with +their cheeks touching--how could she leave him in +order to indulge a mere whim of her sister's? And +if she loved him well enough to tell him so, why +had she refused to plight him her troth? Such a +course was unnatural, and out of his own and everyone +else's experience. Women who loved men with +a great, strong, healthy love, the love he could give +her, and the love he knew she could give him, never +permitted such trifles to come between them and +their life's happiness. What, he asked himself a +thousand times, had brought this change? + +As the months went by these doubts and speculations +one by one passed out of his mind, and only +the image of the woman he adored, with all her +qualities--loyalty to her trust, tenderness over Lucy +and unquestioned love for himself--rose clear. No, +he would believe in her to the end! She was still +all he had in life. If she would not be his wife she +should be his friend. That happiness was worth all +else to him in the world. His was not to criticise, +but to help. Help as SHE wanted it; preserving her +standard of personal honor, her devotion to her ideals, +her loyalty, her blind obedience to her trust. + +Mrs. Cavendish had seen the change in her son's +demeanor and had watched him closely through his +varying moods, but though she divined their cause +she had not sought to probe his secret. + +His greatest comfort was in his visits to Martha. +He always dropped in to see her when he made his +rounds in the neighborhood; sometimes every day, +sometimes once a week, depending on his patients +and their condition--visits which were always prolonged +when a letter came from either of the girls, +for at first Lucy wrote to the old nurse as often as +did Jane. Apart from this the doctor loved the +patient caretaker, both for her loyalty and for her +gentleness. And she loved him in return; clinging +to him as an older woman clings to a strong man, +following his advice (he never gave orders) to the +minutest detail when something in the management +or care of house or grounds exceeded her grasp. +Consulting him, too, and this at Jane's special request +--regarding any financial complications which +needed prompt attention, and which, but for his +services, might have required Jane's immediate return +to disentangle. She loved, too, to talk of Lucy and of +Miss Jane's goodness to her bairn, saying she had +been both a sister and a mother to her, to which +the doctor would invariably add some tribute of +his own which only bound the friendship the +closer. + +His main relief, however, lay in his work, and in +this he became each day more engrossed. He seemed +never to be out of his gig unless at the bedside of +some patient. So long and wearing had the routes +become--often beyond Barnegat and as far as Westfield +--that the sorrel gave out, and he was obliged +to add another horse to his stable. His patients saw +the weary look in his eyes--as of one who had often +looked on sorrow--and thought it was the hard work +and anxiety over them that had caused it. But the +old nurse knew better. + +"His heart's breakin' for love of her," she would +say to Meg, looking down into his sleepy eyes--she +cuddled him more than ever these days--"and +I don't wonder. God knows how it'll all end." + +Jane wrote to him but seldom; only half a dozen +letters in all during the first year of her absence +among them one to tell him of their safe arrival, +another to thank him for his kindness to Martha, +and a third to acknowledge the receipt of a letter +of introduction to a student friend of his who was +now a prominent physician in Paris, and who might +be useful in case either of them fell ill. He had +written to his friend at the same time, giving the +address of the two girls, but the physician had answered +that he had called at the street and number, +but no one knew of them. The doctor reported this +to Jane in his next letter, asking her to write to his +friend so that he might know of their whereabouts +should they need his services, for which Jane, in a +subsequent letter, thanked him, but made no mention +of sending to his friend should occasion require. +These subsequent letters said very little about their +plans and carefully avoided all reference to their +daily life or to Lucy's advancement in her studies, +and never once set any time for their coming home. +He wondered at her neglect of him, and when no +answer came to his continued letters, except at long +intervals, he could contain himself no longer, and +laid the whole matter before Martha. + +"She means nothing, doctor, dear," she had answered, +taking his hand and looking up into his +troubled face. "Her heart is all right; she's goin' +through deep waters, bein' away from everybody she +loves--you most of all. Don't worry; keep on lovin' +her, ye'll never have cause to repent it." + +That same night Martha wrote to Jane, giving her +every detail of the interview, and in due course of +time handed the doctor a letter in which Jane wrote: +"He MUST NOT stop writing to me; his letters are all +the comfort I have"--a line not intended for the +doctor's eyes, but which the good soul could not keep +from him, so eager was she to relieve his pain. + +Jane's letter to him in answer to his own expressing +his unhappiness over her neglect was less direct, +but none the less comforting to him. "I am constantly +moving about," the letter ran, "and have +much to do and cannot always answer your letters, +so please do not expect them too often. But I am +always thinking of you and your kindness to dear +Martha. You do for me when you do for her." + +After this it became a settled habit between them, +he writing by the weekly steamer, telling her every +thought of his life, and she replying at long intervals. +In these no word of love was spoken on her side; nor +was any reference made to their last interview. But +this fact did not cool the warmth of his affection +nor weaken his faith. She had told him she loved +him, and with her own lips. That was enough-- +enough from a woman like Jane. He would lose +faith when she denied it in the same way. In the +meantime she was his very breath and being. + +One morning two years after Jane's departure, +while the doctor and his mother sat at breakfast, +Mrs. Cavendish filling the tea-cups, the spring sunshine +lighting up the snow-white cloth and polished +silver, the mail arrived and two letters were laid +at their respective plates, one for the doctor and the +other for his mother. + +As Doctor John glanced at the handwriting his +face flushed, and his eyes danced with pleasure. +With eager, trembling fingers he broke the seal and +ran his eyes hungrily over the contents. It had +been his habit to turn to the bottom of the last page +before he read the preceding ones, so that he might +see the signature and note the final words of affection +or friendship, such as "Ever your friend," +or "Affectionately yours," or simply "Your friend," +written above Jane's name. These were to him +the thermometric readings of the warmth of her +heart. + +Half way down the first page--before he had time +to turn the leaf--he caught his breath in an effort +to smother a sudden outburst of joy. Then with a +supreme effort he regained his self-control and read +the letter to the end. (He rarely mentioned Jane's +name to his mother, and he did not want his delight +over the contents of the letter to be made the basis +of comment.) + +Mrs. Cavendish's outburst over the contents of her +own envelope broke the silence and relieved his +tension. + +"Oh, how fortunate!" she exclaimed. "Listen, +John; now I really have good news for you. You +remember I told you that I met old Dr. Pencoyd the +last time I was in Philadelphia, and had a long +talk with him. I told him how you were buried here +and how hard you worked and how anxious I was +that you should leave Barnegat, and he promised to +write to me, and he has. Here's his letter. He says +he is getting too old to continue his practice alone, +that his assistant has fallen ill, and that if you will +come to him at once he will take you into partnership +and give you half his practice. I always knew something +good would come out of my last visit to Philadelphia. +Aren't you delighted, my son?" + +"Yes, perfectly overjoyed," answered the doctor, +laughing. He was more than delighted--brimming +over with happiness, in fact--but not over his +mother's news; it was the letter held tight in his +grasp that was sending electric thrills through him. +"A fine old fellow is Dr. Pencoyd--known him for +years," he continued; "I attended his lectures before +I went abroad. Lives in a musty old house on Chestnut +Street, stuffed full of family portraits and old +mahogany furniture, and not a comfortable chair +or sofa in the place; wears yellow Nankeen waist- +coats, takes snuff, and carries a fob. Oh, yes, same +old fellow. Very kind of him, mother, but wouldn't +you rather have the sunlight dance in upon you as it +does here and catch a glimpse of the sea through +the window than to look across at your neighbors' +back walls and white marble steps?" It was across +that same sea that Jane was coming, and the sunshine +would come with her! + +"Yes; but, John, surely you are not going to refuse +this without looking into it?" she argued, eyeing +him through her gold-rimmed glasses. "Go and +see him, and then you can judge. It's his practice +you want, not his house." + +"No; that's just what I don't want. I've got too +much practice now. Somehow I can't keep my people +well. No, mother, dear, don't bother your dear +head over the old doctor and his wants. Write him +that I am most grateful, but that the fact is I need an +assistant myself, and if he will be good enough to send +someone down here, I'll keep him busy every hour of +the day and night. Then, again," he continued, a +more serious tone in his voice, "I couldn't possibly +leave here now, even if I wished to, which I do not." + +Mrs. Cavendish eyed him intently. She had expected +just such a refusal Nothing that she ever +planned for his advancement did he agree to. + +"Why not?" she asked, with some impatience. + +"The new hospital is about finished, and I am +going to take charge of it." + +"Do they pay you for it?" she continued, in an +incisive tone. + +"No, I don't think they will, nor can. It's not, +that kind of a hospital," answered the doctor gravely. + +"And you will look after these people just as you +do after Fogarty and the Branscombs, and everybody +else up and down the shore, and never take a +penny in pay!" she retorted with some indignation. + +"I am afraid I will, mother. A disappointing +son, am I not? But there's no one to blame but +yourself, old lady," and with a laugh he rose from +his seat, Jane's letter in his hand, and kissed his +mother on the cheek. + +"But, John, dear," she exclaimed in a pleading +petulance as she looked into his face, still holding on +to the sleeve of his coat to detain him the longer, +"just think of this letter of Pencoyd's; nothing has +ever been offered you better than this. He has the +very best people in Philadelphia on his list, and you +would get--" + +The doctor slipped his hand under his mother's +chin, as he would have done to a child, and said +with a twinkle in his eye--he was very happy this +morning: + +"That's precisely my case--I've got the very best +people in three counties on my list. That's much +better than the old doctor." + +"Who are they, pray?" She was softening under +her son's caress. + +"Well, let me think. There's the distinguished +Mr. Tatham, who attends to the transportation of +the cities of Warehold and Barnegat; and the Right +Honorable Mr. Tipple, and Mrs. and Miss Gossaway, +renowned for their toilets--" + +Mrs. Cavendish bit her lip. When her son was +in one of these moods it was all she could do to keep +her temper. + +"And the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley, and--" + +Mrs. Cavendish looked up. The name had an aristocratic +sound, but it was unknown to her. + +"Who is she?" + +"Why, don't you know the wonderful Mrs. Malmsley?" +inquired the doctor, with a quizzical smile. + +"No, I never heard of her." + +"Well, she's just moved into Warehold. Poor +woman, she hasn't been out of bed for years! She's +the wife of the new butcher, and--" + +"The butcher's wife?" + +"The butcher's wife, my dear mother, a most +delightful old person, who has brought up three +sons, and each one a credit to her." + +Mrs. Cavendish let go her hold on the doctor's +sleeve and settled back in her chair. + +"And you won't even write to Dr. Pencoyd?" +she asked in a disheartened way, as if she knew he +would refuse. + +"Oh, with pleasure, and thank him most kindly, +but I couldn't leave Barnegat; not now. Not at +any time, so far as I can see." + +"And I suppose when Jane Cobden comes home +in a year or so she will work with you in the hospital. +She wanted to turn nurse the last time I +talked to her." This special arrow in her maternal +quiver, poisoned with her jealousy, was always +ready. + +"I hope so," he replied, with a smile that lighted +up his whole face; "only it will not be a year. Miss +Jane will be here on the next steamer." + +Mrs. Cavendish put down her tea-cup and looked +at her son in astonishment. The doctor still kept +his eyes on her face. + +"Be here by the next steamer! How do you +know?" + +The doctor held up the letter. + +"Lucy will remain," he added. "She is going +to Germany to continue her studies." + +"And Jane is coming home alone?" + +"No, she brings a little child with her, the son +of a friend, she writes. She asks that I arrange +to have Martha meet them at the dock." + +"Somebody, I suppose, she has picked up out of +the streets. She is always doing these wild, unpractical +things. Whose child is it?" + +"She doesn't say, but I quite agree with you that +it was helpless, or she wouldn't have protected it." + +"Why don't Lucy come with her?" + +The doctor shrugged his shoulders. + +"And I suppose you will go to the ship to meet +her?" + +The doctor drew himself up, clicked his heels +together with the air of an officer saluting his superior +--really to hide his joy--and said with mock +gravity, his hand on his heart: + +"I shall, most honorable mother, be the first to +take her ladyship's hand as she walks down the gangplank." +Then he added, with a tone of mild reproof +in his voice: "What a funny, queer old mother you +are! Always worrying yourself over the unimportant +and the impossible," and stooping down, he kissed +her again on the cheek and passed out of the room +on the way to his office. + +"That woman always comes up at the wrong +moment," Mrs. Cavendish said to herself in a bitter +tone. "I knew he had received some word from her, +I saw it in his face. He would have gone to Philadelphia +but for Jane Cobden." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +THE SPREAD OF FIRE + + +The doctor kept his word. His hand was the first +that touched Jane's when she came down the gangplank, +Martha beside him, holding out her arms for +the child, cuddling it to her bosom, wrapping her +shawl about it as if to protect it from the gaze of the +inquisitive. + +"O doctor! it was so good of you!" were Jane's +first words. It hurt her to call him thus, but she +wanted to establish the new relation clearly. She +had shouldered her cross and must bear its weight +alone and in her own way. "You don't know what +it is to see a face from home! I am so glad to get +here. But you should not have left your people; I +wrote Martha and told her so. All I wanted you to +do was to have her meet me here. Thank you, dear +friend, for coming." + +She had not let go his hand, clinging to him as a +timid woman in crossing a narrow bridge spanning +an abyss clings to the strong arm of a man. + +He helped her to the dock as tenderly as if she +had been a child; asking her if the voyage had been +a rough one, whether she had been ill in her berth, +and whether she had taken care of the baby herself, +and why she had brought no nurse with her. She +saw his meaning, but she did not explain her weakness +or offer any explanation of the cause of her appearance +or of the absence of a nurse. In a moment +she changed the subject, asking after his mother and +his own work, and seemed interested in what he told +her about the neighbors. + +When the joy of hearing her voice and of looking +into her dear face once more had passed, his skilled +eyes probed the deeper. He noted with a sinking at +the heart the dark circles under the drooping lids, +the drawn, pallid skin and telltale furrows that had +cut their way deep into her cheeks. Her eyes, too, +had lost their lustre, and her step lacked the spring +and vigor of her old self. The diagnosis alarmed +him. Even the mould of her face, so distinguished, +and to him so beautiful, had undergone a change; +whether through illness, or because of some mental +anguish, he could not decide. + +When he pressed his inquiries about Lucy she +answered with a half-stifled sigh that Lucy had decided +to remain abroad for a year longer; adding +that it had been a great relief to her, and that at first +she had thought of remaining with her, but that their +affairs, as he knew, had become so involved at home +that she feared their means of living might be +jeopardized if she did not return at once. The child, +however, would be a comfort to both Martha and +herself until Lucy came. Then she added in a constrained +voice: + +"Its mother would not, or could not care for it, +and so I brought it with me." + +Once at home and the little waif safely tucked +away in the crib that had sheltered Lucy in the +old days, the neighbors began to flock in; Uncle +Ephraim among the first. + +"My, but I'm glad you're back!" he burst out. +"Martha's been lonelier than a cat in a garret, and +down at our house we ain't much better. And so +that Bunch of Roses is going to stay over there, is +she, and set those Frenchies crazy?" + +Pastor Dellenbaugh took both of Jane's hands into +his own and looking into her face, said: + +"Ah, but we've missed you! There has been no +standard, my dear Miss Jane, since you've been gone. +I have felt it, and so has everyone in the church. +It is good to have you once more with us." + +Mrs. Cavendish could hardly conceal her satisfaction, +although she was careful what she said to her +son. Her hope was that the care of the child would +so absorb Jane that John would regain his freedom +and be no longer subservient to Miss Cobden's +whims. + +"And so Lucy is to stay in Paris?" she said, with +one of her sweetest smiles. "She is so charming +and innocent, that sweet sister of yours, my dear +Miss Jane, and so sympathetic. I quite lost my heart +to her. And to study music, too? A most noble +accomplishment, my dear. My grandmother, who +was an Erskine, you know, played divinely on the +harp, and many of my ancestors, especially the Dagworthys, +were accomplished musicians. Your sister +will look lovely bending over a harp. My grandmother +had her portrait painted that way by Peale, +and it still hangs in the old house in Trenton. And +they tell me you have brought a little angel with you +to bring up and share your loneliness? How pathetic, +and how good of you!" + +The village women--they came in groups--asked +dozens of questions before Jane had had even time +to shake each one by the hand. Was Lucy so in love +with the life abroad that she would never come back? +was she just as pretty as ever? what kind of bonnets +were being worn? etc., etc. + +The child in Martha's arms was, of course, the +object of special attention. They all agreed that +it was a healthy, hearty, and most beautiful baby; +just the kind of a child one would want to adopt +if one had any such extraordinary desires. + +This talk continued until they had gained the +highway, when they also agreed--and this without +a single dissenting voice--that in all the village Jane +Cobden was the only woman conscientious enough +to want to bring up somebody else's child, and a +foreigner at that, when there were any quantity of +babies up and down the shore that could be had for +the asking. The little creature was, no doubt, helpless, +and appealed to Miss Jane's sympathies, but +why bring it home at all? Were there not places +enough in France where it could be brought up? etc., +etc. This sort of gossip went on for days after +Jane's return, each dropper-in at tea-table or village +gathering having some view of her own to express, +the women doing most of the talking. + +The discussion thus begun by friends was soon +taken up by the sewing societies and church gatherings, +one member in good standing remarking loud +enough to be heard by everybody: + +"As for me, I ain't never surprised at nothin' +Jane Cobden does. She's queerer than Dick's hat- +band, and allus was, and I've knowed her ever since +she used to toddle up to my house and I baked cookies +for her. I've seen her many a time feed the dog +with what I give her, just because she said he +looked hungry, which there warn't a mite o' truth +in, for there ain't nothin' goes hungry round my +place, and never was. She's queer, I tell ye." + +"Quite true, dear Mrs. Pokeberry," remarked +Pastor Dellenbaugh in his gentlest tone--he had +heard the discussion as he was passing through the +room and had stopped to listen--"especially when +mercy and kindness is to be shown. Some poor little +outcast, no doubt, with no one to take care of it, and +so this grand woman brings it home to nurse and +educate. I wish there were more Jane Cobdens in +my parish. Many of you talk good deeds, and justice, +and Christian spirit; here is a woman who puts +them into practice." + +This statement having been made during the dispersal +of a Wednesday night meeting, and in the hearing +of half the congregation, furnished the key to the +mystery, and so for a time the child and its new- +found mother ceased to be an active subject of discussion. + +Ann Gossaway, however, was not satisfied. The +more she thought of the pastor's explanation the +more she resented it as an affront to her intelligence. + +"If folks wants to pick up stray babies," she +shouted to her old mother on her return home one +night, "and bring 'em home to nuss, they oughter +label 'em with some sort o' pedigree, and not keep +the village a-guessin' as to who they is and where +they come from. I don't believe a word of this outcast +yarn. Guess Miss Lucy is all right, and she +knows enough to stay away when all this tomfoolery's +goin' on. She doesn't want to come back to a child's +nussery." To all of which her mother nodded her +head, keeping it going like a toy mandarin long +after the subject of discussion had been changed. + +Little by little the scandal spread: by innuendoes; +by the wise shakings of empty heads; by nods and +winks; by the piecing out of incomplete tattle. For +the spread of gossip is like the spread of fire: First a +smouldering heat--some friction of ill-feeling, perhaps, +over a secret sin that cannot be smothered, try +as we may; next a hot, blistering tongue of flame +creeping stealthily; then a burst of scorching candor +and the roar that ends in ruin. Sometimes the victim +is saved by a dash of honest water--the outspoken +word of some brave friend. More often those who +should stamp out the burning brand stand idly by +until the final collapse and then warm themselves at +the blaze. + +Here in Warehold it began with some whispered +talk: Bart Holt had disappeared; there was a woman +in the case somewhere; Bart's exile had not been entirely +caused by his love of cards and drink. Reference +was also made to the fact that Jane had gone +abroad but a short time AFTER Bart's disappearance, +and that knowing how fond she was of him, and how +she had tried to reform him, the probability was +that she had met him in Paris. Doubts having been +expressed that no woman of Jane Cobden's position +would go to any such lengths to oblige so young a +fellow as Bart Holt, the details of their intimacy +were passed from mouth to mouth, and when this was +again scouted, reference was made to Miss Gossaway, +who was supposed to know more than she was willing +to tell. The dressmaker denied all responsibility for +the story, but admitted that she had once seen them +on the beach "settin' as close together as they could +git, with the red cloak she had made for Miss Jane +wound about 'em. + +"'Twarn't none o' my business, and I told Martha +so, and 'tain't none o' my business now, but I'd +rather die than tell a lie or scandalize anybody, and +so if ye ask me if I saw 'em I'll have to tell ye I did. +I don't believe, howsomever, that Miss Jane went +away to oblige that good-for-nothin' or that she's ever +laid eyes on him since. Lucy is what took her. She's +one o' them flyaways. I see that when she was +home, and there warn't no peace up to the Cobdens' +house till they'd taken her somewheres where she +could git all the runnin' round she wanted. As for +the baby, there ain't nobody knows where Miss Jane +picked that up, but there ain't no doubt but what +she loves it same's if it was her own child. She's +named it Archie, after her grandfather, anyhow. +That's what Martha and she calls it. So they're not +ashamed of it." + +When the fire had spent itself, only one spot remained +unscorched: this was the parentage of little +Archie. That mystery still remained unsolved. +Those of her own class who knew Jane intimately +admired her kindness of heart and respected her +silence; those who did not soon forgot the boy's +existence. + +The tavern loungers, however, some of whom only +knew the Cobden girls by reputation, had theories +of their own; theories which were communicated to +other loungers around other tavern stoves, most of +whom would not have known either of the ladies +on the street. The fact that both women belonged to +a social stratum far above them gave additional license +to their tongues; they could never be called in +question by anybody who overheard, and were therefore +safe to discuss the situation at their will. Condensed +into illogical shape, the story was that Jane +had met a foreigner who had deserted her, leaving +her to care for the child alone; that Lucy had refused +to come back to Warehold, had taken what money +was coming to her, and, like a sensible woman, had +stayed away. That there was not the slightest foundation +for this slander did not lessen its acceptance +by a certain class; many claimed that it offered the +only plausible solution to the mystery, and must, +therefore, be true. + +It was not long before the echoes of these scandals +reached Martha's ears. The gossips dare not affront +Miss Jane with their suspicions, but Martha was +different. If they could irritate her by speaking +lightly of her mistress, she might give out some information +which would solve the mystery. + +One night a servant of one of the neighbors stopped +Martha on the road and sent her flying home; not +angry, but terrified. + +"They're beginnin' to talk," she broke out savagely, +as she entered Jane's room, her breath almost +gone from her run to the house. "I laughed at it +and said they dare not one of 'em say it to your +face or mine, but they're beginnin' to talk." + +"Is it about Barton Holt? have they heard anything +from him?" asked Jane. The fear of his +return had always haunted her. + +"No, and they won't. He'll never come back here +ag'in. The captain would kill him." + +"It isn't about Lucy, then, is it?" cried Jane, +her color going. + +Martha shook her head in answer to save her +breath. + +"Who, then?" cried Jane, nervously. "Not +Archie?" + +"Yes, Archie and you." + +"What do they say?" asked Jane, her voice fallen +to a whisper. + +"They say it's your child, and that ye're afraid to +tell who the father is." + +Jane caught at the chair for support and then sank +slowly into her seat. + +"Who says so?" she gasped. + +"Nobody that you or I know; some of the beach- +combers and hide-by-nights, I think, started it. +Pokeberry's girl told me; her brother works in the +shipyard." + +Jane sat looking at Martha with staring eyes. + +"How dare they--" + +"They dare do anything, and we can't answer +back. That's what's goin' to make it hard. It's +nobody's business, but that don't satisfy 'em. I've +been through it meself; I know how mean they +can be." + +"They shall never know--not while I have life +left in me," Jane exclaimed firmly. + +"Yes, but that won't keep 'em from lyin'." + +The two sat still for some minutes, Martha gazing +into vacancy, Jane lying back in her chair, her +eyes closed. One emotion after another coursed +through her with lightning rapidity--indignation +at the charge, horror at the thought that any of her +friends might believe it, followed by a shivering fear +that her father's good name, for all her care and +suffering, might be smirched at last. + +Suddenly there arose the tall image of Doctor +John, with his frank, tender face. What would he +think of it, and how, if he questioned her, could she +answer him? Then there came to her that day of +parting in Paris. She remembered Lucy's willingness +to give up the child forever, and so cover up all +traces of her sin, and her own immediate determination +to risk everything for her sister's sake. As this +last thought welled up in her mind and she recalled +her father's dying command, her brow relaxed. +Come what might, she was doing her duty. This was +her solace and her strength. + +"Cruel, cruel people!" she said to Martha, relaxing +her hands. "How can they be so wicked? +But I am glad it is I who must take the brunt of +it all. If they would treat me so, who am innocent, +what would they do to my poor Lucy?" + + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +A LATE VISITOR + + +These rumors never reached the doctor. No scandalmonger +ever dared talk gossip to him. When he +first began to practise among the people of Warehold, +and some garrulous old dame would seek to enrich +his visit by tittle-tattle about her neighbors, she had +never tried it a second time. Doctor John of Barnegat +either received the news in silence or answered +it with some pleasantry; even Ann Gossaway held +her peace whenever the doctor had to be called in to +prescribe for her oversensitive throat. + +He was aware that Jane had laid herself open to +criticism in bringing home a child about which she +had made no explanation, but he never spoke of it nor +allowed anyone to say so to him. He would have +been much happier, of course, if she had given him +her confidence in this as she had in many other +matters affecting her life; but he accepted her silence +as part of her whole attitude toward him. Knowing +her as he did, he was convinced that her sole incentive +was one of loving kindness, both for the child +and for the poor mother whose sin or whose poverty +she was concealing. In this connection, he remembered +how in one of her letters to Martha she had +told of the numberless waifs she had seen and how +her heart ached for them; especially in the hospitals +which she had visited and among the students. He +recalled that he himself had had many similar experiences +in his Paris days, in which a woman like Jane +Cobden would have been a veritable angel of mercy. + +Mrs. Cavendish's ears were more easily approached +by the gossips of Warehold and vicinity; then, again +she was always curious over the inmates of the Cobden +house, and any little scraps of news, reliable or +not, about either Jane or her absent sister were +eagerly listened to. Finding it impossible to restrain +herself any longer, she had seized the opportunity +one evening when she and her son were sitting together +in the salon, a rare occurrence for the doctor, +and only possible when his patients were on the +mend. + +"I'm sorry Jane Cobden was so foolish as to +bring home that baby," she began. + +"Why?" said the doctor, without lifting his eyes +from the book he was reading. + +"Oh, she lays herself open to criticism. It is, +of course, but one of her eccentricities, but she owes +something to her position and birth and should not +invite unnecessary comment." + +"Who criticises her?" asked the doctor, his eyes +still on the pages. + +"Oh, you can't tell; everybody is talking about +it. Some of the gossip is outrageous, some I could +not even repeat." + +"I have no doubt of it," answered the doctor +quietly. "All small places like Warehold and Barnegat +need topics of conversation, and Miss Jane +for the moment is furnishing one of them. They +utilize you, dear mother, and me, and everybody +else in the same way. But that is no reason why +we should lend our ears or our tongues to spread +and encourage it." + +"I quite agree with you, my son, and I told the +person who told me how foolish and silly it was, +but they will talk, no matter what you say to them." + +"What do they say?" asked the doctor, laying +down his book and rising from his chair. + +"Oh, all sorts of things. One rumor is that Captain +Holt's son, Barton, the one that quarrelled with +his father and who went to sea, could tell something +of the child, if he could be found." + +The doctor laughed. "He can be found," he +answered. "I saw his father only last week, and +he told me Bart was in Brazil. That is some thousand +of miles from Paris, but a little thing like +that in geography doesn't seem to make much difference +to some of our good people. Why do you listen +to such nonsense?" he added as he kissed her tenderly +and, with a pat on her cheek, left the room +for his study. His mother's talk had made but little +impression upon him. Gossip of this kind was always +current when waifs like Archie formed the +topic; but it hurt nobody, he said to himself--nobody +like Jane. + +Sitting under his study lamp looking up some complicated +case, his books about him, Jane's sad face +came before him. "Has she not had trouble +enough," he said to himself, "parted from Lucy and +with her unsettled money affairs, without having to +face these gnats whose sting she cannot ward off?" +With this came the thought of his own helplessness +to comfort her. He had taken her at her word that +night before she left for Paris, when she had refused +to give him her promise and had told him to wait, +and he was still ready to come at her call; loving +her, watching ever her, absorbed in every detail of +her daily life, and eager to grant her slightest wish, +and yet he could not but see that she had, since her +return, surrounded herself with a barrier which he +could neither understand nor break down whenever +he touched on their personal relations. + +Had he loved her less he would, in justice to himself, +have faced all her opposition and demanded an +answer--Yes or No--as to whether she would yield +to his wishes. But his generous nature forbade any +such stand and his reverence for her precluded any +such mental attitude. + +Lifting his eyes from his books and gazing dreamily +into the space before him, he recalled, with a certain +sinking of the heart, a conversation which had +taken place between Jane and himself a few days +after her arrival--an interview which had made a +deep impression upon him. The two, in the absence +of Martha--she had left the room for a moment-- +were standing beside the crib watching the child's +breathing. Seizing the opportunity, one he had +watched for, he had told her how much he had missed +her during the two years, and how much happier +his life was now that he could touch her hand and +listen to her voice. She had evaded his meaning, +making answer that his pleasure, was nothing compared +to her own when she thought how safe the +baby would be in his hands; adding quickly that she +could never thank him enough for remaining in Barnegat +and not leaving her helpless and without a +"physician." The tone with which she pronounced +the word had hurt him. He thought he detected a +slight inflection, as if she were making a distinction +between his skill as an expert and his love as a man, +but he was not sure. + +Still gazing into the shadows before him, his unread +book in his hand, he recalled a later occasion +when she appeared rather to shrink from him than +to wish to be near him, speaking to him with downcast +eyes and without the frank look in her face +which was always his welcome. On this day she was +more unstrung and more desolate than he had ever +seen her. At length, emboldened by his intense desire +to help, and putting aside every obstacle, he had +taken her hand and had said with all his heart in +his voice: + +"Jane, you once told me you loved me. Is it +still true?" + +He remembered how at first she had not answered, +and how after a moment she had slowly withdrawn +her hand and had replied in a voice almost inarticulate, +so great was her emotion. + +"Yes, John, and always will be, but it can never +go beyond that--never, never. Don't ask many +more questions. Don't talk to me about it. Not +now, John--not now! Don't hate me! Let us be +as we have always been--please, John! You would +not refuse me if you knew." + +He had started forward to take her in his arms; +to insist that now every obstacle was removed she +should give him at once the lawful right to protect +her, but she had shrunk back, the palms of her hands +held out as barriers, and before he could reason with +her Martha had entered with something for little +Archie, and so the interview had come to an end. + +Then, still absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes suddenly +brightened and a certain joy trembled in his +heart as he remembered that with all these misgivings +and doubts there were other times--and their +sum was in the ascendency--when she showed the +same confidence in his judgement and the same readiness +to take his advice; when the old light would once +more flash in her eyes as she grasped his hand and +the old sadness again shadow her face when his visits +came to an end. With this he must be for a time +content. + +These and a hundred other thoughts raced through +Doctor John's mind as he sat to-night in his study +chair, the lamplight falling on his open books and +thin, delicately modelled hands. + +Once he rose from his seat and began pacing his +study floor, his hands behind his back, his mind on +Jane, on her curious and incomprehensible moods, +trying to solve them as he walked, trusting and leaning +upon him one day and shrinking from him the +next. Baffled for the hundredth time in this mental +search, he dropped again into his chair, and adjusting +the lamp, pulled his books toward him to devote +his mind to their contents. As the light flared up +he caught the sound of a step upon the gravel outside, +and then a heavy tread upon the porch. An instant +later his knocker sounded. Doctor Cavendish gave +a sigh--he had hoped to have one night at home-- +and rose to open the door. + +Captain Nat Holt stood outside. + +His pea-jacket was buttoned close up under his +chin, his hat drawn tight down over his forehead. +His weather-beaten face, as the light fell upon it, +looked cracked and drawn, with dark hollows under +the eyes, which the shadows from the lamplight +deepened. + +"It's late, I know, doctor," he said in a hoarse, +strained voice; "ten o'clock, maybe, but I got somethin' +to talk to ye about," and he strode into the +room. "Alone, are ye?" he continued, as he loosened +his coat and laid his hat on the desk. "Where's +the good mother? Home, is she?" + +"Yes, she's inside," answered the doctor, pointing +to the open door leading to the salon and grasping +the captain's brawny hand in welcome. "Why? Do +you want to see her?" + +"No, I don't want to see her; don't want to see +nobody but you. She can't hear, can she? 'Scuse +me--I'll close this door." + +The doctor looked at him curiously. The captain +seemed to be laboring under a nervous strain, unusual +in one so stolid and self-possessed. + +The door closed, the captain moved back a cushion, +dropped into a corner of the sofa, and sat looking +at the doctor, with legs apart, his open palms resting +on his knees. + +"I got bad news, doctor--awful bad news for +everybody," as he spoke he reached into his pocket +and produced a letter with a foreign postmark. + +"You remember my son Bart, of course, don't ye, +who left home some two years ago?" he went on. + +The doctor nodded. + +"Well, he's dead." + +"Your son Bart dead!" cried the doctor, repeating +his name in the surprise of the announcement. +"How do you know?" + +"This letter came by to-day's mail. It's from the +consul at Rio. Bart come in to see him dead broke +and he helped him out. He'd run away from the +ship and was goin' up into the mines to work, so the +consul wrote me. He was in once after that and got +a little money, and then he got down with yellow +fever and they took him to the hospital, and he died +in three days. There ain't no doubt about it. Here's +a list of the dead in the paper; you kin read his name +plain as print." + +Doctor John reached for the letter and newspaper +clipping and turned them toward the lamp. The +envelope was stamped "Rio Janeiro" and the letter +bore the official heading of the consulate. + +"That's dreadful, dreadful news, captain," said +the doctor in sympathetic tones. "Poor boy! it's +too bad. Perhaps, however, there may be some mistake, +after all. Foreign hospital registers are not +always reliable," added the doctor in a hopeful tone. + +"No, it's all true, or Benham wouldn't write me +what he has. I've known him for years. He knows +me, too, and he don't go off half-cocked. I wrote +him to look after Bart and sent him some money +and give him the name of the ship, and he watched +for her and sent for him all right. I was pretty +nigh crazy that night he left, and handled him, +maybe, rougher'n I ou'ter, but I couldn't help it. +There's some things I can't stand, and what he done +was one of 'em. It all comes back to me now, but +I'd do it ag'in." As he spoke the rough, hard +sailor leaned forward and rested his chin on his +hand. The news had evidently been a great shock +to him. + +The doctor reached over and laid his hand on the +captain's knee. "I'm very, very sorry, captain, for +you and for Bart; and the only son you have, is +it not?" + +"Yes, and the only child we ever had. That +makes it worse. Thank God, his mother's dead! +All this would have broken her heart." For a moment +the two men were silent, then the captain continued +in a tone as if he were talking to himself, his +eyes on the lamp: + +"But I couldn't have lived with him after that, +and I told him so--not till he acted fair and square, +like a man. I hoped he would some day, but that's +over now." + +"We're none of us bad all the way through, captain," +reasoned the doctor, "and don't you think of +him in that way. He would have come to himself +some day and been a comfort to you. I didn't know +him as well as I might, and only as I met him at +Yardley, but he must have had a great many fine +qualities or the Cobdens wouldn't have liked him. +Miss Jane used often to talk to me about him. She +always believed in him. She will be greatly distressed +over this news." + +"That's what brings me here. I want you to tell +her, and not me. I'm afraid it'll git out and she'll +hear it, and then she'll be worse off than she is now. +Maybe it's best to say nothin' 'bout it to nobody and +let it go. There ain't no one but me to grieve for +him, and they don't send no bodies home, not from +Rio, nor nowheres along that coast. Maybe, too, it +ain't the time to say it to her. I was up there last +week to see the baby, and she looked thinner and +paler than I ever see her. I didn't know what to +do, so I says to myself, 'There's Doctor John, he's +at her house reg'lar and knows the ins and outs of +her, and I'll go and tell him 'bout it and ask his +advice.' I'd rather cut my hand off than hurt her, +for if there's an angel on earth she's one. She shakes +so when I mention Bart's name and gits so flustered, +that's why I dar'n't tell her. Now he's dead there +won't be nobody to do right by Archie. I can't; +I'm all muzzled up tight. She made me take an oath, +same as she has you, and I ain't goin' to break it any +more'n you would. The little feller'll have to git +'long best way he kin now." + +Doctor John bent forward in his chair and looked +at the captain curiously. His words convey no +meaning to him. For an instant he thought that the +shock of his son's death had unsettled the man's +mind. + +"Take an oath! What for?" + +"'Bout Archie and herself." + +"But I've taken no oath!" + +"Well, perhaps it isn't your habit; it ain't some +men's. I did." + +"What about?" + +It was the captain's turn now to look searchingly +into his companion's face. The doctor's back was +toward the lamp, throwing his face into shadow, but +the captain could read its expression plainly. + +"You mean to tell me, doctor, you don't know +what's goin' on up at Yardley? You do, of course, +but you won't say--that's like you doctors!" + +"Yes, everything. But what has your son Bart +got to do with it?" + +"Got to do with it! Ain't Jane Cobden motherin' +his child?" + +The doctor lunged forward in his seat, his eyes +staring straight at the captain. Had the old sailor +struck him in the face he could not have been more +astounded. + +"His child!" he cried savagely. + +"Certainly! Whose else is it? You knew, +didn't ye?" + +The doctor settled back in his chair with the movement +of an ox felled by a sudden blow. With the +appalling news there rang in his ears the tones of his +mother's voice retailing the gossip of the village. +This, then, was what she could not repeat. + +After a moment he raised his head and asked in a +low, firm voice: + +"Did Bart go to Paris after he left here?" + +"No, of course not! Went 'board the Corsair +bound for Rio, and has been there ever since. I told +you that before. There weren't no necessity for her +to meet him in Paris." + +The doctor sprang from his chair and with eyes +biasing and fists tightly clenched, stood over the +captain. + +"And you dare to sit there and tell me that Miss +Jane Cobden is that child's mother?" + +The captain struggled to his feet, his open hands +held up to the doctor as if to ward off a blow. + +"Miss Jane! No, by God! No! Are you crazy? +Sit down, sit down, I tell ye!" + +"Who, then? Speak!" + +"Lucy! That's what I drove Bart out for. Mort +Cobden's daughter--Mort, mind ye, that was a +brother to me since I was a boy! Jane that that child's +mother! Yes, all the mother poor Archie's got! +Ask Miss Jane, she'll tell ye. Tell ye how she sits +and eats her heart out to save her sister that's too +scared to come home. I want to cut my tongue out +for tellin' ye, but I thought ye knew. Martha told +me you loved her and that she loved you, and I +thought she'd told ye. Jane Cobden crooked! No +more'n the angels are. Now, will you tell her Bart's +dead, or shall I?" + +"I will tell her," answered the doctor firmly, +"and to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +MORTON COBDENS DAUGHTER + + +The cold wind from the sea freighted with the +raw mist churned by the breakers cut sharply against +Doctor John's cheeks as he sprang into his gig and +dashed out of his gate toward Yardley. Under the +shadow of the sombre pines, along the ribbon of a +road, dull gray in the light of the stars, and out on +the broader highway leading to Warehold, the sharp +click of the mare's hoofs striking the hard road +echoed through the night. The neighbors recognized +the tread and the speed, and Uncle Ephraim threw +up a window to know whether it was a case of life or +death, an accident, or both; but the doctor only +nodded and sped on. It WAS life and death--life for +the woman he loved, death for all who traduced her. +The strange news that had dropped from the captain's +lips did not affect him except as would the +ending of any young life; neither was there any bitterness +in his heart against the dead boy who had +wrecked Lucy's career and brought Jane humiliation +and despair. All he thought of was the injustice +of Jane's sufferings. Added to this was an overpowering +desire to reach her side before her misery +should continue another moment; to fold her in his +arms, stand between her and the world; help her +to grapple with the horror which was slowly crushing +out her life. That it was past her hour for retiring, +and that there might be no one to answer his +summons, made no difference to him. He must see +her at all hazards before he closed his eyes. + +As he whirled into the open gates of Yardley and +peered from under the hood of the gig at the outlines +of the old house, looming dimly through the avenue +of bushes, he saw that the occupants were asleep; no +lights shone from the upper windows and none +burned in the hall below. This discovery checked to +some extent the impetus with which he had flung +himself into the night, his whole being absorbed and +dominated by one idea. The cool wind, too, had +begun to tell upon his nerves. He drew rein on the +mare and stopped. For the first time since the captain's +story had reached his ears his reason began to +work. He was never an impetuous man; always a +thoughtful and methodical one, and always overparticular +in respecting the courtesies of life. He +began suddenly to realize that this midnight visit +was at variance with every act of his life. Then +his better judgment became aroused. Was it right +for him to wake Jane and disturb the house at this +hour, causing her, perhaps, a sleepless night, or +should he wait until the morning, when he could +break the news to her in a more gentle and less sensational +way? + +While he sat thus wondering, undetermined +whether to drive lightly out of the gate again or to +push forward in the hope that someone would be +awake, his mind unconsciously reverted to the figure +of Jane making her way with weary steps down the +gangplank of the steamer, the two years of her suffering +deep cut into every line of her face. He recalled +the shock her appearance had given him, and his perplexity +over the cause. He remembered her refusal +to give him her promise, her begging him to wait, +her unaccountable moods since her return. + +Then Lucy's face came before him, her whole +career, in fact (in a flash, as a drowning man's life +is pictured), from the first night after her return +from school until he had bade her good-by to take +the train for Trenton. Little scraps of talk sounded +in his ears, and certain expressions about the corners +of her eyes revealed themselves to his memory. He +thought of her selfishness, of her love of pleasure, of +her disregard of Jane's wishes, of her recklessness. + +Everything was clear now. + +"What a fool I have been!" he said to himself. +"What a fool--FOOL! I ought to have known!" + +Next the magnitude of the atonement, and the +cruelty and cowardice of the woman who had put +her sister into so false a position swept over him. +Then there arose, like the dawning of a light, the +grand figure of the woman he loved, standing clear +of all entanglements, a Madonna among the saints, +more precious than ever in the radiance of her own +sacrifice. + +With this last vision his mind was made up. No, +he would not wait a moment. Once this terrible +secret out of the way, Jane would regain her old +self and they two fight the world together. + +As he loosened the reins over the sorrel a light +suddenly flashed from one of the upper windows +disappeared for a moment, and reappeared again at +one of the smaller openings near the front steps. He +drew rein again. Someone was moving about--who +he did not know; perhaps Jane, perhaps one of the +servants. Tying the lines to the dashboard, he +sprang from the gig, tethered the mare to one of the +lilac bushes, and walked briskly toward the house. +As he neared the steps the door was opened and +Martha's voice rang clear: + +"Meg, you rascal, come in, or shall I let ye stay +out and freeze?" + +Doctor John stepped upon the porch, the light of +Martha's candle falling on his face and figure. + +"It's I, Martha, don't be frightened; it's late, I +know, but I hoped Miss Jane would be up. Has +she gone to bed?" + +The old nurse started back. "Lord, how ye +skeered me! I don't know whether she's asleep or +not. She's upstairs with Archie, anyhow. I come +out after this rapscallion that makes me look him up +every night. I've talked to him till I'm sore, and +he's promised me a dozen times, and here he is out +ag'in. Here! Where are ye? In with ye, ye little +beast!" The dog shrank past her and darted into +the hall. "Now, then, doctor, come in out of the +cold." + +Doctor John stepped softly inside and stood in the +flare of the candle-light. He felt that he must give +some reason for his appearance at this late hour, +even if he did not see Jane. It would be just as well, +therefore, to tell Martha of Bart's death at once, and +not let her hear it, as she was sure to do, from someone +on the street. Then again, he had kept few +secrets from her where Jane was concerned; she +had helped him many times before, and her advice +was always good. He knew that she was familiar +with every detail of the captain's story, but he did +not propose to discuss Lucy's share in it with the old +nurse. That he would reserve for Jane's ears +alone. + +"Bring your candle into the sitting-room, Martha; +I have something to tell you," he said gravely, +loosening the cape of his overcoat and laying his hat +on the hall table. + +The nurse followed. The measured tones of the +doctor's voice, so unlike his cheery greetings, especially +to her, unnerved her. This, in connection with +the suppressed excitement under which he seemed to +labor and the late hour of his visit, at once convinced +her that something serious had happened. + +"Is there anything the matter?" she asked in a +trembling voice. + +"Yes." + +"Is it about Lucy? There ain't nothin' gone +wrong with her, doctor dear, is there?" + +"No, it is not about Lucy. It's about Barton +Holt." + +"Ye don't tell me! Is he come back?" + +"No, nor never will. He's dead! + +"That villain dead! How do you know?" Her +face paled and her lips quivered, but she gave no +other sign of the shock the news had been to her. + +"Captain Nat, his father, has just left my office. +I promised I would tell Miss Jane to-night. He +was too much broken up and too fearful of its effect +upon her to do it himself. I drove fast, but perhaps +I'm too late to see her." + +"Well, ye could see her no doubt,--she could +throw somethin' around her--but ye mustn't tell her +THAT news. She's been downhearted all day and is +tired out. Bart's dead, is he?" she repeated with +an effort at indifference. "Well, that's too bad. I +s'pose the captain's feelin' putty bad over it. Where +did he die?" + +"He died in Rio Janeiro of yellow fever," said +the doctor slowly, wondering at the self-control of +the woman. Wondering, too, whether she was glad +or sorry over the event, her face and manner showing +no index to her feelings. + +"And will he be brought home to be buried?" she +asked with a quick glance at the doctor's face. + +"No; they never bring them home with yellow +fever." + +"And is that all ye come to tell her?" She was +scrutinizing Doctor John's face, her quick, nervous +glances revealing both suspicion and fear. + +"I had some other matters to talk about, but if +she has retired, perhaps I had better come to- +morrow," answered the doctor in undecided tones, +as he gazed abstractedly at the flickering candle. + +The old woman hesitated. She saw that the doctor +knew more than he intended to tell her. Her +curiosity and her fear that some other complication +had arisen--one which he was holding back--got +the better of her judgment. If it was anything about +her bairn, she could not wait until the morning. +She had forgotten Meg now. + +"Well, maybe if ye break it to her easy-like she +can stand it. I don't suppose she's gone to bed yet. +Her door was open on a crack when I come down, +and she always shuts it 'fore she goes to sleep. I'll +light a couple o' lamps so ye can see, and then I'll +send her down to ye if she'll come. Wait here, +doctor, dear." + +The lamps lighted and Martha gone, Doctor John +looked about the room, his glance resting on the +sofa where he had so often sat with her; on the portrait +of Morton Cobden, the captain's friend; on +the work-basket filled with needlework that Jane +had left on a small table beside her chair, and upon +the books her hands had touched. He thought he +had never loved her so much as now. No one he +had ever known or heard of had made so great a +sacrifice. Not for herself this immolation, but for a +sister who had betrayed her confidence and who had +repaid a life's devotion with unforgivable humiliation +and disgrace. This was the woman whose +heart he held. This was the woman he loved with +every fibre of his being. But her sufferings were +over now. He was ready to face the world and its +malignity beside her. Whatever sins her sister had +committed, and however soiled were Lucy's garments, +Jane's robes were as white as snow, he was +glad he had yielded to the impulse and had come at +once. The barrier between them once broken down +and the terrible secret shared, her troubles would +end. + +The whispering of her skirts on the stairs announced +her coming before she entered the room. +She had been sitting by Archie's crib and had not +waited to change her loose white gown, whose clinging +folds accentuated her frail, delicate form. Her +hair had been caught up hastily and hung in a dark +mass, concealing her small, pale ears and making +her face all the whiter by contrast. + +"Something alarming has brought you at this +hour," she said, with a note of anxiety in her voice, +walking rapidly toward him. "What can I do? +Who is ill?" + +Doctor John sprang forward, held out both hands, +and holding tight to her own, drew her close to him. + +"Has Martha told you?" he said tenderly. + +"No; only that you wanted me. I came as soon +as I could." + +"It's about Barton Holt. His father has just +left my office. I have very sad news for you. The +poor boy--" + +Jane loosened her hands from his and drew back. +The doctor paused in his recital. + +"Is he ill?" she inquired, a slight shiver running +through her. + +"Worse than ill! I'm afraid you'll never see +him again." + +"You mean that he is dead? Where?" + +"Yes, dead, in Rio. The letter arrived this +morning." + +"And you came all the way up here to tell me +this?" she asked, with an effort to hide her astonishment. +Her eyes dropped for a moment and her +voice trembled. Then she went on. "What does +his father say?" + +"I have just left him. He is greatly shaken. +He would not tell you himself, he said; he was afraid +it might shock you too much, and asked me to come +up. But it is not altogether that, Jane. I have +heard something to-night that has driven me half +out of my mind. That you should suffer this way +alone is torture to me. You cannot, you shall not +live another day as you have! Let me help!" + +Instantly there flashed into her mind the story +Martha had brought in from the street. "He has +heard it," she said to herself, "but he does not believe +it, and he comes to comfort me. I cannot tell +the truth without betraying Lucy." + +She drew a step farther from him. + +"You refer to what the people about us call a +mystery--that poor little child upstairs?" she said +slowly, all her self-control in her voice. "You think +it is a torture for me to care for this helpless baby? +It is not a torture; it is a joy--all the joy I have +now." She stood looking at him as she spoke with +searching eyes, wondering with the ever-questioning +doubt of those denied love's full expression. + +"But I know--" + +"You know nothing--nothing but what I have +told you; and what I have told you is the truth. +What I have not told you is mine to keep. You love +me too well to probe it any further, I am sorry for +the captain. He has an iron will and a rough exterior, +but he has a warm heart underneath. If you +see him before I do give him my deepest sympathy. +Now, my dear friend, I must go back to Archie; he +is restless and needs me. Good-night," and she held +out her hand and passed out of the room. + +She was gone before he could stop her. He started +forward as her hand touched the door, but she closed +it quickly behind her, as if to leave no doubt of her +meaning. He saw that she had misunderstood him. +He had intended to talk to her of Archie's father, +and of Lucy, and she had supposed he had only come +to comfort her about the village gossip. + +For some minutes he stood like one dazed. Then +a feeling of unspeakable reverence stole over him. +Not only was she determined to suffer alone and in +silence, but she would guard her sister's secret at +the cost of her own happiness. Inside that sacred +precinct he knew he could never enter; that wine- +press she intended to tread alone. + +Then a sudden indignation, followed by a contempt +of his own weakness took possession of him. Being +the older and stronger nature, he should have compelled +her to listen. The physician as well as the +friend should have asserted himself. No woman +could be well balanced who would push away the hand +of a man held out to save her from ruin and misery. +He would send Martha for her again and insist upon +her listening to him. + +He started for the door and stopped irresolute. A +new light broke in upon his heart. It was not against +himself and her own happiness that she had taken +this stand, but to save her father's and her sister's +name. He knew how strong was her devotion to her +duty, how blind her love for Lucy, how sacred she +held the trust given to her by her dead father. No; +she was neither obstinate nor quixotic. Hers was the +work of a martyr, not a fanatic. No one he had ever +known or heard of had borne so great a cross or made +so noble a sacrifice. It was like the deed of some +grand old saint, the light of whose glory had shone +down the ages. He was wrong, cruelly wrong. The +only thing left for him to do was to wait. For what +he could not tell. Perhaps God in his mercy would +one day find the way. + +Martha's kindly voice as she opened the door awoke +him from his revery. + +"Did she take it bad?" she asked. + +"No," he replied aimlessly, without thinking of +what he said. "She sent a message to the captain. +I'll go now. No, please don't bring a light to the +door. The mare's only a short way down the road." + +When the old nurse had shut the front door after +him she put out the lamps and ascended the stairs. +The other servants were in bed. Jane's door was +partly open. Martha pushed it gently with her +hand and stepped in. Jane had thrown herself at +full length on the bed and lay with her face +buried in her hands. She was talking to herself and +had not noticed Martha's footsteps. + +"O God! what have I done that this should be +sent to me?" Martha heard her say between her +sobs. "You would be big enough, my beloved, to +bear it all for my sake; to take the stain and wear +it; but I cannot hurt you--not you, not you, my +great, strong, sweet soul. Your heart aches for +me and you would give me all you have, but I +could not bear your name without telling you. You +would forgive me, but I could never forgive myself. +No, no, you shall stand unstained if God will give +me strength!" + +Martha walked softly to the bed and bent over +Jane's prostrate body. + +"It's me, dear. What did he say to break your +heart?" + +Jane slipped her arm about the old nurse's neck, +drawing her closer, and without lifting her own head +from the pillow talked on. + +"Nothing, nothing. He came to comfort me, not +to hurt me." + +"Do ye think it's all true 'bout Bart?" Martha +whispered. + +Jane raised her body from the bed and rested her +head on Martha's shoulder. + +"Yes, it's all true about Bart," she answered in a +stronger and more composed tone. "I have been +expecting it. Poor boy, he had nothing to live for, +and his conscience must have given him no rest." + +"Did the captain tell him about--" and Martha +pointed toward the bed of the sleeping child. +She could never bring herself to mention Lucy's name +when speaking either of Bart or Archie. + +Jane sat erect, brushed the tears from her eyes, +smoothed her hair back from her temples, and said +with something of her customary poise: + +"No, I don't think so. The captain gave me his +word, and he will not break it. Then, again, he will +never discredit his own son. The doctor doesn't +know, and there will be nobody to tell him. That's +not what he came to tell me. It was about the stories +you heard last week and which have only just reached +his ears. That's all. He wanted to protect me from +their annoyance, but I would not listen to him. There +is trouble enough without bringing him into it. Now +go to bed, Martha." + +As she spoke Jane regained her feet, and crossing +the room, settled into a chair by the boy's crib. Long +after Martha had closed her own door for the night +Jane sat watching the sleeping child. One plump +pink hand lay outside the cover; the other little +crumpled rose-leaf was tucked under the cheek, the +face half-hidden in a tangle of glossy curls, now spun- +gold in the light of the shaded lamp. + +"Poor little waif," she sighed, "poor little motherless, +fatherless waif! Why didn't you stay in heaven? +This world has no place for you." + +Then she rose wearily, picked up the light, carried +it across the room to her desk, propped a book in +front of it so that its rays would not fall upon the +sleeping child, opened her portfolio, and sat down to +write. + +When she had finished and had sealed her letter +it was long past midnight. It was addressed to Lucy +in Dresden, and contained a full account of all the +doctor had told her of Bart's death. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +A LETTER FROM PARIS + + +For the first year Jane watched Archie's growth +and development with the care of a self-appointed +nurse temporarily doing her duty by her charge. +Later on, as the fact became burned into her mind +that Lucy would never willingly return to Warehold, +she clung to him with that absorbing love and devotion +which an unmarried woman often lavishes upon +a child not her own. In his innocent eyes she saw the +fulfilment of her promise to her father. He would +grow to be a man of courage and strength, the stain +upon his birth forgotten, doing honor to himself, to +her, and to the name he bore. In him, too, she sought +refuge from that other sorrow which was often +greater than she could bear--the loss of the closer +companionship of Doctor John--a companionship +which only a wife's place could gain for her. The +true mother-love--the love which she had denied herself, +a love which had been poured out upon Lucy +since her father's death--found its outlet, therefore, +in little Archie. + +Under Martha's watchful care the helpless infant +grew to be a big, roly-poly boy, never out of her +arms when she could avoid it. At five he had lost +his golden curls and short skirts and strutted about +in knee-trousers. At seven he had begun to roam +the streets, picking up his acquaintances wherever +he found them. + +Chief among them was Tod Fogarty, the son of +the fisherman, now a boy of ten, big for his age and +bubbling over with health and merriment, and whose +life Doctor John had saved when he was a baby. +Tod had brought a basket of fish to Yardley, and +sneaking Meg, who was then alive--he died the year +after--had helped himself to part of the contents, +and the skirmish over its recovery had resulted in a +friendship which was to last the boys all their lives. +The doctor believed in Tod, and always spoke of his +pluck and of his love for his mother, qualities which +Jane admired--but then technical class distinctions +never troubled Jane--every honest body was Jane's +friend, just as every honest body was Doctor John's. + +The doctor loved Archie with the love of an older +brother; not altogether because he was Jane's ward, +but for the boy's own qualities--for his courage, for +his laugh--particularly for his buoyancy. Often, as +he looked into the lad's eyes brimming with fun, he +would wish that he himself had been born with the +same kind of temperament. Then again the boy +satisfied to a certain extent the longing in his heart +for home, wife, and child--a void which he knew +now would never be filled. Fate had decreed that +he and the woman he loved should live apart--with +this he must be content. Not that his disappointments +had soured him; only that this ever-present +sorrow had added to the cares of his life, and in later +years had taken much of the spring and joyousness +out of him. This drew him all the closer to Archie, +and the lad soon became his constant companion; +sitting beside him in his gig, waiting for him at the +doors of the fishermen's huts, or in the cabins of the +poor on the outskirts of Barnegat and Warehold. + +"There goes Doctor John of Barnegat and his +curly-head," the neighbors would say; "when ye +see one ye see t'other." + +Newcomers in Barnegat and Warehold thought +Archie was his son, and would talk to the doctor about +him: + +"Fine lad you got, doctor--don't look a bit like +you, but maybe he will when he gets his growth." +At which the doctor would laugh and pat the boy's +head. + +During all these years Lucy's letters came but +seldom. When they did arrive, most of them were +filled with elaborate excuses for her prolonged stay. +The money, she wrote, which Jane had sent her from +time to time was ample for her needs; she was making +many valuable friends, and she could not see +how she could return until the following spring-- +a spring which never came. In no one of them had +she ever answered Jane's letter about Bart's death, +except to acknowledge its receipt. Nor, strange to +say, had she ever expressed any love for Archie. +Jane's letters were always filled with the child's +doings; his illnesses and recoveries; but whenever +Lucy mentioned his name, which was seldom, she +invariably referred to him as "your little ward" or +"your baby," evidently intending to wipe that part +of her life completely out. Neither did she make +any comment on the child's christening--a ceremony +which took place in the church, Pastor Dellenbaugh +officiating--except to write that perhaps one name +was as good as another, and that she hoped he would +not disgrace it when he grew up. + +These things, however, made but little impression +on Jane. She never lost faith in her sister, and +never gave up hope that one day they would all +three be reunited; how or where she could not tell +or foresee, but in some way by which Lucy would +know and love her son for himself alone, and the two +live together ever after--his parentage always a +secret. When Lucy once looked into her boy's face +she was convinced she would love and cling to him. +This was her constant prayer. + +All these hopes were dashed to the ground by the +receipt of a letter from Lucy with a Geneva postmark. +She had not written for months, and Jane +broke the seal with a murmur of delight, Martha +leaning forward, eager to hear the first word from +her bairn. As she read Jane's face grew suddenly +pale. + +"What is it?" Martha asked in a trembling voice. + +For some minutes Jane sat staring into space, +her hand pressed to her side. She looked like one +who had received a death message. Then, without +a word, she handed the letter to Martha. + +The old woman adjusted her glasses, read the missive +to the end without comment, and laid it back +on Jane's lap. The writing covered but part of the +page, and announced Lucy's coming marriage with a +Frenchman: "A man of distinction; some years +older than myself, and of ample means. He fell in +love with me at Aix." + +There are certain crises in life with conclusions +so evident that no spoken word can add to their clearness. +There is no need of comment; neither is there +room for doubt. The bare facts stand naked. No +sophistry can dull their outlines nor soften the insistence +of their high lights; nor can any reasoning explain +away the results that will follow. Both women, +without the exchange of a word, knew instantly that +the consummation of this marriage meant the loss +of Lucy forever. Now she would never come back, +and Archie would be motherless for life. They foresaw, +too, that all their yearning to clasp Lucy once +more in their arms would go unsatisfied. In this +marriage she had found a way to slip as easily from +out the ties that bound her to Yardley as she would +from an old dress. + +Martha rose from her chair, read the letter again +to the end, and without opening her lips left the +room. Jane kept her seat, her head resting on her +hand, the letter once more in her lap. The revulsion +of feeling had paralyzed her judgment, and for a +time had benumbed her emotions. All she saw was +Archie's eyes looking into hers as he waited for an +answer to that question he would one day ask and +which now she knew she could never give. + +Then there rose before her, like some disembodied +spirit from a long-covered grave, the spectre of the +past. An icy chill crept over her. Would Lucy +begin this new life with the same deceit with which +she had begun the old? And if she did, would this +Frenchman forgive her when he learned the facts? +If he never learned them--and this was most to be +dreaded--what would Lucy's misery be all her life +if she still kept the secret close? Then with a pathos +all the more intense because of her ignorance of the +true situation--she fighting on alone, unconscious +that the man she loved not only knew every pulsation +of her aching heart, but would be as willing as +herself to guard its secret, she cried: + +"Yes, at any cost she must be saved from this +living death! I know what it is to sit beside the man +I love, the man whose arm is ready to sustain me, +whose heart is bursting for love of me, and yet be +always held apart by a spectre which I dare not +face." + +With this came the resolve to prevent the marriage +at all hazards, even to leaving Yardley and taking the +first steamer to Europe, that she might plead with +Lucy in person. + +While she sat searching her brain for some way +out of the threatened calamity, the rapid rumbling +of the doctor's gig was heard on the gravel road outside +her open window. She knew from the speed +with which he drove that something out of the common +had happened. The gig stopped and the doctor's +voice rang out: + +"Come as quick as you can, Jane, please. I've +got a bad case some miles out of Warehold, and I +need you; it's a compound fracture, and I want you +to help with the chloroform." + +All her indecision vanished and all her doubts +were swept away as she caught the tones of his voice. +Who else in the wide world understood her as he +did, and who but he should guide her now? Had +he ever failed her? When was his hand withheld +or his lips silent? How long would her pride shut +out his sympathy? If he could help in the smaller +things of life why not trust him in this larger sorrow? +--one that threatened to overwhelm her, she +whose heart ached for tenderness and wise counsel. +Perhaps she could lean upon him without betraying +her trust. After all, the question of Archie's birth-- +the one secret between them--need not come up. It +was Lucy's future happiness which was at stake. +This must be made safe at any cost short of exposure. + +"Better put a few things in a bag," Doctor John +continued. "It may be a case of hours or days--I +can't tell till I see him. The boy fell from the roof +of the stable and is pretty badly hurt; both legs are +broken, I hear; the right one in two places." + +She was upstairs in a moment, into her nursing +dress, always hanging ready in case the doctor called +for her, and down again, standing beside the gig, her +bag in her hand, before he had time to turn his horse +and arrange the seat and robes for her comfort. + +"Who is it?" she asked hurriedly, resting her +hand in his as he helped her into the seat and took +the one beside her, Martha and Archie assisting with +her bag and big driving cloak. + +"Burton's boy. His father was coming for me +and met me on the road. I have everything with +me, so we will not lose any time. Good-by, my boy," +he called to Archie. "One day I'll make a doctor +of you, and then I won't have to take your dear +mother from you so often. Good-by, Martha. You +want to take care of that cough, old lady, or I shall +have to send up some of those plasters you +love so." + +They were off and rattling down the path between +the lilacs before either Archie or the old woman +could answer. To hearts like Jane's and the doctor's, +a suffering body, no matter how far away, was +a sinking ship in the clutch of the breakers. Until +the lifeboat reached her side everything was forgotten. + +The doctor adjusted the robe over Jane's lap and +settled himself in his seat. They had often driven +thus together, and Jane's happiest hours had been +spent close to his side, both intent on the same errand +of mercy, and BOTH WORKING TOGETHER. That was +the joy of it! + +They talked of the wounded boy and of the needed +treatment and what part each should take in the +operation; of some new cases in the hospital and the +remedies suggested for their comfort; of Archie's +life on the beach and how ruddy and handsome he +was growing, and of his tender, loving nature; and of +the thousand and one other things that two people +who know every pulsation of each other's hearts are +apt to discuss--of everything, in fact, but the letter +in her pocket. "It is a serious case," she said to +herself--"this to which we are hurrying--and nothing +must disturb the sureness of his sensitive hand." + +Now and then, as he spoke, the two would turn +their heads and look into each other's eyes. + +When a man's face lacks the lines and modellings +that stand for beauty the woman who loves him is +apt to omit in her eager glance every feature but +his eyes. His eyes are the open doors to his soul; +in these she finds her ideals, and in these she revels. +But with Jane every feature was a joy--the way +the smoothly cut hair was trimmed about his white +temples; the small, well-turned ears lying flat to his +head; the lines of his eyebrows; the wide, sensitive +nostrils and the gleam of the even teeth flashing +from between well-drawn, mobile lips; the white, +smooth, polished skin. Not all faces could boast +this beauty; but then not all souls shone as clearly +as did Doctor John's through the thin veil of his +face. + +And she was equally young and beautiful to him. +Her figure was still that of her youth; her face had +not changed--he still caught the smile of the girl +he loved. Often, when they had been driving along +the coast, the salt wind in their faces, and he had +looked at her suddenly, a thrill of delight had swept +through him as he noted how rosy were her cheeks +and how ruddy the wrists above the gloves, hiding +the dear hands he loved so well, the tapering fingers +tipped with delicate pink nails. He could, if he +sought them, find many telltale wrinkles about the +corners of the mouth and under the eyelids (he knew +and loved them all), showing where the acid of anxiety +had bitten deep into the plate on which the +record of her life was being daily etched, but her +beautiful gray eyes still shone with the same true, +kindly light, and always flashed the brighter when +they looked into his own. No, she was ever young +and ever beautiful to him! + +To-day, however, there was a strange tremor in +her voice and an anxious, troubled expression in her +face--one that he had not seen for years. Nor had +she once looked into his eyes in the old way. + +"Something worries you, Jane," he said, his +voice echoing his thoughts. "Tell me about it." + +"No--not now--it is nothing," she answered +quickly. + +"Yes, tell me. Don't keep any troubles from me. +I have nothing else to do in life but smooth them out. +Come, what is it?" + +"Wait until we get through with Burton's boy. +He may be hurt worse than you think." + +The doctor slackened the reins until they rested +on the dashboard, and with a quick movement turned +half around and looked searchingly into Jane's eyes. + +"It is serious, then. What has happened?" + +"Only a letter from Lucy." + +"Is she coming home?" + +"No, she is going to be married." + +The doctor gave a low whistle. Instantly Archie's +laughing eyes looked into his; then came the thought +of the nameless grave of his father. + +"Well, upon my soul! You don't say so! Who +to, pray?" + +"To a Frenchman." Jane's eyes were upon his, +reading the effect of her news. His tone of surprise +left an uncomfortable feeling behind it. + +"How long has she known him?" he continued, +tightening the reins again and chirruping to the mare.. + +"She does not say--not long, I should think." + +"What sort of a Frenchman is he? I've known +several kinds in my life--so have you, no doubt," +and a quiet smile overspread his face. "Come, +Bess! Hurry up, old girl." + +"A gentleman, I should think, from what she +writes. He is much older than Lucy, and she says +very well off." + +"Then you didn't meet him on the other side?" + +"And never heard of him before?" + +"Not until I received this letter." + +The doctor reached for his whip and flecked off a +fly that had settled on the mare's neck. + +"Lucy is about twenty-seven, is she not?" + +"Yes, some eight years younger than I am. Why +do you ask, John?" + +"Because it is always a restless age for a woman. +She has lost the protecting ignorance of youth and +she has not yet gained enough of the experience of +age to steady her. Marriage often comes as a balance- +weight. She is coming home to be married, isn't +she?" + +"No; they are to be married in Geneva at his +mother's." + +"I think that part of it is a mistake," he said in +a decided tone. "There is no reason why she should +not be married here; she owes that to you and to +herself." Then he added in a gentler tone, "And +this worries you?" + +"More than I can tell you, John." There was a +note in her voice that vibrated through him. He +knew now how seriously the situation affected her. + +"But why, Jane? If Lucy is happier in it we +should do what we can to help her." + +"Yes, but not in this way. This will make her +all the more miserable. I don't want this marriage; +I want her to come home and live with me and +Archie. She makes me promises every year to come, +and now it is over six years since I left her and she +has always put me off. This marriage means that +she will never come. I want her here, John. It +is not right for her to live as she does. Please think +as I do!" + +The doctor patted Jane's hand--it was the only +mark of affection he ever allowed himself--not in +a caressing way, but more as a father would pat the +hand of a nervous child. + +"Well, let us go over it from the beginning. +Maybe I don't know all the facts. Have you the +letter with you?" + +She handed it to him. He passed the reins to her +and read it carefully to the end. + +"Have you answered it yet?" + +"No, I wanted to talk to you about it. What +do you think now?" + +"I can't see that it will make any difference. She +is not a woman to live alone. I have always been +surprised that she waited so long. You are wrong, +Jane, about this. It is best for everybody and everything +that Lucy should be married." + +"John, dear," she said in a half-pleading tone-- +there were some times when this last word slipped +out--"I don't want this marriage at all. I am so +wretched about it that I feel like taking the first +steamer and bringing her home with me. She will +forget all about him when she is here; and it is only +her loneliness that makes her want to marry. I don't +want her married; I want her to love me and Martha +and--Archie--and she will if she sees him." + +"Is that better than loving a man who loves her?" +The words dropped from his lips before he could +recall them--forced out, as it were, by the pressure +of his heart. + +Jane caught her breath and the color rose in her +cheeks. She knew he did not mean her, and yet +she saw he spoke from his heart. Doctor John's +face, however, gave no sign of his thoughts. + +"But, John, I don't know that she does love +him. She doesn't say so--she says HE loves her. +And if she did, we cannot all follow our own hearts." + +"Why not?" he replied calmly, looking straight +ahead of him: at the bend in the road, at the crows +flying in the air, at the leaden sky between the rows +of pines. If she wanted to give him her confidence +he was ready now with heart and arms wide open. +Perhaps his hour had come at last. + +"Because--because," she faltered, "our duty +comes in. That is holier than love." Then her +voice rose and steadied itself--"Lucy's duty is to +come home." + +He understood. The gate was still shut; the wall +still confronted him. He could not and would not +scale it. She had risked her own happiness--even +her reputation--to keep this skeleton hidden, the +secret inviolate. Only in the late years had she begun +to recover from the strain. She had stood the +brunt and borne the sufferings of another's sin without +complaint, without reward, giving up everything +in life in consecration to her trust. He, of all men, +could not tear the mask away, nor could he stoop by +the more subtle paths of friendship, love, or duty +to seek to look behind it--not without her own free +and willing hand to guide him. There was nothing +else in all her life that she had not told him. Every +thought was his, every resolve, every joy. She would +entrust him with this if it was hers to give. Until +she did his lips would be sealed. As to Lucy, it +could make no difference. Bart lying in a foreign +grave would never trouble her again, and Archie +would only be a stumbling-block in her career. She +would never love the boy, come what might. If this +Frenchman filled her ideal, it was best for her to +end her days across the water--best certainly for +Jane, to whom she had only brought unhappiness. + +For some moments he busied himself with the +reins, loosening them from where they were caught +in the harness; then he bent his head and said slowly, +and with the tone of the physician in consultation: + +"Your protest will do no good, Jane, and your +trip abroad will only be a waste of time and money. +If Lucy has not changed, and this letter shows that +she has not, she will laugh at your objections and +end by doing as she pleases. She has always been +a law unto herself, and this new move of hers is +part of her life-plan. Take my advice: stay where +you are; write her a loving, sweet letter and tell +her how happy you hope she will be, and send her +your congratulations. She will not listen to your +objections, and your opposition might lose you her +love." + +Before dark they were both on their way back to +Yardley. Burton's boy had not been hurt as badly +as his father thought; but one leg was broken, and +this was soon in splints, and without Jane's assistance. + +Before they had reached her door her mind was +made up. + +The doctor's words, as they always did, had gone +down deep into her mind, and all thoughts of going +abroad, or of even protesting against Lucy's marriage, +were given up. Only the spectre remained. +That the doctor knew nothing of, and that she must +meet alone. + +Martha took Jane's answer to the post-office herself. +She had talked its contents over with the old +nurse, and the two had put their hearts into every +line. + +"Tell him everything," Jane wrote. "Don't begin +a new life with an old lie. With me it is different. +I saved you, my sister, because I loved you, +and because I could not bear that your sweet girlhood +should be marred. I shall live my life out in +this duty. It came to me, and I could not put it +from me, and would not now if I could, but I know +the tyranny of a secret you cannot share with the +man who loves you. I know, too, the cruelty of it +all. For years I have answered kindly meant inquiry +with discourteous silence, bearing insinuations, +calumny, insults--and all because I cannot speak. +Don't, I beseech you, begin your new life in this +slavery. But whatever the outcome, take him into +your confidence. Better have him leave you now +than after you are married. Remember, too, that +if by this declaration you should lose his love you +will at least gain his respect. Perhaps, if his heart +is tender and he feels for the suffering and wronged, +you may keep both. Forgive me, dear, but I have +only your happiness at heart, and I love you too +dearly not to warn you against any danger which +would threaten you. Martha agrees with me in the +above, and knows you will do right by him." + +When Lucy's answer arrived weeks afterward-- +after her marriage, in fact--Jane read it with a +clutching at her throat she had not known since that +fatal afternoon when Martha returned from Trenton. + +"You dear, foolish sister," Lucy's letter began, +"what should I tell him for? He loves me devotedly +and we are very happy together, and I am not going +to cause him any pain by bringing any disagreeable +thing into his life. People don't do those wild, old-fashioned +things over here. And then, again, there +is no possibility of his finding out. Maria agrees +with me thoroughly, and says in her funny way that +men nowadays know too much already." Then followed +an account of her wedding. + +This letter Jane did not read to the doctor--no +part of it, in fact. She did not even mention its +receipt, except to say that the wedding had taken +place in Geneva, where the Frenchman's mother +lived, it being impossible, Lucy said, for her to come +home, and that Maria Collins, who was staying with +her, had been the only one of her old friends at the +ceremony. Neither did she read it all to Martha. +The old nurse was growing more feeble every year +and she did not wish her blind faith in her bairn +disturbed. + +For many days she kept the letter locked in her +desk, not having the courage to take it out again +and read it. Then she sent for Captain Holt, the +only one, beside Martha, with whom she could discuss +the matter. She knew his strong, honest nature, +and his blunt, outspoken way of giving vent to his +mind, and she hoped that his knowledge of life might +help to comfort her. + +"Married to one o' them furriners, is she?" the +captain blurted out; "and goin' to keep right on +livin' the lie she's lived ever since she left ye? +You'll excuse me, Miss Jane,--you've been a mother, +and a sister and everything to her, and you're nearer +the angels than anybody I know. That's what I +think when I look at you and Archie. I say it behind +your back and I say it now to your face, for +it's true. As to Lucy, I may be mistaken, and I may +not. I don't want to condemn nothin' 'less I'm on +the survey and kin look the craft over; that's why +I'm partic'lar. Maybe Bart was right in sayin' it +warn't all his fault, whelp as he was to say it, and +maybe he warn't. It ain't up before me and I ain't +passin' on it,--but one thing is certain, when a ship's +made as many voyages as Lucy has and ain't been +home for repairs nigh on to seven years--ain't it?" +and he looked at Jane for confirmation--"she gits +foul and sometimes a little mite worm-eaten--especially +her bilge timbers, unless they're copper-fastened +or pretty good stuff. I've been thinkin' for +some time that you ain't got Lucy straight, and this +last kick-up of hers makes me sure of it. Some +timber is growed right and some timber is growed +crooked; and when it's growed crooked it gits leaky, +and no 'mount o' tar and pitch kin stop it. Every +twist the ship gives it opens the seams, and the +pumps is goin' all the time. When your timber is +growed right you kin all go to sleep and not a drop +o' water'll git in. Your sister Lucy ain't growed +right. Maybe she kin help it and maybe she can't, +but she'll leak every time there comes a twist. See +if she don't." + +But Jane never lost faith nor wavered in her trust. +With the old-time love strong upon her she continued +to make excuses for this thoughtless, irresponsible +woman, so easily influenced. "It is Maria Collins +who has written the letter, and not Lucy," she kept +saying to herself. "Maria has been her bad angel +from her girlhood, and still dominates her. The +poor child's sufferings have hardened her heart and +destroyed for a time her sense of right and wrong-- +that is all." + +With this thought uppermost in her mind she +took the letter from her desk, and stirring the smouldering +embers, laid it upon the coals. The sheet blazed +and fell into ashes. + +"No one will ever know," she said with a sigh. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +SCOOTSY'S EPITHET + + +Lying on Barnegat Beach, within sight of the +House of Refuge and Fogarty's cabin, was the hull +of a sloop which had been whirled in one night in a +southeaster, with not a soul on board, riding the +breakers like a duck, and landing high and dry out +of the hungry clutch of the surf-dogs. She was light +at the time and without ballast, and lay stranded upright +on her keel. All attempts by the beach- +combers to float her had proved futile; they had +stripped her of her standing rigging and everything +else of value, and had then abandoned her. Only +the evenly balanced hull was left, its bottom timbers +broken and its bent keelson buried in the sand. This +hulk little Tod Fogarty, aged ten, had taken possession +of; particularly the after-part of the hold, over +which he had placed a trusty henchman armed with +a cutlass made from the hoop of a fish barrel. The +henchman--aged seven--wore knee-trousers and a +cap and answered to the name of Archie. The refuge +itself bore the title of "The Bandit's Home." + +This new hulk had taken the place of the old +schooner which had served Captain Holt as a landmark +on that eventful night when he strode Barnegat +Beach in search of Bart, and which by the action +of the ever-changing tides, had gradually settled until +now only a hillock marked its grave--a fate which +sooner or later would overtake this newly landed +sloop itself. + +These Barnegat tides are the sponges that wipe +clean the slate of the beach. Each day a new record +is made and each day it is wiped out: records +from passing ships, an empty crate, broken spar or +useless barrel grounded now and then by the tide +in its flow as it moves up and down the sand at the +will of the waters. Records, too, of many footprints, +--the lagging steps of happy lovers; the dimpled +feet of joyous children; the tread of tramp, +coast-guard or fisherman--all scoured clean when the +merciful tide makes ebb. + +Other records are strewn along the beach; these +the tide alone cannot efface--the bow of some hapless +schooner it may be, wrenched from its hull, and +sent whirling shoreward; the shattered mast and +crosstrees of a stranded ship beaten to death in the +breakers; or some battered capstan carried in the +white teeth of the surf-dogs and dropped beyond the +froth-line. To these with the help of the south wind, +the tides extend their mercy, burying them deep with +successive blankets of sand, hiding their bruised +bodies, covering their nakedness and the marks of +their sufferings. All through the restful summer +and late autumn these battered derelicts lie buried, +while above their graves the children play and watch +the ships go by, or stretch themselves at length, their +eyes on the circling gulls. + +With the coming of the autumn all this is changed. +The cruel north wind now wakes, and with a loud +roar joins hands with the savage easter; the startled +surf falls upon the beach like a scourge. Under +their double lash the outer bar cowers and sinks; +the frightened sand flees hither and thither. Soon +the frenzied breakers throw themselves headlong, +tearing with teeth and claws, burrowing deep into the +hidden graves. Now the forgotten wrecks, like long- +buried sins, rise and stand naked, showing every scar +and stain. This is the work of the sea-puss--the +revolving maniac born of close-wed wind and tide; +a beast so terrible that in a single night, with its +auger-like snout, it bites huge inlets out of farm +lands--mouthfuls deep enough for ships to sail where +but yesterday the corn grew. + +In the hull of this newly stranded sloop, then-- +sitting high and dry, out of the reach of the summer +surf,--Tod and Archie spent every hour of the day +they could call their own; sallying forth on various +piratical excursions, coming back laden with driftwood +for a bonfire, or hugging some bottle, which was +always opened with trembling, eager fingers in the +inmost recesses of the Home, in the hope that some +tidings of a lost ship might be found inside; or with +their pockets crammed with clam-shells and other +sea spoils with which to decorate the inside timbers +of what was left of the former captain's cabin. + +Jane had protested at first, but the doctor had +looked the hull over, and found that there was nothing +wide enough, nor deep enough, nor sharp enough +to do them harm, and so she was content. Then +again, the boys were both strong for their age, and +looked it, Tod easily passing for a lad of twelve or +fourteen, and Archie for a boy of ten. The one +danger discovered by the doctor lay in its height, +the only way of boarding the stranded craft being +by means of a hand-over-hand climb up the rusty +chains of the bowsprit, a difficult and trousers-tearing +operation. This was obviated by Tod's father, who +made a ladder for the boys out of a pair of old oars, +which the two pirates pulled up after them whenever +an enemy hove in sight. When friends approached +it was let down with more than elaborate ceremony, +the guests being escorted by Archie and welcomed +on board by Tod. + +Once Captain Holt's short, sturdy body was +descried in the offing tramping the sand-dunes on +his way to Fogarty's, and a signal flag--part of +Mother Fogarty's flannel petticoat, and blood-red, +as befitted the desperate nature of the craft over +which it floated, was at once set in his honor. The +captain put his helm hard down and came up into +the wind and alongside the hulk. + +"Well! well! well!" he cried in his best quarterdeck +voice--"what are you stowaways doin' here?" +and he climbed the ladder and swung himself over +the battered rail. + +Archie took his hand and led him into the most +sacred recesses of the den, explaining to him his +plans for defence, his armament of barrel hoops, +and his ammunition of shells and pebbles, Tod standing +silently by and a little abashed, as was natural +in one of his station; at which the captain laughed +more loudly than before, catching Archie in his arms, +rubbing his curly head with his big, hard hand, and +telling him he was a chip of the old block, every +inch of him--none of which did either Archie or +Tod understand. Before he climbed down the ladder +he announced with a solemn smile that he thought +the craft was well protected so far as collisions on +foggy nights were concerned, but he doubted if their +arms were sufficient and that he had better leave +them his big sea knife which had been twice around +Cape Horn, and which might be useful in lopping +off arms and legs whenever the cutthroats got too +impudent and aggressive; whereupon Archie threw +his arms around his grizzled neck and said he was a +"bully commodore," and that if he would come and +live with them aboard the hulk they would obey his +orders to a man. + +Archie leaned over the rotten rail and saw the +old salt stop a little way from the hulk and stand +looking at them for some minutes and then wave his +hand, at which the boys waved back, but the lad +did not see the tears that lingered for an instant on +the captain's eyelids, and which the sea-breeze caught +away; nor did he hear the words, as the captain +resumed his walk: "He's all I've got left, and yet +he don't know it and I can't tell him. Ain't it hell?" + +Neither did they notice that he never once raised +his eyes toward the House of Refuge as he passed +its side. A new door and a new roof had been +added, but in other respects it was to him the same +grewsome, lonely hut as on that last night when he +had denounced his son outside its swinging door. + +Often the boys made neighborly visits to friendly +tribes and settlers. Fogarty was one of these, and +Doctor Cavendish was another. The doctor's country +was a place of buttered bread and preserves and +a romp with Rex, who was almost as feeble as Meg +had been in his last days. But Fogarty's cabin was a +mine of never-ending delight. In addition to the +quaint low house of clapboards and old ship-timber, +with its sloping roof and little toy windows, so unlike +his own at Yardley, and smoked ceilings, there was +a scrap heap piled up and scattered over the yard +which in itself was a veritable treasure-house. Here +were rusty chains and wooden figure-heads of broken- +nosed, blind maidens and tailless dolphins. Here +were twisted iron rods, fish-baskets, broken lobster- +pots, rotting seines and tangled, useless nets--some +used as coverings for coops of restless chickens--old +worn-out rope, tangled rigging--everything that a +fisherman who had spent his life on Barnegat beach +could pull from the surf or find stranded on the +sand. + +Besides all these priceless treasures, there was an +old boat lying afloat in a small lagoon back of the +house, one of those seepage pools common to the +coast--a boat which Fogarty had patched with a bit +of sail-cloth, and for which he had made two pairs +of oars, one for each of the "crew," as he called the +lads, and which Archie learned to handle with such +dexterity that the old fisherman declared he would +make a first-class boatman when he grew up, and +would "shame the whole bunch of 'em." + +But these two valiant buccaneers were not to remain +in undisturbed possession of the Bandit's Home +with its bewildering fittings and enchanting possibilities +--not for long. The secret of the uses to +which the stranded craft bad been put, and the +attendant fun which Commodore Tod and his dauntless +henchman, Archibald Cobden, Esquire, were +daily getting out of its battered timbers, had already +become public property. The youth of Barnegat-- +the very young youth, ranging from nine to twelve, +and all boys--received the news at first with hilarious +joy. This feeling soon gave way to unsuppressed +indignation, followed by an active bitterness, when +they realized in solemn conclave--the meeting was +held in an open lot on Saturday morning--that the +capture of the craft had been accomplished, not by +dwellers under Barnegat Light, to whom every piece +of sea-drift from a tomato-can to a full-rigged ship +rightfully belonged, but by a couple of aliens, one of +whom wore knee-pants and a white collar,--a distinction +in dress highly obnoxious to these lords of the +soil. + +All these denizens of Barnegat had at one time +or another climbed up the sloop's chains and peered +down the hatchway to the sand covering the keelson, +and most of them had used it as a shelter behind +which, in swimming-time, they had put on or peeled +off such mutilated rags as covered their nakedness, +but no one of them had yet conceived the idea of +turning it into a Bandit's Home. That touch of +the ideal, that gilding of the commonplace, had been +reserved for the brain of the curly-haired boy who, +with dancing eyes, his sturdy little legs resting on +Tod's shoulder, had peered over the battered rail, +and who, with a burst of enthusiasm, had shouted: +"Oh, cracky! isn't it nice, Tod! It's got a place we +can fix up for a robbers' den; and we'll be bandits +and have a flag. Oh, come up here! You never +saw anything so fine," etc., etc. + +When, therefore, Scootsy Mulligan, aged nine, son +of a ship-caulker who worked in Martin Farguson's +ship-yard, and Sandy Plummer, eldest of three, and +their mother a widow--plain washing and ironing, +two doors from the cake-shop--heard that that +French "spad," Arch Cobden what lived up to Yardley, +and that red-headed Irish cub, Tod Fogarty-- +Tod's hair had turned very red--had pre-empted the +Black Tub, as the wreck was irreverently called, +claiming it as their very own, "and-a-sayin' they +wuz pirates and bloody Turks and sich," these two +quarrelsome town rats organized a posse in lower +Barnegat for its recapture. + +Archie was sweeping the horizon from his perch +on the "poop-deck" when his eagle eye detected a +strange group of what appeared to be human beings +advancing toward the wreck from the direction of +Barnegat village. One, evidently a chief, was in +the lead, the others following bunched together. All +were gesticulating wildly. The trusty henchman +immediately gave warning to Tod, who was at work +in the lower hold arranging a bundle of bean-poles +which had drifted inshore the night before--part of +the deck-load, doubtless, of some passing vessel. + +"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the henchman with a hoist +of his knee-pants, as a prelude to his announcement. + +"Ay, ay, yerself!" rumbled back the reply. +"What's up?" The commodore had not read as +deeply in pirate lore as had Archie, and was not, +therefore, so ready with its lingo. + +"Band of savages, sir, approaching down the +beach." + +"Where away?" thundered back the commodore, +his authority now asserting itself in the tones of +his voice. + +"On the starboard bow, sir--six or seven of 'em." + +"Armed or peaceable?" + +"Armed, sir. Scootsy Mulligan is leadin' 'em." + +"Scootsy Mulligan! Crickety! he's come to make +trouble," shouted back Tod, climbing the ladder in +a hurry--it was used as a means of descent into the +shallow hold when not needed outside. "Where are +they? Oh, yes! I see 'em--lot of 'em, ain't they? +Saturday, and they ain't no school. Say, Arch, what +are we goin' to do?" The terminal vowels softening +his henchman's name were omitted in grave situations; +so was the pirate lingo. + +"Do!" retorted Archie, his eyes snapping. +"Why, we'll fight 'em; that's what we are pirates +for. Fight 'em to the death. Hurray! They're not +coming aboard--no sir-ee! You go down, Toddy +[the same free use of terminals], and get two of the +biggest bean-poles and I'll run up the death flag. +We've got stones and shells enough. Hurry--big +ones, mind you!" + +The attacking party, their leader ahead, had now +reached the low sand heap marking the grave of the +former wreck, but a dozen yards away--the sand had +entombed it the year before. + +"You fellers think yer durned smart, don't ye?" +yelled Mr. William Mulligan, surnamed "Scootsy" +from his pronounced fleetness of foot. "We're goin' +to run ye out o' that Tub. 'Tain't yourn, it's ourn-- +ain't it, fellers?" + +A shout went up in answer from the group on the +hillock. + +"You can come as friends, but not as enemies, +cried Archie grandiloquently. "The man who sets +foot on this ship without permission dies like a dog. +We sail under the blood-red flag!" and Archie struck +an attitude and pointed to the fragment of mother +Fogarty's own nailed to a lath and hanging limp over +the rail. + +"Hi! hi! hi!" yelled the gang in reply. "Oh, +ain't he a beauty! Look at de cotton waddin' on his +head!" (Archie's cropped curls.) "Say, sissy, +does yer mother know ye're out? Throw that ladder +down; we're comin' up there--don't make no diff'rence +whether we got yer permish or not--and +we'll knock the stuffin' out o' ye if ye put up any job +on us. H'ist out that ladder!" + +"Death and no quarter!" shouted back Archie, +opening the big blade of Captain Holt's pocket knife +and grasping it firmly in his wee hand. "We'll +defend this ship with the last drop of our blood!" + +"Ye will, will ye!" retorted Scootsy. "Come on, +fellers--go for 'em! I'll show 'em," and he dodged +under the sloop's bow and sprang for the overhanging +chains. + +Tod had now clambered up from the hold. Under +his arm were two stout hickory saplings. One he gave +to Archie, the other he kept himself. + +"Give them the shells first," commanded Archie, +dodging a beach pebble; "and when their hands come +up over the rail let them have this," and he waved +the sapling over his head. "Run, Tod,--they're +trying to climb up behind. I'll take the bow. Avast +there, ye lubbers!" + +With this Archie dropped to his knees and +crouched close to the heel of the rotting bowsprit, +out of the way of the flying missiles--each boy's +pockets were loaded--and looking cautiously over +the side of the hulk, waited until Scootsy's dirty +fingers--he was climbing the chain hand over hand, +his feet resting on a boy below him--came into +view. + +"Off there, or I'll crack your fingers!" + +"Crack and be--" + +Bang! went Archie's hickory and down dropped +the braggart, his oath lost in his cries. + +"He smashed me fist! He smashed me fist! Oh! +Oh!" whined Scootsy, hopping about with the pain, +sucking the injured hand and shaking its mate at +Archie, who was still brandishing the sapling and +yelling himself hoarse in his excitement. + +The attacking party now drew off to the hillock +for a council of war. Only their heads could be seen +--their bodies lay hidden in the long grass of the +dune. + +Archie and Tod were now dancing about the deck +in a delirium of delight--calling out in true piratical +terms, "We die, but we never surrender!" Tod +now and then falling into his native vernacular to +the effect that he'd "knock the liver and lights out +o' the hull gang," an expression the meaning of which +was wholly lost on Archie, he never having cleaned +a fish in his life. + +Here a boy in his shirt-sleeves straightened up in +the yellow grass and looked seaward. Then Sandy +Plummer gave a yell and ran to the beach, rolling up +what was left of his trousers legs, stopping now and +then to untie first one shoe and then the other. Two +of the gang followed on a run. When the three +reached the water's edge they danced about like +Crusoe's savages, waving their arms and shouting. +Sandy by this time had stripped off his clothes and +had dashed into the water. A long plank from some +lumber schooner was drifting up the beach in the +gentle swell of the tide. Sandy ran abreast of it +for a time, sprang into the surf, threw himself upon +it flat like a frog, and then began paddling shoreward. +The other two now rushed into the water, grasping +the near end of the derelict, the whole party pushing +and paddling until it was hauled clean of the brine +and landed high on the sand. + +A triumphant yell here came from the water's +edge, and the balance of the gang--there were seven +in all--rushed to the help of the dauntless three. + +Archie heaped a pile of pebbles within reach of +his hand and waited the attack. What the savages +were going to do with the plank neither he nor Tod +could divine. The derelict was now dragged over the +sand to the hulk, Tod and Archie pelting its rescuers +with stones and shells as they came within short +range. + +"Up with her, fellers!" shouted Sandy, who, since +Scootsy's unmanly tears, had risen to first place. +"Run it under the bowsprit--up with her--there +she goes! Altogether!" + +Archie took his stand, his long sapling in his hand, +and waited. He thought first he would unseat the +end of the plank, but it was too far below him and +then again he would be exposed to their volleys of +stones, and if he was hurt he might not get back on +his craft. Tod, who had resigned command in favor +of his henchman after Archie's masterly defence in +the last fight, stood behind him. Thermopylae was +a narrow place, and so was the famous Bridge of +Horatius. He and his faithful Tod would now make +the fight of their lives. Both of these close shaves +for immortality were closed books to Tod, but Archie +knew every line of their records, Doctor John having +spent many an hour reading to him, the boy curled +up in his lap while Jane listened. + +Sandy, emboldened by the discovery of the plank, +made the first rush up and was immediately knocked +from his perch by Tod, whose pole swung around his +head like a flail. Then Scootsy tried it, crawling +up, protecting his head by ducking it under his elbows, +holding meanwhile by his hand. Tod's blows +fell about his back, but the boy struggled on until +Archie reached over the gunwale, and with a twist +of his wrist, using all his strength, dropped the +invader to the sand below. + +The success of this mode of attack was made apparent, +provided they could stick to the plank. Five +boys now climbed up. Archie belabored the first +one with the pole and Tod grappled with the second, +trying to throw him from the rail to the sand, some +ten feet below, but the rat close behind him, in spite +of their efforts, reached forward, caught the rail, +and scrambled up to his mate's assistance. In another +instant both had leaped to the sloop's deck. + +"Back! back! Run, Toddy!" screamed Archie, +waving his arms. "Get on the poop-deck; we can +lick them there. Run!" + +Tod darted back, and the two defenders clearing +the intervening rotten timbers with a bound, sprang +upon the roof of the old cabin--Archie's "poop." + +With a whoop the savages followed, jumping over +the holes in the planking and avoiding the nails in +the open beams. + +In the melee Archie had lost his pole, and was +now standing, hat off, his blue eves flashing, all the +blood of his overheated little body blazing in his face. +The tears of defeat were trembling under his eyelids, +He had been outnumbered, but he would die +game. In his hand he carried, unconsciously to +himself, the big-bladed pocket knife the captain had +given him. He would as soon have used it on his +mother as upon one of his enemies, but the Barnegat +invaders were ignorant of that fact, knives being the +last resort in their environment. + +"Look out, Sandy!" yelled Scootsy to his leader, +who was now sneaking up to Archie with the movement +of an Indian in ambush;--"he's drawed a +knife." + +Sandy stopped and straightened himself within +three feet of Archie. His hand still smarted from +the blow Archie had given it. The "spad" had not +stopped a second in that attack, and he might not in +this; the next thing he knew the knife might be +between his ribs. + +"Drawed a knife, hev ye!" he snarled. "Drawed +a knife, jes' like a spad that ye are! Ye oughter +put yer hair in curl-papers!" + +Archie looked at the harmless knife in his hand. + +"I can fight you with my fists if you are bigger +than me," he cried, tossing the knife down the open +hatchway into the sand below. "Hold my coat, +Tod," and he began stripping off his little jacket. + +"I ain't fightin' no spads," sneered Sandy. he +didn't want to fight this one. "Yer can't skeer +nobody. You'll draw a pistol next. Yer better go +home to yer mammy, if ye kin find her." + +"He ain't got no mammy," snarled Scootsy. +"He's a pick-up--me father says so." + +Archie sprang forward to avenge the insult, but +before he could reach Scootsy's side a yell arose +from the bow of the hulk. + +"Yi! yi! Run, fellers! Here comes old man +Fogarty! he's right on top o' ye! Not that side-- +this way. Yi! yi!" + +The invaders turned and ran the length of the +deck, scrambled over the side and dropped one after +the other to the sand below just as the Fogarty head +appeared at the bow. It was but a step and a spring +for him, and with a lurch he gained the deck of the +wreck. + +"By jiminy, boys, mother thought ye was all +killed! Has them rats been botherin' ye? Ye +oughter broke the heads of 'em. Where did they +get that plank? Come 'shore, did it? Here, Tod, +catch hold of it; I jes' wanted a piece o' floorin' +like that. Why, ye're all het up, Archie! Come, +son, come to dinner; ye'll git cooled off, and mother's +got a mess o' clams for ye. Never mind 'bout the +ladder; I'll lift it down." + +On the way over to the cabin, Fogarty and Tod +carrying the plank and Archie walking beside them, +the fisherman gleaned from the boys the details of +the fight. Archie had recovered the captain's knife +and it was now in his hand. + +"Called ye a 'pick-up' did he, the rat, and said +ye didn't have no mother. He's a liar! If ye ain't +got a mother, and a good one, I don't know who has. +That's the way with them town-crabs, allus cussin' +somebody better'n themselves." + +When Fogarty had tilted the big plank against +the side of the cabin and the boys had entered the +kitchen in search of the mess of clams, the fisherman +winked to his wife, jerked his head meaningly over +one shoulder, and Mrs. Fogarty, in answer, followed +him out to the woodshed. + +"Them sneaks from Barnegat, Mulligan's and +Farguson's boys, and the rest of 'em, been lettin' out +on Archie: callin' him names, sayin' he ain't got no +mother and he's one o' them pass-ins ye find on yer +doorstep in a basket. I laughed it off and he 'peared +to forgit it, but I thought he might ask ye, an' so +I wanted to tip ye the wink." + +"Well, ye needn't worry. I ain't goin' to tell +him what I don't know," replied the wife, surprised +that he should bring her all the way out to the woodshed +to tell her a thing like that. + +"But ye DO know, don't ye?" + +"All I know is what Uncle Ephraim told me four +or five years ago, and he's so flighty half the time +and talks so much ye can't believe one-half he says-- +something about Miss Jane comin' across Archie's +mother in a horsepital in Paris, or some'er's and +promisin' her a-dyin' that she'd look after the boy, +and she has. She'd do that here if there was women +and babies up to Doctor John's horsepital 'stead o' +men. It's jes' like her," and Mrs. Fogarty, not to +lose her steps, stooped over a pile of wood and began +gathering up an armful. + +"Well, she ain't his mother, ye know," rejoined +Fogarty, helping his wife with the sticks. "That's +what they slammed in his face to-day, and he'll git +it ag'in as he grows up. But he don't want to hear +it from us." + +"And he won't. Miss Jane ain't no fool. She +knows more about him than anybody else, and when +she gits ready to tell him she'll tell him. Don't +make no difference who his mother was--the one he's +got now is good enough for anybody. Tod would +have been dead half a dozen times if it hadn't been +for her and Doctor John, and there ain't nobody +knows it better'n me. It's just like her to let Archie +come here so much with Tod; she knows I ain't +goin' to let nothin' happen to him. And as for +mothers, Sam Fogarty," here Mrs. Fogarty lifted her +free hand and shook her finger in a positive way-- +"when Archie gits short of mothers he's got one right +here, don't make no difference what you or anybody +else says," and she tapped her broad bosom meaningly. + +Contrary, however, to Fogarty's hopes and surmises, +Archie had forgotten neither Sandy's insult +nor Scootsy's epithet. "He's a pick-up" and "he +ain't got no mammy" kept ringing in his ears as he +walked back up the beach to his home. He remembered +having heard the words once before when he +was some years younger, but then it had come from +a passing neighbor and was not intended for him. +This time it was flung square in his face. Every +now and then as he followed the trend of the beach +on his way home he would stop and look out over +the sea, watching the long threads of smoke being +unwound from the spools of the steamers and the sails +of the fishing-boats as they caught the light of the +setting sun. The epithet worried him. It was something +to be ashamed of, he knew, or they would not +have used it. + +Jane, standing outside the gate-post, shading her +eyes with her hand, scanning the village road, caught +sight of his sturdy little figure the moment he turned +the corner and ran to meet him. + +"I got so worried--aren't you late, my son?" she +asked, putting her arm about him and kissing him +tenderly. + +"Yes, it's awful late. I ran all the way from the +church when I saw the clock. I didn't know it was +past six. Oh, but we've had a bully day, mother! +And we've had a fight. Tod and I were pirates, and +Scootsy Mulligan tried to--" + +Jane stopped the boy's joyous account with a cry +of surprise. They were now walking back to Yardley's +gate, hugging the stone wall. + +"A fight! Oh, my son!" + +"Yes, a bully fight; only there were seven of them +and only two of us. That warn't fair, but Mr. +Fogarty says they always fight like that. I could +have licked 'em if they come on one at a time, but +they got a plank and crawled up--" + +"Crawled up where, my son?" asked Jane in +astonishment. All this was an unknown world to +her. She had seen the wreck and had known, of +course, that the boys were making a playhouse of it, +but this latter development was news to her. + +"Why, on the pirate ship, where we've got our +Bandit's Home. Tod is commodore and I'm first +mate. Tod and I did all we could, but they didn't +fight fair, and Scootsy called me a 'pick-up' and said +I hadn't any mother. I asked Mr. Fogarty what he +meant, but he wouldn't tell me. What's a 'pick-up,' +dearie?" and he lifted his face to Jane's, his honest +blue eyes searching her own. + +Jane caught her hand to her side and leaned for +a moment against the stone wall. This was the +question which for years she had expected him to +ask--one to which she had framed a hundred imaginary +answers. When as a baby he first began to +talk she had determined to tell him she was not his +mother, and so get him gradually accustomed to the +conditions of his birth. But every day she loved +him the more, and every day she had put it off. To- +day it was no easier. He was too young, she knew, +to take in its full meaning, even if she could muster +up the courage to tell him the half she was willing +to tell him--that his mother was her friend and on +her sick-bed had entrusted her child to her care. She +had wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand, +so that she should not lose his love when he +came to know the truth. There had been, moreover, +always this fear--would he love her for shielding +his mother, or would he hate Lucy when he came to +know? She had once talked it all over with Captain +Holt, but she could never muster up the courage to +take his advice. + +"Tell him," he had urged. "It'll save you a lot +o' trouble in the end. That'll let me out and I kin +do for him as I want to. You've lived under this +cloud long enough--there ain't nobody can live a +lie a whole lifetime, Miss Jane. I'll take my share +of the disgrace along of my dead boy, and you ain't +done nothin', God knows, to be ashamed of. Tell +him! It's grease to yer throat halyards and everything'll +run smoother afterward. Take my advice, +Miss Jane." + +All these things rushed through her mind as she +stood leaning against the stone wall, Archie's hand +in hers, his big blue eyes still fixed on her own. + +"Who said that to you, my son?" she asked in +assumed indifference, in order to gain time in which +to frame her answer and recover from the shock. + +"Scootsy Mulligan." + +"Is he a nice boy?" + +"No, he's a coward, or he wouldn't fight as he +does." + +"Then I wouldn't mind him, my boy," and she +smoothed back the hair from his forehead, her eyes +avoiding the boy's steady gaze. It was only when +someone opened the door of the closet concealing this +spectre that Jane felt her knees give way and her +heart turn sick within her. In all else she was +fearless and strong. + +"Was he the boy who said you had no mother?" + +"Yes. I gave him an awful whack when he came +up the first time, and he went heels over head." + +"Well, you have got a mother, haven't you, darling?" +she continued, with a sigh of relief, now that +Archie was not insistent. + +"You bet I have!" cried the boy, throwing his +arms around her. + +"Then we won't either of us bother about those +bad boys and what they say," she answered, stooping +over and kissing him. + +And so for a time the remembrance of Scootsy's +epithet faded out of the boy's mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + + +HIGH WATER AT YARDLEY + + +Ten years have passed away. + +The sturdy little fellow in knee-trousers is a lad +of seventeen, big and strong for his age; Tod is three +years older, and the two are still inseparable. The +brave commander of the pirate ship is now a full- +fledged fisherman and his father's main dependence. +Archie is again his chief henchman, and the two +spend many a morning in Tod's boat when the blue- +fish are running. Old Fogarty does not mind it; +he rather likes it, and Mother Fogarty is always +happier when the two are together. + +"If one of 'em gits overboard," she said one day +to her husband, "t'other kin save him." + +"Save him! Well, I guess!" he replied. "Salt +water skims off Archie same's if he was a white +bellied gull; can't drown him no more'n you kin a +can buoy." + +The boy has never forgotten Scootsy's epithet, although +he has never spoken of it to his mother-- +no one knows her now by any other name. She +thought the episode had passed out of his mind, but +she did not know everything that lay in the boy's +heart. He and Tod had discussed it time and again, +and had wondered over his own name and that of +his nameless father, as boys wonder, but they had +come to no conclusion. No one in the village could +tell them, for no one ever knew. He had asked the +doctor, but had only received a curious answer. + +"What difference does it make, son, when you +have such a mother? You have brought her only +honor, and the world loves her the better because of +you. Let it rest until she tells you; it will only hurt +her heart if you ask her now." + +The doctor had already planned out the boy's +future; he was to be sent to Philadelphia to study +medicine when his schooling was over, and was then +to come into his office and later on succeed to his +practice. + +Captain Holt would have none of it. + +"He don't want to saw off no legs," the bluff old +man had blurted out when he heard of it. "He +wants to git ready to take a ship 'round Cape Horn. +If I had my way I'd send him some'er's where he +could learn navigation, and that's in the fo'c's'le of +a merchantman. Give him a year or two before the +mast. I made that mistake with Bart--he loafed +round here too long and when he did git a chance +he was too old." + +Report had it that the captain was going to leave +the lad his money, and had therefore a right to +speak; but no one knew. He was closer-mouthed +than ever, though not so gruff and ugly as he used +to be; Archie had softened him, they said, taking +the place of that boy of his he "druv out to die a +good many years ago." + +Jane's mind wavered. Neither profession suited +her. She would sacrifice anything she had for the +boy provided they left him with her. Philadelphia +was miles away, and she would see him but seldom. +The sea she shrank from and dreaded. She had +crossed it twice, and both times with an aching +heart. She feared, too, its treachery and cruelty. +The waves that curled and died on Barnegat beach +--messengers from across the sea--brought only tidings +fraught with suffering. + +Archie had no preferences--none yet. His future +was too far off to trouble him much. Nor did anything +else worry him. + +One warm September day Archie turned into +Yardley gate, his so'wester still on his head framing +his handsome, rosy face; his loose jacket open at +the throat, the tarpaulins over his arm. He had +been outside the inlet with Tod--since daybreak, in +fact--fishing for bass and weakfish. + +Jane had been waiting for him for hours. She +held an open letter in her hand, and her face was +happier, Archie thought as he approached her, than +he had seen it for months. + +There are times in all lives when suddenly and +without warning, those who have been growing +quietly by our side impress their new development +upon us. We look at them in full assurance that +the timid glance of the child will be returned, and +are astounded to find instead the calm gaze of the +man; or we stretch out our hand to help the faltering +step and touch a muscle that could lead a host. +Such changes are like the breaking of the dawn; so +gradual has been their coming that the full sun of +maturity is up and away flooding the world with +beauty and light before we can recall the degrees +by which it rose. + +Jane realized this--and for the first time--as she +looked at Archie swinging through the gate, waving his +hat as he strode toward her. She saw that the sailor +had begun to assert itself. He walked with an easy +swing, his broad shoulders--almost as broad as the +captain's and twice as hard--thrown back, his head +up, his blue eyes and white teeth laughing out of a +face brown and ruddy with the sun and wind, his +throat and neck bare except for the silk handkerchief +--one of Tod's--wound loosely about it; a man +really, strong and tough, with hard sinews and capable +thighs, back, and wrists--the kind of sailorman +that could wear tarpaulins or broadcloth at his pleasure +and never lose place in either station. + +In this rude awakening Jane's heart-strings +tightened. She became suddenly conscious that the +Cobden look had faded out of him; Lucy's eyes and +hair were his, and so was her rounded chin, with its +dimple, but there was nothing else about him that +recalled either her own father or any other Cobden +she remembered. As he came near enough for her +to look into his eyes she began to wonder how he would +impress Lucy, what side of his nature would she love +best--his courage and strength or his tenderness? + +The sound of his voice shouting her name recalled +her to herself, and a thrill of pride illumined +her happy face like a burst of sunlight as he tossed +his tarpaulins on the grass and put his strong arms +about her. + +"Mother, dear! forty black bass, eleven weakfish, +and half a barrel of small fry--what do you think +of that?" + +"Splendid, Archie. Tod must be proud as a +peacock. But look at this!" and she held up the +letter. "Who do you think it's from? Guess now," +and she locked one arm through his, and the two +strolled back to the house. + +"Guess now!" she repeated, holding the letter +behind her back. The two were often like lovers +together. + +"Let me see," he coaxed. "What kind of a stamp +has it got?" + +"Never you mind about the stamp." + +"Uncle John--and it's about my going to Philadelphia." + +Jane laughed. "Uncle John never saw it." + +"Then it's from--Oh, you tell me, mother!" + +"No--guess. Think of everybody you ever heard +of. Those you have seen and those you--" + +"Oh, I know--Aunt Lucy." + +"Yes, and she's coming home. Home, Archie, +think of it, after all these years!" + +"Well, that's bully! She won't know me, will +she? I never saw her, did I?" + +"Yes, when you were a little fellow." It was +difficult to keep the tremor out of her voice. + +"Will she bring any dukes and high daddies with +her?" + +"No," laughed Jane, "only her little daughter +Ellen, the sweetest little girl you ever saw, she +writes." + +"How old is she?" + +He had slipped his arm around his mother's waist +now and the two were "toeing it" up the path, he +stopping every few feet to root a pebble from its +bed. The coming of the aunt was not a great event +in his life. + +"Just seven her last birthday." + +"All right, she's big enough. We'll take her out +and teach her to fish. Hello, granny!" and the boy +loosened his arm as he darted up the steps toward +Martha. "Got the finest mess of fish coming up here +in a little while you ever laid your eyes on," he +shouted, catching the old nurse's cap from her head +and clapping it upon his own, roaring with laughter, +as he fled in the direction of the kitchen. + +Jane joined in the merriment and, moving a chair +from the hall, took her seat on the porch to await +the boy's return. She was too happy to busy herself +about the house or to think of any of her outside +duties. Doctor John would not be in until the afternoon, +and so she would occupy herself in thinking +out plans to make her sister's home-coming a joyous +one. + +As she looked down over the garden as far as +the two big gate-posts standing like grim sentinels +beneath the wide branches of the hemlocks, and +saw how few changes had taken place in the old +home since her girl sister had left it, her heart +thrilled with joy. Nothing really was different; the +same mass of tangled rose-vines climbed over the +porch--now quite to the top of the big roof, but +still the same dear old vines that Lucy had loved in +her childhood; the same honeysuckle hid the posts; +the same box bordered the paths. The house was +just as she left it; her bedroom had really never been +touched. What few changes had taken place she +would not miss. Meg would not run out to meet +her, and Rex was under a stone that the doctor had +placed over his grave; nor would Ann Gossaway +peer out of her eyrie of a window and follow her +with her eyes as she drove by; her tongue was quiet +at last, and she and her old mother lay side by side +in the graveyard. Doctor John had exhausted his +skill upon them both, and Martha, who had forgiven +her enemy, had sat by her bedside until the end, +but nothing had availed. Mrs. Cavendish was dead, +of course, but she did not think Lucy would care +very much. She and Doctor John had nursed her +for months until the end came, and had then laid +her away near the apple-trees she was so fond of. +But most of the faithful hearts who had loved her +were still beating, and all were ready with a hearty +welcome. + +Archie was the one thing new--new to Lucy. And +yet she had no fear either for him or for Lucy. +When she saw him she would love him, and when she +had known him a week she would never be separated +from him again. The long absence could not have +wiped out all remembrance of the boy, nor would the +new child crowd him from her heart. + +When Doctor John sprang from his gig (the custom +of his daily visits had never been broken) she +could hardly wait until he tied his horse--poor Bess +had long since given out--to tell him the joyful +news. + +He listened gravely, his face lighting up at her +happiness. He was glad for Jane and said so +frankly, but the situation did not please him. He at +heart really dreaded the effect of Lucy's companionship +on the woman he loved. Although it had been +years since he had seen her, he had followed her +career, especially since her marriage, with the greatest +interest and with the closest attention. He had +never forgotten, nor had he forgiven her long silence +of two years after her marriage, during which time +she had never written Jane a line, nor had he ever +ceased to remember Jane's unhappiness over it. Jane +had explained it all to him on the ground that Lucy +was offended because she had opposed the marriage, +but the doctor knew differently. Nor had he ceased +to remember the other letters which followed, and +how true a story they told of Lucy's daily life and +ambitions. He could almost recall the wording of +one of them. "My husband is too ill," it had said, +"to go south with me, and so I will run down to +Rome for a month or so, for I really need the +change." And a later one, written since his death, +in which she wrote of her winter in Paris and at +Monte Carlo, and "how good my mother-in-law is +to take care of Ellen." This last letter to her sister, +just received--the one he then held in his hand, and +which gave Jane such joy, and which he was then +reading as carefully as if it had been a prescription +--was to his analytical mind like all the rest of its +predecessors. One sentence sent a slight curl to his +lips. "I cannot stay away any longer from my precious +sister," it said, "and am coming back to the +home I adore. I have no one to love me, now that +my dear husband is dead, but you and my darling +Ellen." + +The news of Lucy's expected return spread rapidly. +Old Martha in her joy was the mouthpiece. +She gave the details out at church the Sunday morning +following the arrival of Lucy's letter. She was +almost too ill to venture out, but she made the effort, +stopping the worshippers as they came down the +board walk; telling each one of the good news, the +tears streaming down her face. To the children and +the younger generation the announcement made but +little difference; some of them had never heard that +Miss Jane had a sister, and others only that she +lived abroad. Their mothers knew, of course, and +so did the older men, and all were pleased over +the news. Those of them who remembered the +happy, joyous girl with her merry eyes and ringing +laugh were ready to give her a hearty welcome; +they felt complimented that the distinguished +lady--fifteen years' residence abroad and a rich husband +had gained her this position--should be willing +to exchange the great Paris for the simple life of +Warehold. It touched their civic pride. + +Great preparations were accordingly made. Billy +Tatham's successor (his son)--in his best open carriage +--was drawn up at the station, and Lucy's drive +through the village with some of her numerous boxes +covered with foreign labels piled on the seat beside +the young man--who insisted on driving Lucy and +the child himself--was more like the arrival of a +princess revisiting her estates than anything else. +Martha and Archie and Jane filled the carriage, with +little Ellen on Archie's lap, and more than one neighbor +ran out of the house and waved to them as they +drove through the long village street and turned +into the gate. + +Archie threw his arms around Lucy when he saw +her, and in his open, impetuous way called her his +"dear aunty," telling her how glad he was that she +had come to keep his good mother from getting so +sad at times, and adding that she and granny had +not slept for days before she came, so eager were +they to see her. And Lucy kissed him in return, +but with a different throb at her heart. She felt +a thrill when she saw how handsome and strong he +was, and for an instant there flashed through her a +feeling of pride that he was her own flesh and blood. +Then there had come a sudden revulsion, strangling +every emotion but the one of aversion--an aversion +so overpowering that she turned suddenly and catching +Ellen in her arms kissed her with so lavish a +display of affection that those at the station who witnessed +the episode had only praise for the mother's +devotion. Jane saw the kiss Lucy had given Archie, +and a cry of joy welled up in her heart, but she lost +the shadow that followed. My lady of Paris was too +tactful for that. + +Her old room was all ready. Jane, with Martha +helping, had spent days in its preparation. White +dimity curtains starched stiff as a petticoat had been +hung at the windows; a new lace cover spread on +the little mahogany, brass-mounted dressing-table-- +her great grandmother's, in fact--with its tiny +swinging mirror and the two drawers (Martha remembered +when her bairn was just high enough to +look into the mirror), and pots of fresh flowers placed +on the long table on which her hooks used to rest. +Two easy-chairs had also been brought up from the +sitting-room below, covered with new chintz and tied +with blue ribbons, and, more wonderful still, a candle +-box had been covered with cretonne and studded +with brass tacks by the aid of Martha's stiff fingers +that her bairn might have a place in which to put her +dainty shoes and slippers. + +When the trunks had been carried upstairs and +Martha with her own hands had opened my lady's +gorgeous blue morocco dressing-case with its bottles +capped with gold and its brushes and fittings emblazoned +with cupids swinging in garlands of roses, +the poor woman's astonishment knew no bounds. The +many scents and perfumes, the dainty boxes, big and +little, holding various powders--one a red paste +which the old nurse thought must be a salve, but +about which, it is needless to say, she was greatly +mistaken--as well as a rabbit's foot smirched with +rouge (this she determined to wash at once), and a +tiny box of court-plaster cut in half moons. So many +things, in fact, did the dear old nurse pull from this +wonderful bag that the modest little bureau could not +hold half of them, and the big table had to be brought +up and swept of its plants and belongings. + +The various cosmetics and their uses were especial +objects of comment. + +"Did ye break one of the bottles, darlin'?" she +asked, sniffing at a peculiar perfume which seemed +to permeate everything. "Some of 'em must have +smashed; it's awful strong everywhere--smell that" +--and she held out a bit of lace which she had taken +from the case, a dressing-sacque that Lucy had used +on the steamer. + +Lucy laughed. "And you don't like it? How +funny, you dear old thing! That was made specially +for me; no one else in Paris has a drop." + +And then the dresses! Particularly the one she +was to wear the first night--a dress flounced and +furbelowed and of a creamy white (she still wore +mourning--delicate purples shading to white--the +exact tone for a husband six months dead). And +the filmy dressing-gowns, and, more wonderful than +all, the puff of smoke she was to sleep in, held together +by a band of violet ribbon; to say nothing +of the dainty slippers bound about with swan's- +down, and the marvellous hats, endless silk stockings +of mauve, white, and black, and long and short +gloves. In all her life Martha had never seen or +heard of such things. The room was filled with them +and the two big closets crammed to overflowing, and +yet a dozen trunks were not yet unpacked, including +the two small boxes holding little Ellen's clothes. + +The night was one long to be remembered. Everyone +said the Manor House had not been so gay for +years. And they were all there--all her old friends +and many of Jane's new ones, who for years had +looked on Lucy as one too far above them in station +to be spoken of except with bated breath. + +The intimates of the house came early. Doctor +John first, with his grave manner and low voice-- +so perfectly dressed and quiet: Lucy thought she +had never seen his equal in bearing and demeanor, +nor one so distinguished-looking--not in any circle in +Europe; and Uncle Ephraim, grown fat and gouty, +leaning on a cane, but still hearty and wholesome, +and overjoyed to see her; and Pastor Dellenbaugh-- +his hair was snow-white now--and his complacent +and unruffled wife; and the others, including Captain +Holt, who came in late. It was almost a repetition +of that other home-coming years before, when +they had gathered to greet her, then a happy, joyous +girl just out of school. + +Lucy in their honor wore the dress that had so +astonished Martha, and a diamond-studded ornament +which she took from her jewel-case and fastened in +her hair. The dress followed the wonderful curves +of her beautiful body in all its dimpled plumpness +and the jewel set off to perfection the fresh, oval +face, laughing blue eyes--wet forget-me-nots were +the nearest their color--piquant, upturned nose and +saucy mouth. The color of the gown, too, harmonized +both with the delicate pink of her cheeks and +with the tones of her rather too full throat showing +above the string of pearls that clasped it. + +Jane wore a simple gray silk gown which followed +closely the slender and almost attenuated lines of +her figure. This gown the doctor always loved because, +as he told her, it expressed so perfectly the +simplicity of her mind and life. Her only jewels +were her deep, thoughtful eyes, and these, to-night, +were brilliant with joy over her sister's return. + +As Jane moved about welcoming her guests the +doctor, whose eyes rarely left her face, became conscious +that at no time in their lives had the contrast +between the two sisters been greater. + +One, a butterfly of thirty-eight, living only in the +glow of the sunlight, radiant in plumage, alighting +first on one flower and then on another, but always +on flowers, never on weeds; gathering such honey as +suited her taste; never resting where she might by +any chance be compelled to use her feet, but always +poised in air; a woman, rich, brilliant, and beautiful, +and--here was the key-note of her life--always, year +in and year out, warmed by somebody's admiration, +whose she didn't much mind nor care, so that it +gratified her pride and relieved her of ennui. The +other--and this one he loved with his whole soul +--a woman of forty-six, with a profound belief +in her creeds; quixotic sometimes in her standards, +but always sincere; devoted to her traditions, to her +friends and to her duty; unselfish, tender-hearted, +and self-sacrificing; whose feet, though often tired +and bleeding, had always trodden the earth. + +As Lucy greeted first one neighbor and then another, +sometimes with one hand, sometimes with two, +offering her cheek now and then to some old friend +who had known her as a child, Jane's heart swelled +with something of the pride she used to have when +Lucy was a girl. Her beautiful sister, she saw, had +lost none of the graciousness of her old manner, nor +of her tact in making her guests feel perfectly at +home. Jane noticed, too--and this was new to her +--a certain well-bred condescension, so delicately +managed as never to be offensive--more the air of +a woman accustomed to many sorts and conditions +of men and women, and who chose to be agreeable +as much to please herself as to please her guests. + +And yet with all this poise of manner and condescending +graciousness, there would now and then +dart from Lucy's eyes a quick, searching glance of +inquiry, as she tried to read her guests' thoughts, +followed by a relieved look on her own face as she +satisfied herself that no whisper of her past had ever +reached them. These glances Jane never caught. + +Doctor John was most cordial in his greeting and +talked to her a long time about some portions of Europe, +particularly a certain cafe in Dresden where +he used to dine, and another in Paris frequented by +the beau monde. She answered him quite frankly, +telling him of some of her own experiences in both +places, quite forgetting that she was giving him +glimpses of her own life while away--glimpses which +she had kept carefully concealed from Jane or Martha. +She was conscious, however, after he had left +her of a certain uncomfortable feeling quivering +through her as his clear, steadfast eyes looked into +hers, he listened, and yet she thought she detected +his brain working behind his steadfast gaze. It was +as if he was searching for some hidden disease. "He +knows something," she said to herself, when the +doctor moved to let someone else take his place. +"How much I can't tell. I'll get it all out of +sister." + +Blunt and bluff Captain Holt, white-whiskered +and white-haired now, but strong and hearty, gave +her another and a different shock. What his first +words would be when they met and how she would +avoid discussing the subject uppermost in their minds +if, in his rough way, he insisted on talking about it, +was one of the things that had worried her greatly +when she decided to come home, for there was never +any doubt in her mind as to his knowledge. But +she misjudged the captain, as had a great many +others who never looked beneath the rugged bark +covering his heart of oak. + +"I'm glad you've come at last," he said gravely, +hardly touching her hand in welcome, "you ought +to have been here before. Jane's got a fine lad of +her own that she's bringin' up; when you know him +ye'll like him." + +She did not look at him when she answered, but +a certain feeling of relief crept over her. She saw +that the captain had buried the past and intended +never to revive it. + +The stern look on his face only gave way when +little Ellen came to him of her own accord and +climbing up into his lap said in her broken English +that she heard he was a great captain and that she +wanted him to tell her some stories like her good +papa used to tell her. "He was gray like you," she +said, "and big," and she measured the size with her +plump little arms that showed out of her dainty +French dress. + +With Doctor John and Captain Holt out of the +way Lucy's mind was at rest. "Nobody else round +about Yardley except these two knows," she kept +saying to herself with a bound of relief, "and for +these I don't care. The doctor is Jane's slave, and +the captain is evidently wise enough not to uncover +skeletons locked up in his own closet." + +These things settled in her mind, my lady gave +herself up to whatever enjoyment, compatible with +her rapidly fading mourning, the simple surroundings +afforded, taking her cue from the conditions that +confronted her and ordering her conduct accordingly +and along these lines: Archie was her adopted +nephew, the son of an old friend of Jane's, and one +whom she would love dearly, as, in fact, she would +anybody else whom Jane had brought up; she herself +was a gracious widow of large means recovering +from a great sorrow; one who had given up the +delights of foreign courts to spend some time among +her dear people who had loved her as a child. Here +for a time would she bring up and educate her +daughter. + +"To be once more at home, and in dear old Warehold, +too!" she had said with upraised Madonna- +like eyes and clasped hands to a group of women who +were hanging on every word that dropped from her +pretty lips. "Do you know what that is to me? +There is hardly a day I have not longed for it. Pray, +forgive me if I do not come to see you as often as +I would, but I really hate to be an hour outside of +the four walls of my precious home." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + + +A PACKAGE OF LETTERS + + +Under the influence of the new arrival it was not +at all strange that many changes were wrought in +the domestic life at Cobden Manor. + +My lady was a sensuous creature, loving color and +flowers and the dainty appointments of life as much +in the surroundings of her home as in the adornment +of her person, and it was not many weeks before +the old-fashioned sitting-room had been transformed +into a French boudoir. In this metamorphosis she +had used but few pieces of new furniture--one or +two, perhaps, that she had picked up in the village, +as well as some bits of mahogany and brass that she +loved--but had depended almost entirely upon the +rearrangement of the heirlooms of the family. With +the boudoir idea in view, she had pulled the old +tables out from the walls, drawn the big sofa up to +the fire, spread a rug--one of her own--before the +mantel, hung new curtains at the windows and +ruffled their edges with lace, banked the sills with +geraniums and begonias, tilted a print or two beside +the clock, scattered a few books and magazines +over the centre-table, on which she had placed a big, +generous lamp, under whose umbrella shade she could +see to read as she sat in her grandmother's rocking- +chair--in fact, had, with that taste inherent in some +women--touched with a knowing hand the dead +things about her and made them live and mean +something;--her talisman being an unerring sense +of what contributed to personal comfort. Heretofore +Doctor John had been compelled to drag a chair halfway +across the room in order to sit and chat with +Jane, or had been obliged to share her seat on the +sofa, too far from the hearth on cold days to be +comfortable. Now he could either stand on the +hearth-rug and talk to her, seated in one corner of +the pulled-up sofa, her work-basket on a small table +beside her, or he could drop into a big chair within +reach of her hand and still feel the glow of the fire. +Jane smiled at the changes and gave Lucy free rein +to do as she pleased. Her own nature had never +required these nicer luxuries; she had been too busy, +and in these last years of her life too anxious, to +think of them, and so the room had been left as in +the days of her father. + +The effect of the rearrangement was not lost on +the neighbors. They at once noticed the sense of +cosiness everywhere apparent, and in consequence +called twice as often, and it was not long before the +old-fashioned sitting-room became a stopping-place +for everybody who had half an hour to spare. + +These attractions, with the aid of a generous hospitality, +Lucy did her best to maintain, partly because +she loved excitement and partly because she intended +to win the good-will of her neighbors--those who +might be useful to her. The women succumbed at +once. Not only were her manners most gracious, but +her jewels of various kinds, her gowns of lace and +frou-frou, her marvellous hats, her assortment of +parasols, her little personal belongings and niceties-- +gold scissors, thimbles, even the violet ribbons that +rippled through her transparent underlaces--so different +from those of any other woman they knew-- +were a constant source of wonder and delight. To +them she was a beautiful Lady Bountiful who had +fluttered down among them from heights above, and +whose departure, should it ever take place, would +leave a gloom behind that nothing could illumine. + +To the men she was more reserved. Few of them +ever got beyond a handshake and a smile, and none +of them ever reached the borders of intimacy. Popularity +in a country village could never, she knew, be +gained by a pretty woman without great discretion. +She explained her foresight to Jane by telling her +that there was no man of her world in Warehold +but the doctor, and that she wouldn't think of setting +her cap for him as she would be gray-haired before +he would have the courage to propose. Then she +kissed Jane in apology, and breaking out into a +rippling laugh that Martha heard upstairs, danced +out of the room. + +Little Ellen, too, had her innings; not only was +she prettily dressed, presenting the most joyous of +pictures, as with golden curls flying about her shoulders +she flitted in and out of the rooms like a sprite, +but she was withal so polite in her greetings, dropping +to everyone a little French courtesy when she +spoke, and all in her quaint, broken dialect, that +everybody fell in love with her at sight. None of +the other mothers had such a child, and few of them +knew that such children existed. + +Jane watched the workings of Lucy's mind with +many misgivings. She loved her lightheartedness +and the frank, open way with which she greeted +everybody who crossed their threshold. She loved, +too, to see her beautifully gowned and equipped and +to hear the flattering comments of the neighbors on +her appearance and many charms; but every now and +then her ear caught an insincere note that sent a +shiver through her. She saw that the welcome Lucy +gave them was not from her heart, but from her lips; +due to her training, no doubt, or perhaps to her +unhappiness, for Jane still mourned over the unhappy +years of Lucy's life--an unhappiness, had she +known it, which had really ended with Archie's safe +adoption and Bart's death. Another cause of anxiety +was Lucy's restlessness. Every day she must have +some new excitement--a picnic with the young girls +and young men, private theatricals in the town hall, +or excursions to Barnegat Beach, where they were +building a new summer hotel. Now and then she +would pack her bag and slip off to New York or +Philadelphia for days at a time to stay with friends +she had met abroad, leaving Ellen with Jane and +Martha. To the older sister she seemed like some +wild, untamable bird of brilliant plumage used to +long, soaring flights, perching first on one dizzy +height and then another, from which she could watch +the world below. + +The thing, however, which distressed Jane most +was Lucy's attitude towards Archie. She made every +allowance for her first meeting at the station, and +knew that necessarily it must be more or less constrained, +but she had not expected the almost cold indifference +with which she had treated the boy ever +since. + +As the days went by and Lucy made no effort to +attach Archie to her or to interest herself either in +his happiness or welfare, Jane became more and more +disturbed. She had prayed for this home-coming +and had set her heart on the home-building which +was sure to follow, and now it seemed farther off +than ever. One thing troubled and puzzled her: +while Lucy was always kind to Archie indoors, kissing +him with the others when she came down to +breakfast, she never, if she could help it, allowed him +to walk with her in the village, and she never on any +occasion took him with her when visiting the neighbors. + +"Why not take Archie with you, dear?" Jane +had said one morning to Lucy, who had just announced +her intention of spending a few days in +Philadelphia with Max Feilding's sister Sue, whom +she had met abroad when Max was studying in +Dresden--Max was still a bachelor, and his sister +kept house for him. He was abroad at the time, but +was expected by every steamer. + +"Archie isn't invited, you old goosie, and he would +be as much out of place in Max's house as Uncle +Ephraim Tipple would be in Parliament." + +"But they would be glad to see him if you took +him. He is just the age now when a boy gets impressions +which last him through--" + +"Yes, the gawky and stumble-over-things age! +Piano-stools, rugs, anything that comes in his way. +And the impressions wouldn't do him a bit of good. +They might, in fact, do him harm," and she laughed +merrily and spread her fingers to the blaze. A laugh +was often her best shield. She had in her time dealt +many a blow and then dodged behind a laugh to +prevent her opponent from striking back. + +"But, Lucy, don't you want to do something to +help him?" Jane asked in a pleading tone. + +"Yes, whatever I can, but he seems to me to be +doing very well as he is. Doctor John is devoted +to him and the captain idolizes him. He's a dear, +sweet boy, of course, and does you credit, but he's +not of my world, Jane, dear, and I'd have to make +him all over again before he could fit into my atmosphere. +Besides, he told me this morning that he +was going off for a week with some fisherman on +the beach--some person by the name of Fogarty, +I think." + +"Yes, a fine fellow; they have been friends from +their boyhood." She was not thinking of Fogarty, +but of the tone of Lucy's voice when speaking of her +son. + +"Yes--most estimable gentleman, no doubt, this +Mr. Fogarty, but then, dear, we don't invite that +sort of people to dinner, do we?" and another laugh +rippled out. + +"Yes, sometimes," answered Jane in all sincerity. +"Not Fogarty, because he would be uncomfortable +if he came, but many of the others just as humble. +We really have very few of any other kind. I like +them all. Many of them love me dearly." + +"Not at all strange; nobody can help loving you," +and she patted Jane's shoulder with her jewelled +fingers. + +"But you like them, too, don't you? You treat +them as if you did." + +Lucy lifted her fluted petticoat, rested her slippered +foot on the fender, glanced down at the embroidered +silk stocking covering her ankle, and said +in a graver tone: + +"I like all kinds of people--in their proper place. +This is my home, and it is wise to get along with +one's neighbors. Besides, they all have tongues in +their heads like the rest of the human race, and it is +just as well to have them wag for you as against +you." + +Jane paused for a moment, her eyes watching the +blazing logs, and asked with almost a sigh: + +"You don't mean, dear, that you never intend +to help Archie, do you?" + +"Never is a long word, Jane. Wait till he grows +up and I see what he makes of himself. He is now +nothing but a great animal, well built as a young bull, +and about as awkward." + +Jane's eyes flashed and her shoulders straightened. +The knife had a double edge to its blade. + +"He is your own flesh and blood, Lucy," she +said with a ring of indignation in her voice. "You +don't treat Ellen so; why should you Archie?" + +Lucy took her foot from the fender, dropped her +skirts, and looked at Jane curiously. From underneath +the half-closed lids of her eyes there flashed +a quick glance of hate--a look that always came into +Lucy's eyes whenever Jane connected her name with +Archie's. + +"Let us understand each other, sister," she said +icily. "I don't dislike the boy. When he gets into +trouble I'll help him in any way I can, but please +remember he's not my boy--he's yours. You took +him from me with that understanding and I have +never asked him back. He can't love two mothers. +You say he has been your comfort all these years. +Why, then, do you want to unsettle his mind?" + +Jane lifted her head and looked at Lucy with +searching eyes--looked as a man looks when someone +he must not strike has flung a glove in his face. + +"Do you really love anything, Lucy?" she asked +in a lower voice, her eyes still fastened on her sister's. + +"Yes, Ellen and you." + +"Did you love her father?" she continued in the +same direct tone. + +"Y-e-s, a little-- He was the dearest old man +in the world and did his best to please me; and then +he was never very well. But why talk about him, +dear?" + +"And you never gave him anything in return for +all his devotion?" Jane continued in the same cross- +examining voice and with the same incisive tone. + +"Yes, my companionship--whenever I could. +About what you give Doctor John," and she looked +at Jane with a sly inquiry as she laughed gently to +herself. + +Jane bit her lips and her face flushed scarlet. The +cowardly thrust had not wounded her own heart. +It had only uncovered the love of the man who lay +enshrined in its depths. A sudden sense of the injustice +done him arose in her mind and then her own +helplessness in it all. + +"I would give him everything I have, if I could," +she answered simply, all her insistency gone, the tears +starting to her eyes. + +Lucy threw her arms about her sister and held +her cheek to her own. + +"Dear, I was only in fun; please forgive me. +Everything is so solemn to you. Now kiss me and +tell me you love me." + +That night when Captain Holt came in to play +with the little "Pond Lily," as he called Ellen, Jane +told him of her conversation with Lucy, not as a +reflection on her sister, but because she thought he +ought to know how she felt toward Archie. The +kiss had wiped out the tears, but the repudiation of +Archie still rankled in her breast. + +The captain listened patiently to the end. Then +he said with a pause between each word: + +"She's sailin' without her port and starboard +lights, Miss Jane. One o' these nights with the tide +settin' she'll run up ag'in somethin' solid in a fog, +and then--God help her! If Bart had lived he might +have come home and done the decent thing, and then +we could git her into port some'er's for repairs, but +that's over now. She better keep her lights trimmed. +Tell her so for me." + +What this "decent thing" was he never said-- +perhaps he had but a vague idea himself. Bart had +injured Lucy and should have made reparation, but +in what way except by marriage--he, perhaps, never +formulated in his own mind. + +Jane winced under the captain's outburst, but she +held her peace. She knew how outspoken he was +and how unsparing of those who differed from him +and she laid part of his denunciation to this cause. + +Some weeks after this conversation the captain +started for Yardley to see Jane on a matter of business, +and incidentally to have a romp with the Pond +Lily. It was astonishing how devoted the old sea- +dog was to the child, and how she loved him in return. +"My big bear," she used to call him, tugging +away at his gray whiskers. On his way he stopped +at the post-office for his mail. It was mid-winter and +the roads were partly blocked with snow, making +walking difficult except for sturdy souls like Captain +Nat. + +"Here, Cap'n Holt, yer jest the man I been +a-waitin' for," cried Miss Tucher, the postmistress, +from behind the sliding window. "If you ain't goin' +up to the Cobdens, ye kin, can't ye? Here's a lot +o' letters jest come that I know they're expectin'. +Miss Lucy's" (many of the village people still called +her Miss Lucy, not being able to pronounce her dead +husband's name) "come in yesterday and seems as +if she couldn't wait. This storm made everything +late and the mail got in after she left. There ain't +nobody comin' out to-day and here's a pile of 'em-- +furrin' most of 'em. I'd take 'em myself if the snow +warn't so deep. Don't mind, do ye? I'd hate to +have her disapp'inted, for she's jes' 's sweet as they +make 'em." + +"Don't mind it a mite, Susan Tucher," cried the +captain. "Goin' there, anyhow. Got some business +with Miss Jane. Lord, what a wad o' them!" + +"That ain't half what she gits sometimes," replied +the postmistress, "and most of 'em has seals +and crests stamped on 'em. Some o' them furrin +lords, I guess, she met over there." + +These letters the captain held in his hand when +he pushed open the door of the sitting-room and stood +before the inmates in his rough pea-jacket, his ruddy +face crimson with the cold, his half-moon whiskers +all the whiter by contrast. + +"Good-mornin' to the hull o' ye!" he shouted. +"Cold as blue blazes outside, I tell ye, but ye look +snug enough in here. Hello, little Pond Lily! why +ain't you out on your sled? Put two more roses in +your cheeks if there was room for 'em. There, +ma'am," and he nodded to Lucy and handed her the +letters, "that's 'bout all the mail that come this +mornin'. There warn't nothin' else much in the +bag. Susan Tucher asked me to bring 'em up to you +count of the weather and 'count o' your being in +such an all-fired hurry to read 'em." + +Little Ellen was in his arms before this speech +was finished and everybody else on their feet shaking +hands with the old salt, except poor, deaf old Martha, +who called out, "Good-mornin', Captain Holt," in +a strong, clear voice, and in rather a positive way, +but who kept her seat by the fire and continued her +knitting; and complacent Mrs. Dellenbaugh, the pastor's +wife, who, by reason of her position, never got +up for anybody. + +The captain advanced to the fire, Ellen still in +his arms, shook hands with Mrs. Dellenbaugh and +extended three fingers, rough as lobster's claws and +as red, to the old nurse. Of late years he never met +Martha without feeling that he owed her an apology +for the way he had treated her the day she begged +him to send Bart away. So he always tried to make +it up to her, although he had never told her why. + +"Hope you're better, Martha? Heard ye was +under the weather; was that so? Ye look spry +'nough now," he shouted in his best quarter-deck +voice. + +"Yes, but it warn't much. Doctor John fixed me +up," Martha replied coldly. She had no positive animosity +toward the captain--not since he had shown +some interest in Archie--but she could never make a +friend of him. + +During this greeting Lucy, who had regained her +chair, sat with the letters unopened in her lap. None +of the eagerness Miss Tucher had indicated was apparent. +She seemed more intent on arranging the +folds of her morning-gown accentuating the graceful +outlines of her well-rounded figure. She had glanced +through the package hastily, and had found the one +she wanted and knew that it was there warm under +her touch--the others did not interest her. + +"What a big mail, dear," remarked Jane, drawing +up a chair. "Aren't you going to open it?" The +captain had found a seat by the window and the +child was telling him everything she had done since +she last saw him. + +"Oh, yes, in a minute," replied Lucy. "There's +plenty of time." With this she picked up the bunch +of letters, ran her eye through the collection, and +then, with the greatest deliberation, broke one seal +after another, tossing the contents on the table. Some +she merely glanced at, searching for the signatures +and ignoring the contents; others she read through +to the end. One was from Dresden, from a student +she had known there the year before. This was +sealed with a wafer and bore the address of the cafe +where he took his meals. Another was stamped with +a crest and emitted a slight perfume; a third was +enlivened by a monogram in gold and began: "Ma +chere amie," in a bold round hand. The one under +her hand she did not open, but slipped into the pocket +of her dress. The others she tore into bits and threw +upon the blazing logs. + +"I guess if them fellers knew how short a time it +would take ye to heave their cargo overboard," +blurted out the captain, "they'd thought a spell 'fore +they mailed their manifests." + +Lucy laughed good-naturedly and Jane watched +the blaze roar up the wide chimney. The captain +settled back in his chair and was about to continue +his "sea yarn," as he called it, to little Ellen, when +he suddenly loosened the child from his arms, and +leaning forward in his seat toward where Jane sat, +broke out with: + +"God bless me! I believe I'm wool-gathering. I +clean forgot what I come for. It is you, Miss Jane, +I come to see, not this little curly head that'll git +me ashore yet with her cunnin' ways. They're goin' +to build a new life-saving station down Barnegat +way. That Dutch brig that come ashore last fall in +that so'easter and all them men drownded could have +been saved if we'd had somethin' to help 'em with. +We did all we could, but that house of Refuge ain't +half rigged and most o' the time ye got to break the +door open to git at what there is if ye're in a hurry, +which you allus is. They ought to have a station +with everything 'bout as it ought to be and a crew +on hand all the time; then, when somethin' comes +ashore you're right there on top of it. That one +down to Squam is just what's wanted here." + +"Will it be near the new summer hotel?" asked +Lucy carelessly, just as a matter of information, and +without raising her eyes from the rings on her beautiful +hands. + +"'Bout half a mile from the front porch, ma'am" +--he preferred calling her so--" from what I hear. +'Tain't located exactly yet, but some'er's along there. +I was down with the Gov'ment agent yesterday." + +"Who will take charge of it, captain?" inquired +Jane, reaching over her basket in search of her +scissors. + +"Well, that's what I come up for. They're talkin' +about me," and the captain put his hands behind +Ellen's head and cracked his big knuckles close to +her ear, the child laughing with delight as she +listened. + +The announcement was received with some surprise. +Jane, seeing Martha's inquiring face, as if +she wanted to hear, repeated the captain's words to +her in a loud voice. Martha laid down her knitting +and looked at the captain over her spectacles. + +"Why, would you take it, captain?" Jane asked +in some astonishment, turning to him again. + +"Don't know but I would. Ain't no better job +for a man than savin' lives. I've helped kill a good +many; 'bout time now I come 'bout on another tack. +I'm doin' nothin'--haven't been for years. If I +could get the right kind of a crew 'round me--men +I could depend on--I think I could make it go." + +"If you couldn't nobody could, captain," said +Jane in a positive way. "Have you picked out your +crew?" + +"Yes, three or four of 'em. Isaac Polhemus and +Tom Morgan--Tom sailed with me on my last voyage +--and maybe Tod." + +"Archie's Tod?" asked Jane, replacing her scissors +and searching for a spool of cotton. + +"Archie's Tod," repeated the captain, nodding +his head, his big hand stroking Ellen's flossy curls. +"That's what brought me up. I want Tod, and he +won't go without Archie. Will ye give him to +me?" + +"My Archie!" cried Jane, dropping her work +and staring straight at the captain. + +"Your Archie, Miss Jane, if that's the way you +put it," and he stole a look at Lucy. She was conscious +of his glance, but she did not return it; she +merely continued listening as she twirled one of the +rings on her finger. + +"Well, but, captain, isn't it very dangerous work? +Aren't the men often drowned?" protested Jane. + +"Anything's dangerous 'bout salt water that's +worth the doin'. I've stuck to the pumps seventy-two +hours at a time, but I'm here to tell the tale." + +"Have you talked to Archie?" + +"No, but Tod has. They've fixed it up betwixt +'em. The boy's dead set to go." + +"Well, but isn't he too young?" + +"Young or old, he's tough as a marline-spike-- +A1, and copper fastened throughout. There ain't +a better boatman on the beach. Been that way ever +since he was a boy. Won't do him a bit of harm to +lead that kind of life for a year or two. If he was +mine it wouldn't take me a minute to tell what +I'd do." + +Jane leaned back in her chair, her eyes on the +crackling logs, and began patting the carpet with her +foot. Lucy became engrossed in a book that lay on +the table beside her. She didn't intend to take any +part in the discussion. If Jane wanted Archie to +serve as a common sailor that was Jane's business. +Then again, it was, perhaps, just as well for a +number of reasons to have him under the captain's +care. He might become so fond of the sea as to want +to follow it all his life. + +"What do you think about it, Lucy?" asked +Jane. + +"Oh, I don't know anything about it. I don't +really. I've lived so long away from here I don't +know what the young men are doing for a living. +He's always been fond of the sea, has he not, Captain +Holt?" + +"Allus," said the captain doggedly; "it's in his +blood." Her answer nettled him. "You ain't got +no objections, have you, ma'am?" he asked, looking +straight at Lucy. + +Lucy's color came and went. His tone offended +her, especially before Mrs. Dellenbaugh, who, although +she spoke but seldom in public had a tongue +of her own when she chose to use it. She was not +accustomed to being spoken to in so brusque a way. +She understood perfectly well the captain's covert +meaning, but she did not intend either to let him +see it or to lose her temper. + +"Oh, not the slightest," she answered with a light +laugh. "I have no doubt that it will be the making +of him to be with you. Poor boy, he certainly needs +a father's care." + +The captain winced in turn under the retort and +his eyes flashed, but he made no reply. + +Little Ellen had slipped out of the captain's lap +during the colloquy. She had noticed the change in +her friend's tone, and, with a child's intuition, +had seen that the harmony was in danger of being +broken. She stood by the captain's knee, not knowing +whether to climb back again or to resume her seat +by the window. Lucy, noticing the child's discomfort, +called to her: + +"Come here, Ellen, you will tire the captain." + +The child crossed the room and stood by her +mother while Lucy tried to rearrange the glossy curls, +tangled by too close contact with the captain's broad +shoulder. In the attempt Ellen lost her balance and +fell into her mother's lap. + +"Oh, Ellen!" said her mother coldly; "stand up, +dear. You are so careless. See how you have +mussed my gown. Now go over to the window and +play with your dolls." + +The captain noted the incident and heard Lucy's +reproof, but he made no protest. Neither did he contradict +the mother's statement that the little girl +had tired him. His mind was occupied with other +things--the tone of the mother's voice for one, and +the shade of sadness that passed over the child's face +for another. From that moment he took a positive +dislike to her. + +"Well, think it over, Miss Jane," he said, rising +from his seat and reaching for his hat. "Plenty of +time 'bout Archie. Life-savin' house won't be finished +for the next two or three months; don't expect +to git into it till June. Wonder, little Pond Lily, if +the weather's goin' to be any warmer?" He slipped +his hand under the child's chin and leaning over her +head peered out of the window. "Don't look like +it, does it, little one? Looks as if the snow would +hold on. Hello! here comes the doctor. I'll wait a +bit--good for sore eyes to see him, and I don't git +a chance every day. Ask him 'bout Archie, +Miss Jane. He'll tell ye whether the lad's too +young." + +There came a stamping of feet on the porch outside +as Doctor John shook the snow from his boots, +and the next instant he stepped into the room bringing +with him all the freshness and sunshine of the +outside world. + +"Good-morning, good people," he cried, "every +one of you! How very snug and cosey you look here! +Ah, captain, where have you been keeping yourself? +And Mrs. Dellenbaugh! This is indeed a pleasure. +I have just passed the dear doctor, and he is looking +as young as he did ten years ago. And my Lady +Lucy! Down so early! Well, Mistress Martha, up +again I see; I told you you'd be all right in a day or +two." + +This running fire of greetings was made with a +pause before each inmate of the room--a hearty +hand-shake for the bluff captain, the pressing of Mrs. +Dellenbaugh's limp fingers, a low bow to Lucy, and +a pat on Martha's plump shoulder. + +Jane came last, as she always did. She had risen +to greet him and was now unwinding the white silk +handkerchief wrapped about his throat and helping +him off with his fur tippet and gloves. + +"Thank you, Jane. No, let me take it; it's rather +wet," he added as he started to lay the heavy overcoat +over a chair. "Wait a minute. I've some violets +for you if they are not crushed in my pocket. +They came last night," and he handed her a small +parcel wrapped in tissue paper. This done, he took +his customary place on the rug with his back to the +blazing logs and began unbuttoning his trim frock- +coat, bringing to view a double-breasted, cream-white +waistcoat--he still dressed as a man of thirty, and +always in the fashion--as well as a fluffy scarf which +Jane had made for him with her own fingers. + +"And what have I interrupted?" he asked, looking +over the room. "One of your sea yarns, captain?" +--here he reached over and patted the child's +head, who had crept back to the captain's arms-- +"or some of my lady's news from Paris? You +tell me, Jane," he added, with a smile, opening +his thin, white, almost transparent fingers and +holding them behind his back to the fire, a favorite +attitude. + +"Ask the captain, John." She had regained her +seat and was reaching out for her work-basket, the +violets now pinned in her bosom--her eyes had long +since thanked him. + +"No, do YOU tell me," he insisted, moving aside +the table with her sewing materials and placing it +nearer her chair. + +"Well, but it's the captain who should speak," +Jane replied, laughing, as she looked up into his +face, her eyes filled with his presence. "He has +startled us all with the most wonderful proposition. +The Government is going to build a life-saving station +at Barnegat beach, and they have offered him +the position of keeper, and he says he will take it if +I will let Archie go with him as one of his crew." + +Doctor John's face instantly assumed a graver +look. These forked roads confronting the career of a +young life were important and not to be lightly dismissed. + +"Well, what did you tell him?" he asked, looking +down at Jane in the effort to read her thoughts. + +"We are waiting for you to decide, John." The +tone was the same she would have used had the +doctor been her own husband and the boy their child. + +Doctor John communed with himself for an instant. +"Well, let us take a vote," he replied with +an air as if each and every one in the room was interested +in the decision. "We'll begin with Mistress +Martha, and then Mrs. Dellenbaugh, and then +you, Jane, and last our lady from over the sea. The +captain has already sold his vote to his affections, and +so must be counted out." + +"Yes, but don't count me in, please," exclaimed +Lucy with a merry laugh as she arose from her seat. +"I don't know a thing about it. I've just told the +dear captain so. I'm going upstairs this very moment +to write some letters. Bonjour, Monsieur le Docteur; +bonjour, Monsieur le Capitaine and Madame Dellenbaugh," +and with a wave of her hand and a little dip +of her head to each of the guests, she courtesied out +of the room. + +When the door was closed behind her she stopped +in the hall, threw a glance at her face in the old-fashioned +mirror, satisfied herself of her skill in +preserving its beautiful rabbit's-foot bloom and freshness, +gave her blonde hair one or two pats to keep it +in place, rearranged the film of white lace about her +shapely throat, and gathering up the mass of ruffled +skirts that hid her pretty feet, slowly ascended the +staircase. + +Once inside her room and while the vote was being +taken downstairs that decided Archie's fate she +locked her door, dropped into a chair by the fire, took +the unopened letter from her pocket, and broke the +seal. + +"Don't scold, little woman," it read. "I would +have written before, but I've been awfully busy getting +my place in order. It's all arranged now, however, +for the summer. The hotel will be opened in +June, and I have the best rooms in the house, the +three on the corner overlooking the sea. Sue says +she will, perhaps, stay part of the summer with me. +Try and come up next week for the night. If not +I'll bring Sue with me and come to you for the day. + +"Your own Max." + +For some minutes she sat gazing into the fire, the +letter in her hand. + +"It's about time, Mr. Max Feilding," she said at +last with a sigh of relief as she rose from her seat +and tucked the letter into her desk. "You've had +string enough, my fine fellow; now it's my turn. If +I had known you would have stayed behind in Paris +all these months and kept me waiting here I'd have +seen you safe aboard the steamer. The hotel opens +in June, does it? Well, I can just about stand it +here until then; after that I'd go mad. This place +bores me to death." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + + +THE BEGINING OF THE EBB + + +Spring has come and gone. The lilacs and crocuses, +the tulips and buttercups, have bloomed and +faded; the lawn has had its sprinkling of dandelions, +and the duff of their blossoms has drifted past the +hemlocks and over the tree-tops. The grass has +had its first cutting; the roses have burst their buds +and hang in clusters over the arbors; warm winds +blow in from the sea laden with perfumes from beach +and salt-marsh; the skies are steely blue and the +cloud puffs drift lazily. It is summer-time--the season +of joy and gladness, the season of out-of-doors. + +All the windows at Yardley are open; the porch +has donned an awning--its first--colored white and +green, shading big rocking-chairs and straw tables +resting on Turkish rugs. Lucy had wondered why +in all the years that Jane had lived alone at Yardley +she had never once thought of the possibilities of this +porch. Jane had agreed with her, and so, under +Lucy's direction, the awnings had been put up and +the other comforts inaugurated. Beneath its shade +Lucy sits and reads or embroiders or answers her +constantly increasing correspondence. + +The porch serves too as a reception-room, the vines +being thick and the occupants completely hidden +from view. Here Lucy often spreads a small table, +especially when Max Feilding drives over in his London +drag from Beach Haven on Barnegat beach. +On these occasions, if the weather is warm, she refreshes +him with delicate sandwiches and some of +her late father's rare Scotch whiskey (shelved in the +cellar for thirty years) or with the more common +brands of cognac served in the old family decanters. + +Of late Max had become a constant visitor. His +own ancestors had made honorable records in the +preceding century, and were friends of the earlier +Cobdens during the Revolution. This, together with +the fact that he had visited Yardley when Lucy was +a girl--on his first return from Paris, in fact--and +that the acquaintance had been kept up while he was +a student abroad, was reason enough for his coming +with such frequency. + +His drag, moreover, as it whirled into Yardley's +gate, gave a certain air of eclat to the Manor House +that it had not known since the days of the old +colonel. Nothing was lacking that money and taste +could furnish. The grays were high-steppers and +smooth as satin, the polished chains rattled and +clanked about the pole; the body was red and the +wheels yellow, the lap-robe blue, with a monogram; +and the diminutive boy studded with silver buttons +bearing the crest of the Feilding family was as smart +as the tailor could make him. + +And the owner himself, in his whity-brown driving-coat +with big pearl buttons, yellow gloves, and +gray hat, looked every inch the person to hold the +ribbons. Altogether it was a most fashionable equipage, +owned and driven by a most fashionable man. + +As for the older residents of Warehold, they had +only words of praise for the turnout. Uncle +Ephraim declared that it was a "Jim Dandy," which +not only showed his taste, but which also proved how +much broader that good-natured cynic had become in +later years. Billy Tatham gazed at it with staring +eyes as it trundled down the highway and turned into +the gate, and at once determined to paint two of his +hacks bright yellow and give each driver a lap-robe +with the letter "T" worked in high relief. + +The inmates of Yardley were not quite so enthusiastic. +Martha was glad that her bairn was having +such a good time, and she would often stand on the +porch with little Ellen's hand in hers and wave to +Max and Lucy as they dashed down the garden road +and out through the gate, the tiger behind; but Jane, +with that quick instinct which some women possess, +recognized something in Feilding's manner which +she could not put into words, and so held her peace. +She had nothing against Max, but she did not like +him. Although he was most considerate of her feelings +and always deferred to her, she felt that any +opposition on her part to their outings would have +made no difference to either one of them. He asked +her permission, of course, and she recognized the courtesy, +but nothing that he ever did or said overcame +her dislike of him. + +Doctor John's personal attitude and bearing toward +Feilding was an enigma not only to Jane, but +to others who saw it. He invariably greeted him, +whenever they met, with marked, almost impressive +cordiality, but it never passed a certain limit +of reserve; a certain dignity of manner which Max +had recognized the first day he shook hands with him. +It recalled to Feilding some of his earlier days, when +he was a student in Paris. There had been a supper +in Max's room that ended at daylight--no worse in +its features than dozens of others in the Quartier-- +to which an intimate friend of the doctor's had been +invited, and upon which, as Max heard afterward, +the doctor had commented rather severely. + +Max realized, therefore, but too well that the distinguished +physician--known now over half the State +--understood him, and his habits, and his kind as +thoroughly as he did his own ease of instruments. +He realized, too, that there was nothing about his +present appearance or surroundings or daily life that +could lead so thoughtful a man of the world as Dr. +John Cavendish, of Barnegat, to conclude that he +had changed in any way for the better. + +And yet this young gentleman could never have +been accused of burning his candle at both ends. He +had no flagrant vices really--none whose posters were +pasted on the victim's face. Neither cards nor any +other form of play interested him, nor did the wine +tempt him when it was red--or of any other color, +for that matter, nor did he haunt the dressing-rooms +of chorus girls and favorites of the hour. His innate +refinement and good taste prevented any such uses +of his spare time. His weakness--for it could hardly +be called a vice--was narrowed down to one infirmity, +and one only: this was his inability to be happy +without the exclusive society of some one woman. + +Who the woman might be depended very largely +on whom he might be thrown with. In the first ten +years of his majority--his days of poverty when a +student--it had been some girl in exile, like himself. +During the last ten years--since his father's +death and his inheritance--it had been a loose end +picked out of the great floating drift--that social +flotsam and jetsam which eddies in and out of the +casinos of Nice and Monte Carlo, flows into Aix +and Trouville in summer and back again to Rome +and Cairo in winter--a discontented wife perhaps; +or an unmarried woman of thirty-five or forty, with +means enough to live where she pleased; or it might +be some self-exiled Russian countess or English- +woman of quality who had a month off, and who +meant to make the most of it. All most respectable +people, of course, without a breath of scandal attaching +to their names--Max was too careful for that-- +and yet each and every one on the lookout for precisely +the type of man that Max represented: one +never happy or even contented when outside the +radius of a waving fan or away from the flutter of a +silken skirt. + +It was in one of these resorts of the idle, a couple +of years before, while Lucy's husband and little Ellen +were home in Geneva, that Max had met her, and +where he had renewed the acquaintance of their childhood +--an acquaintance which soon ripened into the +closest friendship. + +Hence his London drag and appointments; hence +the yacht and a four-in-hand--then a great novelty-- +all of which he had promised her should she decide +to join him at home. Hence, too, his luxuriously +fitted-up bachelor quarters in Philadelphia, and his +own comfortable apartments in his late father's +house, where his sister Sue lived; and hence, too, +his cosey rooms in the best corner of the Beach +Haven hotel, with a view overlooking Barnegat Light +and the sea. + +None of these things indicated in the smallest degree +that this noble gentleman contemplated finally +settling down in a mansion commensurate with his +large means, where he and the pretty widow could +enjoy their married life together; nothing was further +from his mind--nothing could be--he loved +his freedom too much. What he wanted, and what +he intended to have, was her undivided companionship +--at least for the summer; a companionship without +any of the uncomfortable complications which +would have arisen had he selected an unmarried +woman or the wife of some friend to share his leisure +and wealth. + +The woman he picked out for the coming season +suited him exactly. She was blonde, with eyes, +mouth, teeth, and figure to his liking (he had become +critical in forty odd years--twenty passed as an +expert); dressed in perfect taste, and wore her clothes +to perfection; had a Continental training that made +her mistress of every situation, receiving with equal +ease and graciousness anybody, from a postman to +a prince, sending them away charmed and delighted; +possessed money enough of her own not to be too +much of a drag upon him; and--best of all (and this +was most important to the heir of Walnut Hill)-- +had the best blood of the State circling in her veins. +Whether this intimacy might drift into something +closer, compelling him to take a reef in his sails, +never troubled him. It was not the first time that he +had steered his craft between the Scylla of matrimony +and the Charybdis of scandal, and he had not +the slightest doubt of his being able to do it again. + +As for Lucy, she had many plans in view. One +was to get all the fun possible out of the situation; +another was to provide for her future. How this was +to be accomplished she had not yet determined. Her +plans were laid, but some of them she knew from past +experience might go astray. On one point she had +made up her mind--not to be in a hurry. In furtherance +of these schemes she had for some days--some +months, in fact--been making preparations for an +important move. She knew that its bare announcement +would come as a surprise to Jane and Martha +and, perhaps, as a shock, but that did not shake her +purpose. She furthermore expected more or less opposition +when they fully grasped her meaning. This +she intended to overcome. Neither Jane nor Martha, +she said to herself, could be angry with her for long, +and a few kisses and an additional flow of good- +humor would soon set them to laughing again. + +To guard against the possibility of a too prolonged +interview with Jane, ending, perhaps, in a +disagreeable scene--one beyond her control--she had +selected a sunny summer morning for the stage setting +of her little comedy and an hour when Feilding +was expected to call for her in his drag. She and +Max were to make a joint inspection that day of his +new apartment at Beach Haven, into which he had +just moved, as well as the stable containing the three +extra vehicles and equine impedimenta, which were +to add to their combined comfort and enjoyment. + +Lucy had been walking in the garden looking at the +rose-beds, her arm about her sister's slender waist, +her ears open to the sound of every passing vehicle-- +Max was expected at any moment--when she began +her lines. + +"You won't mind, Jane, dear, will you, if I get +together a few things and move over to Beach Haven +for a while?" she remarked simply, just as she might +have done had she asked permission to go upstairs +to take a nap. "I think we should all encourage +a new enterprise like the hotel, especially old families +like ours. And then the sea air always does me so +much good. Nothing like Trouville air, my dear +husband used to tell me, when I came back in the +autumn. You don't mind, do you?" + +"For how long, Lucy?" asked Jane, with a tone +of disappointment in her voice, as she placed her foot +on the top step of the porch. + +"Oh, I can't tell. Depends very much on how +I like it." As she spoke she drew up an easy-chair +for Jane and settled herself in another. Then she +added carelessly: "Oh, perhaps a month--perhaps +two." + +"Two months!" exclaimed Jane in astonishment, +dropping into her seat. "Why, what do you want +to leave Yardley for? O Lucy, don't--please don't +go!" + +"But you can come over, and I can come here," +rejoined Lucy in a coaxing tone. + +"Yes; but I don't want to come over. I want you +at home. And it's so lovely here. I have never seen +the garden look so beautiful; and you have your own +room, and this little porch is so cosey. The hotel +is a new building, and the doctor says a very damp +one, with everything freshly plastered. He won't +let any of his patients go there for some weeks, he +tells me. Why should you want to go? I really +couldn't think of it, dear. I'd miss you dreadfully." + +"You dear old sister," answered Lucy, laying her +parasol on the small table beside her, "you are so +old-fashioned. Habit, if nothing else, would make +me go. I have hardly passed a summer in Paris +or Geneva since I left you; and you know how delightful +my visits to Biarritz used to be years +ago. Since my marriage I have never stayed in any +one place so long as this. I must have the sea +air." + +"But the salt water is right here, Lucy, within +a short walk of our gate, and the air is the same." +Jane's face wore a troubled look, and there was an +anxious, almost frightened tone in her voice. + +"No, it is not exactly the same," Lucy answered +positively, as if she had made a life-long study of +climate; "and if it were, the life is very different. +I love Warehold, of course; but you must admit that +it is half-asleep all the time. The hotel will be some +change; there will be new people and something to +see from the piazzas. And I need it, dear. I get +tired of one thing all the time--I always have." + +"But you will be just as lonely there." Jane in +her astonishment was like a blind man feeling about +for a protecting wall. + +"No; Max and his sister will be at Beach Haven, +and lots of others I know. No, I won't be lonely," +and an amused expression twinkled in her eyes. + +Jane sat quite still. Some of Captain Holt's blunt, +outspoken criticisms floated through her brain. + +"Have you any reason for wanting to leave here?" +she asked, raising her eyes and looking straight at +Lucy. + +"No, certainly not. How foolish, dear, to ask +me! I'm never so happy as when I am with you." + +"Well, why then should you want to give up your +home and all the comforts you need--your flowers, +garden, and everything you love, and this porch, +which you have just made so charming, to go to a +damp, half-completed hotel, without a shrub about +it--only a stretch of desolate sand with the tide going +in and out?" There was a tone of suspicion in +Jane's voice that Lucy had never heard from her +sister's lips--never, in all her life. + +"Oh, because I love the tides, if nothing else," +she answered with a sentimental note in her voice. +"Every six hours they bring me a new message. I +could spend whole mornings watching the tides come +and go. During my long exile you don't know how +I dreamed every night of the dear tides of Barnegat. +If you had been away from all you love as many +years as I have, you would understand how I could +revel in the sound of the old breakers." + +For some moments Jane did not answer. She +knew from the tones of Lucy's voice and from the +way she spoke that she did not mean it. She had +heard her talk that way to some of the villagers when +she wanted to impress them, but she had never spoken +in the same way to her. + +"You have some other reason, Lucy. Is it Max?" +she asked in a strained tone. + +Lucy colored. She had not given her sister credit +for so keen an insight into the situation. Jane's +mind was evidently working in a new direction. She +determined to face the suspicion squarely; the truth +under some conditions is better than a lie. + +"Yes," she replied, with an assumed humility and +with a tone as if she had been detected in a fault and +wanted to make a clean breast of it. "Yes--now +that you have guessed it--it IS Max." + +"Don't you think it would be better to see him +here instead of at the hotel?" exclaimed Jane, her +eyes still boring into Lucy's. + +"Perhaps"--the answer came in a helpless way +--"but that won't do much good. I want to keep +my promise to him if I can." + +"What was your promise?" Jane's eyes lost their +searching look for an instant, but the tone of suspicion +still vibrated. + +Lucy hesitated and began playing with the trimming +on her dress. + +"Well, to tell you the truth, dear, a few days ago +in a burst of generosity I got myself into something +of a scrape. Max wants his sister Sue to spend the +summer with him, and I very foolishly promised to +chaperon her. She is delighted over the prospect, +for she must have somebody, and I haven't the heart +to disappoint her. Max has been so kind to me that +I hate now to tell him I can't go. That's all, dear. +I don't like to speak of obligations of this sort, and +so at first I only told you half the truth." + +"You should always keep your promise, dear," +Jane answered thoughtfully and with a certain relieved +tone. (Sue was nearly thirty, but that did +not occur to Jane.) "But this time I wish you had +not promised. I am sorry, too, for little Ellen. She +will miss her little garden and everything she loves +here; and then again, Archie will miss her, and so +will Captain Holt and Martha. You know as well +as I do that a hotel is no place for a child." + +"I am glad to hear you say so. That's why I +shall not take her with me." As she spoke she shot +an inquiring glance from the corner of her eyes at +the anxious face of her sister. These last lines just +before the curtain fell were the ones she had dreaded +most. + +Jane half rose from her seat. Her deep eyes +were wide open, gazing in astonishment at Lucy. +For an instant she felt as if her heart had stopped +beating. + +"And you--you--are not going to take Ellen with +you!" she gasped. + +"No, of course not." She saw her sister's agitation, +but she did not intend to notice it. Besides, her +expectant ear had caught the sound of Max's drag +as it whirled through the gate. "I always left her +with her grandmother when she was much younger +than she is now. She is very happy here and I +wouldn't be so cruel as to take her away from all +her pleasures. Then she loves old people. See how +fond she is of the Captain and Martha! No, you +are right. I wouldn't think of taking her away." + +Jane was standing now, her eyes blazing, her lips +quivering. + +"You mean, Lucy, that you would leave your child +here and spend two months away from her?" + +The wheels were crunching the gravel within a +rod of the porch. Max had already lifted his hat. + +"But, sister, you don't understand--" The +drag stopped and Max, with uncovered head, sprang +out and extended his hand to Jane. + +Before he could offer his salutations Lucy's joyous +tones rang out. + +"Just in the nick of time, Max," she cried. "I've +just been telling my dear sister that I'm going to +move over to Beach Haven to-morrow, bag and baggage, +and she is delighted at the news. Isn't it just +like her?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + + +BREAKERS AHEAD + + +The summer-home of Max Feilding, Esq., of Walnut +Hill, and of the beautiful and accomplished +widow of the dead Frenchman was located on a +levelled sand-dune in full view of the sea. Indeed, +from beneath its low-hooded porticos and piazzas +nothing else could be seen except, perhaps, the wide +sky--gray, mottled, or intensely blue, as the weather +permitted--the stretch of white sand shaded from +dry to wet and edged with tufts of yellow grass; +the circling gulls and the tall finger of Barnegat +Light pointing skyward. Nothing, really, but some +scattering buildings in silhouette against the glare +of the blinding light--one the old House of Refuge, +a mile away to the north, and nearer by, the new Life +Saving Station (now complete) in charge of Captain +Nat Holt and his crew of trusty surfmen. + +This view Lucy always enjoyed. She would sit +for hours under her awnings and watch the lazy boats +crawling in and out of the inlet, or the motionless +steamers--motionless at that distance--slowly unwinding +their threads of smoke. The Station particularly +interested her. Somehow she felt a certain satisfaction +in knowing that Archie was at work and +that he had at last found his level among his own +people--not that she wished him any harm; she +only wanted him out of her way. + +The hostelry itself was one of those low-roofed, +shingle-sided and shingle-covered buildings common +in the earlier days along the Jersey coast, and now +supplanted by more modern and more costly structures. +It had grown from a farm-house and out- +buildings to its present state with the help of an +architect and a jig-saw; the former utilizing what +remained of the house and its barns, and the latter +transforming plain pine into open work patterns +with which to decorate its gable ends and facade. +When the flags were raised, the hanging baskets suspended +in each loop of the porches, and the merciless, +omnipresent and ever-insistent sand was swept from +its wide piazzas and sun-warped steps it gave out an +air of gayety so plausible and enticing that many +otherwise sane and intelligent people at once closed +their comfortable homes and entered their names in +its register. + +The amusements of these habitues--if they could +be called habitues, this being their first summer-- +were as varied as their tastes. There was a band +which played mornings and afternoons in an unpainted +pine pagoda planted on a plot of slowly dying +grass and decorated with more hanging baskets +and Chinese lanterns; there was bathing at eleven +and four; and there was croquet on the square of +cement fenced about by poles and clothes-lines at all +hours. Besides all this there were driving parties +to the villages nearby; dancing parties at night with +the band in the large room playing away for dear +life, with all the guests except the very young and +very old tucked away in twos in the dark corners of +the piazzas out of reach of the lights and the inquisitive +--in short, all the diversions known to such retreats, +so necessary for warding off ennui and thus +inducing the inmates to stay the full length of +their commitments. + +In its selection Max was guided by two considerations: +it was near Yardley--this would materially +aid in Lucy's being able to join him--and it was +not fashionable and, therefore, not likely to be overrun +with either his own or Lucy's friends. The +amusements did not interest him; nor did they interest +Lucy. Both had seen too much and enjoyed +too much on the other side of the water, at Nice, +at Monte Carlo, and Biarritz, to give the amusements +a thought. What they wanted was to be let alone; +this would furnish all the excitement either of them +needed. This exclusiveness was greatly helped by +the red and yellow drag, with all its contiguous and +connecting impedimenta, a turnout which never +ceased to occupy everybody's attention whenever the +small tiger stood by the heads of the satin-coated +grays awaiting the good pleasure of his master and +his lady. Its possession not only marked a social +eminence too lofty for any ordinary habitue to climb +to unless helped up by the proffered hand of the +owner, but it prevented anyone of these would-be +climbers from inviting either its owner or his companion +to join in other outings no matter how enjoyable. +Such amusements as they could offer were +too simple and old-fashioned for two distinguished +persons who held the world in their slings and who +were whirling it around their heads with all their +might. The result was that their time was their +own. + +They filled it at their pleasure. + +When the tide was out and the sand hard, they +drove on the beach, stopping at the new station, +chatting with Captain Holt or Archie; or they +strolled north, always avoiding the House of Refuge +--that locality had too many unpleasant associations +for Lucy, or they sat on the dunes, moving back +out of the wet as the tide reached them, tossing +pebbles in the hollows, or gathering tiny shells, which +Lucy laid out in rows of letters as she had done when +a child. In the afternoon they drove by way of +Yardley to see how Ellen was getting on, or idled +about Warehold, making little purchases at the shops +and chatting with the village people, all of whom +would come out to greet them. After dinner they +would generally betake themselves to Max's portico, +opening out of his rooms, or to Lucy's--they were +at opposite ends of the long corridor--where the two +had their coffee while Max smoked. + +The opinions freely expressed regarding their +social and moral status, and individual and combined +relations, differed greatly in the several localities +in which they were wont to appear. In Warehold +village they were looked upon as two most charming +and delightful people, rich, handsome, and of +proper age and lineage, who were exactly adapted +to each other and who would prove it before the +year was out, with Pastor Dellenbaugh officiating, +assisted by some dignitary from Philadelphia. + +At the hostelry many of the habitues had come +to a far different conclusion. Marriage was not in +either of their heads, they maintained; their intimacy +was a purely platonic one, born of a friendship +dating back to childhood--they were cousins really-- +Max being the dearest and most unselfish creature +in the world, he having given up all his pleasures +elsewhere to devote himself to a most sweet and gracious +lady whose grief was still severe and who would +really be quite alone in the world were it not for her +little daughter, now temporarily absent. + +This summary of facts, none of which could be +questioned, was supplemented and enriched by another +conclusive instalment from Mrs. Walton Coates, +of Chestnut Plains, who had met Lucy at Aix the +year before, and who therefore possessed certain +rights not vouchsafed to the other habitues of Beach +Haven--an acquaintance which Lucy, for various +reasons, took pains to encourage--Mrs. C.'s social +position being beyond question, and her house and +other appointments more than valuable whenever +Lucy should visit Philadelphia: besides, Mrs. +Coates's own and Lucy's apartments joined, and +the connecting door of the two sitting-rooms was +often left open, a fact which established a still +closer intimacy. This instalment, given in a positive +and rather lofty way, made plain the fact that +in her enforced exile the distinguished lady not only +deserved the thanks of every habitue of the hotel, but +of the whole country around, for selecting the new establishment +in which to pass the summer, instead of +one of the more fashionable resorts elsewhere. + +This outburst of the society leader, uttered in the +hearing of a crowded piazza, had occurred after a +conversation she had had with Lucy concerning little +Ellen. + +"Tell me about your little daughter," Mrs. Coates +had said. "You did not leave her abroad, did +you?" + +"Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Coates! I am really here +on my darling's account," Lucy answered with a +sigh. "My old home is only a short distance from +here. But the air does not agree with me there, +and so I came here to get a breath of the real sea. +Ellen is with her aunt, my dear sister Jane. I +wanted to bring her, but really I hadn't the heart +to take her from them; they are so devoted to her. +Max loves her dearly. He drives me over there +almost every day. I really do not know how I could +have borne all the sorrows I have had this year +without dear Max. He is like a brother to me, and +SO thoughtful. You know we have known each other +since we were children. They tell such dreadful +stories, too, about him, but I have never seen that +side of him, he's a perfect saint to me." + +From that time on Mrs. Coates was her loyal +mouthpiece and devoted friend. Being separated +from one's child was one of the things she could not +brook; Lucy was an angel to stand it as she did. As +for Max--no other woman had ever so influenced +him for good, nor did she believe any other woman +could. + +At the end of the second week a small fly no larger +than a pin's head began to develop in the sunshine +of their amber. It became visible to the naked eye +when Max suddenly resolved to leave his drag, his +tiger, his high-stepping grays, and his fair companion, +and slip over to Philadelphia--for a day or +two, he explained. His lawyer needed him, he said, +and then again he wanted to see his sister Sue, who +had run down to Walnut Hill for the day. (Sue, it +might as well be stated, had not yet put in an appearance +at Beach Haven, nor had she given any notice +of her near arrival; a fact which had not disturbed +Lucy in the least until she attempted to explain to +Jane.) + +"I've got to pull up, little woman, and get out for +a few days," Max had begun. "Morton's all snarled +up, he writes me, over a mortgage, and I must +straighten it out. I'll leave Bones [the tiger] and +everything just as it is. Don't mind, do you?" + +"Mind! Of course I do!" retorted Lucy. +"When did you get this marvellous idea into that +wonderful brain of yours, Max? I intended to go +to Warehold myself to-morrow." She spoke with +her usual good-humor, but with a slight trace of surprise +and disappointment in her tone. + +"When I opened my mail this morning; but my +going won't make any difference about Warehold. +Bones and the groom will take care of you." + +Lucy leaned back in her chair and looked over +the rail of the porch. She had noticed lately a certain +restraint in Max's manner which was new to her. +Whether he was beginning to get bored, or whether +it was only one of his moods, she could not decide-- +even with her acute knowledge of similar symptoms. +That some change, however, had come over him she +had not the slightest doubt. She never had any trouble +in lassoing her admirers. That came with a +glance of her eye or a lift of her pretty shoulders: +nor for that matter in keeping possession of them as +long as her mood lasted. + +"Whom do you want to see in Philadelphia, +Max?" she asked, smiling roguishly at him. She +held him always by presenting her happiest and most +joyous side, whether she felt it or not. + +"Sue and Morton--and you, you dear girl, if +you'll come along." + +"No; I'm not coming along. I'm too comfortable +where I am. Is this woman somebody you +haven't told me of, Max?" she persisted, looking +at him from under half-closed lids. + +"Your somebodies are always thin air, little girl; +you know everything I have ever done in my whole +life," Max answered gravely. She had for the last +two weeks. + +Lucy threw up her hands and laughed so loud and +cheerily that an habitue taking his morning constitutional +on the boardwalk below turned his head in +their direction. The two were at breakfast under +the awnings of Lucy's portico, Bones standing out +of range. + +"You don't believe it?" + +"Not one word of it, you fraud; nor do you. +You've forgotten one-half of all you've done and the +other half you wouldn't dare tell any woman. Come, +give me her name. Anybody Sue knows?" + +"Nobody that anybody knows, Honest John." +Then he added as an after-thought, "Are you +sorry?" As he spoke he rose from his seat and stood +behind her chair looking down over her figure. She +had her back to him. He thought he had never seen +her look so lovely. She was wearing a light-blue +morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and a +wide Leghorn hat--the morning costume of all others +he liked her best in. + +"No--don't think I am," she answered lightly. +"Fact is I was getting pretty tired of you. How +long will you be gone?" + +"Oh, I think till the end of the week--not +longer." He reached over the chair and was about +to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coil +of her hair, when he checked himself and straightened +up. One of those sudden restraints which +had so puzzled Lucy had seized him. She could +not see his face, but she knew from the tones +of his voice that the enthusiasm of the moment had +cooled. + +Lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked +up into his eyes. She was always entrancing from +this point of view: the upturned eyelashes, round of +the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swelling +shoulders were like no other woman's he knew. + +"I don't want you to go, Max," she said in the +same coaxing tone of voice that Ellen might have +used in begging for sugar-plums. "Just let the +mortgage and old Morton and everybody else go. +Stay here with me." + +Max straightened up and threw out his chest and +a determined look came into his eyes. If he had had +any doubts as to his departure Lucy's pleading voice +had now removed them. + +"No, can't do it," he answered in mock positiveness. +"Can't 'pon my soul. Business is business. +Got to see Morton right away; ought to have seen +him before." Then he added in a more serious tone, +"Don't get worried if I stay a day or two longer." + +"Well, then, go, you great bear, you," and she +rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. "I +wouldn't let you stay, no matter what you said." +She was not angry--she was only feeling about trying +to put her finger on the particular button that +controlled Max's movements. "Worried? Not a +bit of it. Stay as long as you please." + +There WAS a button, could she have found it. It +was marked "Caution," and when pressed communicated +to the heir of Walnut Hill the intelligence that +he was getting too fond of the pretty widow and that +his only safety lay in temporary flight. It was a +favorite trick of his. In the charting of his course +he had often found two other rocks beside Scylla +and Charybdis in his way; one was boredom and +the other was love. When a woman began to bore +him, or he found himself liking her beyond the limit +of his philosophy, he invariably found relief in +change of scene. Sometimes it was a sick aunt or a +persistent lawyer or an engagement nearly forgotten +and which must be kept at all hazards. He never, +however, left his inamorata in either tears or anger. + +"Now, don't be cross, dear," he cried, patting her +shoulder with his fingers. "You know I don't want +to leave you. I shall be perfectly wretched while +I'm gone, but there's no help for it. Morton's such +a fussy old fellow--always wanting to do a lot of +things that can, perhaps, wait just as well as not. +Hauled me down from Walnut Hill half a dozen +times once, and after all the fellow wouldn't sell. +But this time it's important and I must go. Bones," +and he lifted his finger to the boy, "tell John I +want the light wagon. I'll take the 11.12 to Philadelphia." + +The tiger advanced ten steps and stood at attention, +his finger at his eyebrow. Lucy turned her face +toward the boy. "No, Bones, you'll do nothing of +the kind. You tell John to harness the grays to the +drag. I'll go to the station with Mr. Feilding." + +Max shrugged his shoulders. He liked Lucy for +a good many things--one was her independence, another +was her determination to have her own way. +Then, again, she was never so pretty as when she was +a trifle angry; her color came and went so deliciously +and her eyes snapped so charmingly. Lucy +saw the shrug and caught the satisfied look in his +face. She didn't want to offend him and yet she +didn't intend that he should go without a parting +word from her--tender or otherwise, as circumstances +might require. She knew she had not found the +button, and in her doubt determined for the present +to abandon the search. + +"No, Bones, I've changed my mind," she called +to the boy, who was now half way down the piazza. +"I don't think I will go. I'll stop here, Max, and +do just what you want me to do," she added in a +softened voice. "Come along," and she slipped her +hand in his and the two walked toward the door of +his apartments. + +When the light wagon and satin-skinned sorrel, +with John on the seat and Bones in full view, stopped +at the sanded porch, Mrs. Coates and Lucy formed +part of the admiring group gathered about the turn- +out. All of Mr. Feilding's equipages brought a +crowd of onlookers, no matter how often they appeared +--he had five with him at Beach Haven, including +the four-in-hand which he seldom used-- +but the grays and the light wagon, by common consent, +were considered the most "stylish" of them +all, not excepting the drag. + +After Max had gathered the reins in his hands, +had balanced the whip, had settled himself comfortably +and with a wave of his hand to Lucy had +driven off, Mrs. Coates slipped her arm through my +lady's and the two slowly sauntered to their rooms. + +"Charming man, is he not?" Mrs. Coates ventured. +"Such a pity he is not married! You know +I often wonder whom such men will marry. Some +pretty school-girl, perhaps, or prim woman of forty." + +Lucy laughed. + +"No," she answered, "you are wrong. The +bread-and-butter miss would never suit Max, and he's +past the eye-glass and side-curl age. The next phase, +if he ever reaches it, will be somebody who will +make him do--not as he pleases, but as SHE pleases. +A man like Max never cares for a woman any length +of time who humors his whims." + +"Well, he certainly was most attentive to that +pretty Miss Billeton. You remember her father was +lost overboard four years ago from his yacht. Mr. +Coates told me he met her only a day or so ago; she +had come down to look after the new ball-room they +are adding to the old house. You know her, don't +you?" + +"No--never heard of her. How old is she?" +rejoined Lucy in a careless tone. + +"I should say twenty, maybe twenty-two--you +can't always tell about these girls; very pretty and +very rich. I am quite sure I saw Mr. Feilding driving +with her just before he moved his horses down +here, and she looked prettier than ever. But then +he has a new flame every month, I hear." + +"Where were they driving?" There was a slight +tone of curiosity in Lucy's voice. None of Max's +love-affairs ever affected her, of course, except as they +made for his happiness; all undue interest, therefore, +was out of place, especially before Mrs. Coates. + +"I don't remember. Along the River Road, perhaps +--he generally drives there when he has a pretty +woman with him." + +Lucy bit her lip. Some other friend, then, had +been promised the drag with the red body and yellow +wheels! This was why he couldn't come to Yardley +when she wrote for him. She had found the button. +It rang up another woman. + +The door between the connecting sitting-rooms was +not opened that day, nor that night, for that matter. +Lucy pleaded a headache and wished to be alone. +She really wanted to look the field over and see where +her line of battle was weak. Not that she really +cared--unless the girl should upset her plans; not +as Jane would have cared had Doctor John been +guilty of such infidelity. The eclipse was what hurt +her. She had held the centre of the stage with the +lime-light full upon her all her life, and she intended +to retain it against Miss Billeton or Miss Anybody +else. She decided to let Max know at once, and in +plain terms, giving him to understand that she didn't +intend to be made a fool of, reminding him at the +same time that there were plenty of others who cared +for her, or who would care for her if she should but +raise her little finger. She WOULD raise it, too, even +if she packed her trunks and started for Paris--and +took him with her. + +These thoughts rushed through her mind as she +sat by the window and looked out over the sea. The +tide was making flood, and the fishing-boats anchored +in the inlet were pointing seaward. She could see, +too, the bathers below and the children digging in +the sand. Now and then a boat would head for the +inlet, drop its sail, and swing round motionless with +the others. Then a speck would break away from +the anchored craft and with the movement of a water- +spider land the fishermen ashore. + +None of these things interested her. She could +not have told whether the sun shone or whether the +sky was fair or dull. Neither was she lonely, nor did +she miss Max. She was simply angry--disgusted-- +disappointed at the situation; at herself, at the +woman who had come between them, at the threatened +failure of her plans. One moment she was +building up a house of cards in which she held all +the trumps, and the next instant she had tumbled it +to the ground. One thing she was determined upon +--not to take second place. She would have all of +him or none of him. + +At the end of the third day Max returned. He +had not seen Morton, nor any of his clerks, nor anybody +connected with his office. Neither had he sent +him any message or written him any letter. Morton +might have been dead and buried a century so far +as Max or his affairs were concerned. Nor had he +laid his eyes on the beautiful Miss Billeton; nor +visited her house; nor written her any letters; nor +inquired for her. What he did do was to run out to +Walnut Hill, have a word with his manager, and slip +back to town again and bury himself in his club. +Most of the time he read the magazines, some pages +two or three times over. Once he thought he would +look up one or two of his women friends at their +homes--those who might still be in town--and then +gave it up as not being worth the trouble. At the +end of the third day he started for Barnegat. The +air was bad in the city, he said to himself, and everybody +he met was uninteresting. He would go back, +hitch up the grays, and he and Lucy have a spin +down the beach. Sea air always did agree with him, +and he was a fool to leave it. + +Lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram +sent over from Warehold. She was dressed +in her very best: a double-breasted jacket and straw +turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. Her cheeks +were like two red peonies and her eyes bright as +diamonds. She was perched up in the driver's seat +of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with +the skill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger, +did not spring into his perch as they whirled from +the station in the direction of the beach. His company +was not wanted. + +They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and +of Morton; of how hot it was in town and how cool +it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates and of pater- +familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach +Haven; of the dance the night before--Max leading +in the conversation and she answering either in mono- +syllables or not at all, until Max hazarded the statement +that he had been bored to death waiting for +Morton, who never put in an appearance, and +that the only human being, male or female, he had +seen in town outside the members of the club, was +Sue. + +They had arrived off the Life-Saving Station now, +and Archie had called the captain to the door, and +both stood looking at them, the boy waving his hand +and the captain following them with his eyes. Had +either of them caught the captain's remark they, +perhaps, would have drawn rein and asked for an +explanation: + +"Gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? Looks as +if they was runnin' to a fire!" + +But they didn't hear it; would not, probably have +heard it, had the captain shouted it in their ears. +Lucy was intent on opening up a subject which had +lain dormant in her mind since the morning of +Max's departure, and the gentleman himself was +trying to cipher out what new "kink," as he expressed +it to himself, had "got it into her head." + +When they had passed the old House of Refuge +Lucy drew rein and stopped the drag where the +widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe the +horses' feet. She was still uncertain as to how she +would lead up to the subject-matter without betraying +her own jealousy or, more important still, without +losing her temper. This she rarely displayed, +no matter how goading the provocation. Nobody +had any use for an ill-tempered woman, not in her +atmosphere; and no fly that she had ever known had +been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. There +might be vinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but +they were kept behind closed doors and sampled +only when she was alone. As she sat looking +out to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem +of her unusual mood, a schooner shifted her +mainsail in the light breeze and set her course for +the inlet. + +"That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. +"She's making for Farguson's ship-yard. +She runs between Amboy and Barnegat--Captain +Ambrose Farguson sails her." At times like these +any topic was good enough to begin on. + +"How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at +the incoming schooner from under her half-closed +lids. The voice came like the thin piping of a +flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded +so as to let everybody know it was present. + +"One of my carriages was shipped by her. I +paid Captain Farguson the freight just before I +went away." + +"What's her name?"--slight tremolo--only a +note or two. + +"The Polly Walters," droned Max, talking at +random, mind neither on the sloop nor her captain. + +"Named after his wife?" The flute-like notes +came more crisply. + +"Yes, so he told me." Max had now ceased to +give any attention to his answers. He had about +made up his mind that something serious was the +matter and that he would ask her and find out. + +"Ought to be called the Max Feilding, from the +way she tacks about. She's changed her course three +times since I've been watching her." + +Max shot a glance athwart his shoulder and caught +a glimpse of the pretty lips thinned and straightened +and the half-closed eyes and wrinkled forehead. +He was evidently the disturbing cause, but in what +way he could not for the life of him see. That she +was angry to the tips of her fingers was beyond question; +the first time he had seen her thus in all their +acquaintance. + +"Yes-that would fit her exactly," he answered +with a smile and with a certain soothing tone in his +voice. "Every tack her captain makes brings him +the nearer to the woman he loves." + +"Rather poetic, Max, but slightly farcical. +Every tack you make lands you in a different port-- +with a woman waiting in every one of them." The +first notes of the overture had now been struck. + +"No one was waiting in Philadelphia for me +except Sue, and I only met her by accident," he +said good-naturedly, and in a tone that showed he +would not quarrel, no matter what the provocation; +"she came in to see her doctor. Didn't stay an +hour." + +"Did you take her driving?" This came in a +thin, piccolo tone-barely enough room for it to +escape through her lips. All the big drums and +heavy brass were now being moved up. + +"No; had nothing to take her out in. Why do +you ask? What has happened, little--" + +"Take anybody else?" she interrupted. + +"No." + +He spoke quite frankly and simply. At any other +time she would have believed him. She had always +done so in matters of this kind, partly because she +didn't much care and partly because she made it a +point never to doubt the word of a man, either by +suspicion or inference, who was attentive to her. +This time she did care, and she intended to tell him +so. All she dreaded was that the big horns and +the tom-toms would get away from her leadership +and the hoped-for, correctly played symphony end +in an uproar. + +"Max," she said, turning her head and lifting +her finger at him with the movement of a conductor's +baton, "how can you lie to me like that? You never +went near your lawyer; you went to see Miss Billeton, +and you've spent every minute with her since +you left me. Don't tell me you didn't. I know +everything you've done, and--" Bass drums, bass +viols, bassoons--everything--was loose now. + +She had given up her child to be with him! +Everything, in fact--all her people at Yardley; her +dear old nurse. She had lied to Jane about chaperoning +Sue--all to come down and keep him from being +lonely. What she wanted was a certain confidence +in return. It made not the slightest difference to +her how many women he loved, or how many women +loved him; she didn't love him, and she never would; +but unless she was treated differently from a child +and like the woman that she was, she was going +straight back to Yardley, and then back to Paris, +etc., etc. + +She knew, as she rushed on in a flood of abuse such +as only a woman can let loose when she is thoroughly +jealous and entirely angry, that she was destroying +the work of months of plotting, and that he would +be lost to her forever, but she was powerless to check +the torrent of her invective. Only when her breath +gave out did she stop. + +Max had sat still through it all, his eyes expressing +first astonishment and then a certain snap of +admiration, as he saw the color rising and falling in +her cheeks. It was not the only time in his experience +that he had had to face similar outbursts. It +was the first time, however, that he had not felt like +striking back. Other women's outbreaks had bored +him and generally had ended his interest in them-- +this one was more charming than ever. He liked, +too, her American pluck and savage independence. +Jealous she certainly was, but there was no whine +about it; nor was there any flop at the close--floppy +women he detested--had always done so. Lucy +struck straight out from her shoulder and feared +nothing. + +As she raged on, the grays beating the water with +their well-polished hoofs, he continued to sit perfectly +still, never moving a muscle of his face nor +changing his patient. tolerant expression. The best +plan, he knew, was to let all the steam out of the +boiler and then gradually rake the fires. + +"My dear little woman,"' he began, "to tell you +the truth, I never laid eyes on Morton; didn't want +to, in fact. All that was an excuse to get away. I +thought you wanted a rest, and I went away to let +you have it. Miss Billeton I haven't seen for three +months, and couldn't if I would, for she is engaged +to her cousin and is now in Paris buying her wedding +clothes. I don't know who has been humbugging +you, but they've done it very badly. There is +not one word of truth in what you've said from beginning +to end." + +There is a certain ring in a truthful statement +that overcomes all doubts. Lucy felt this before +Max had finished. She felt, too, with a sudden thrill, +that she still held him. Then there came the instantaneous +desire to wipe out all traces of the outburst +and keep his good-will. + +"And you swear it?" she asked, her belief already +asserting itself in her tones, her voice falling +to its old seductive pitch. + +"On my honor as a man," he answered simply. + +For a time she remained silent, her mind working +behind her mask of eyes and lips, the setting sun +slanting across the beach and lighting up her face +and hair, the grays splashing the suds with their +impatient feet. Max kept his gaze upon her. He +saw that the outbreak was over and that she was a +little ashamed of her tirade. He saw, too, man of the +world as he was, that she was casting about in her +mind for some way in which she could regain for herself +her old position without too much humiliation. + +"Don't say another word, little woman," he said +in his kindest tone. "You didn't mean a word of +it; you haven't been well lately, and I oughtn't to +have left you. Tighten up your reins; we'll drive +on if you don't mind." + +That night after the moon had set and the lights +had been turned out along the boardwalk and the +upper and lower porticos and all Beach Haven had +turned in for the night, and Lucy had gone to her +apartments, and Mr. and Mrs. Coates and the rest of +them, single and double, were asleep, Max, who had +been pacing up and down his dressing-room, stopped +suddenly before his mirror, and lifting the shade +from the lamp, made a critical examination of his +face. + +"Forty, and I look it!" he said, pinching his +chin with his thumb and forefinger, and turning his +cheek so that the light would fall on the few gray +hairs about his temples. "That beggar Miggs said +so yesterday at the club. By gad, how pretty she +was, and how her eyes snapped! I didn't think it +was in her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + + +THE SWEDE'S STORY + + +Captain Holt had selected his crew--picked surfmen, +every one of them--and the chief of the bureau +had endorsed the list without comment or inquiry. +The captain's own appointment as keeper of the new +Life-Saving Station was due as much to his knowledge +of men as to his skill as a seaman, and so when +his list was sent in--men he said he could "vouch +for"--it took but a moment for the chief to write +"Approved" across its face. + +Isaac Polhemus came first: Sixty years of age, +silent, gray, thick-set; face scarred and seamed by +many weathers, but fresh as a baby's; two china-blue +eyes--peep-holes through which you looked into his +open heart; shoulders hard and tough as cordwood +hands a bunch of knots; legs like snubbing-posts, +body quick-moving; brain quick-thinking; alert as +a dog when on duty, calm as a sleepy cat beside a +stove when his time was his own. Sixty only in +years, this man; forty in strength and in skill, twenty +in suppleness, and a one-year-old toddling infant in +all that made for guile. "Uncle Ike" some of the +younger men once called him, wondering behind +their hands whether he was not too old and believing +all the time that he was. "Uncle Ike" they still +called him, but it was a title of affection and pride; +affection for the man underneath the blue woollen +shirt, and pride because they were deemed worthy +to pull an oar beside him. + +The change took place the winter before when he +was serving at Manasquan and when he pulled four +men single-handed from out of a surf that would have +staggered the bravest. There was no life-boat within +reach and no hand to help. It was at night--a +snowstorm raging and the sea a corral of hungry +beasts fighting the length of the beach. The shipwrecked +crew had left their schooner pounding on the +outer bar, and finding their cries drowned by the +roar of the waters, had taken to their boat. She +came bow on, the sea-drenched sailors clinging to +her sides. Uncle Isaac Polhemus caught sight of +her just as a savage pursuing roller dived under her +stern, lifted the frail shell on its broad back, and +whirled it bottom side up and stern foremost on to +the beach. Dashing into the suds, he jerked two of the +crew to their feet before they knew what had struck +them; then sprang back for the others clinging to +the seats and slowly drowning in the smother. Twice +he plunged headlong after them, bracing himself +against the backsuck, then with the help of his steel- +like grip all four were dragged clear of the souse. +Ever after it was "Uncle Isaac" or "that old hang- +on," but always with a lifting of the chin in pride. + +Samuel Green came next: Forty-five, long, Lincoln +-bodied, and bony; coal-black hair, coal-black +eyes, and charcoal-black mustache; neck like a +loop in standing rigging; arms long as cant-hooks, +with the steel grips for fingers; sluggish in movement +and slow in action until the supreme moment of danger +tautened his nerves to breaking point; then came +an instantaneous spring, quick as the recoil of a +parted hawser. All his life a fisherman except the +five years he spent in the Arctic and the year he +served at Squan; later he had helped in the volunteer +crew alongshore. Loving the service, he had sent +word over to Captain Holt that he'd like "to be put +on," to which the captain had sent back word by the +same messenger "Tell him he IS put on." And he +WAS, as soon as the papers were returned from Washington. +Captain Nat had no record to look up or inquiries +to make as to the character or fitness of Sam +Green. He was the man who the winter before had +slipped a rope about his body, plunged into the surf +and swam out to the brig Gorgus and brought back +three out of the five men lashed to the rigging, all too +benumbed to make fast the shot-line fired across her +deck. + +Charles Morgan's name followed in regular order, +and then Parks--men who had sailed with Captain +Holt, and whose word and pluck he could depend +upon; and Mulligan from Barnegat, who could pull +a boat with the best of them; and last, and least in +years, those two slim, tightly knit, lithe young tiger- +cats, Tod and Archie. + +Captain Nat had overhauled each man and had +inspected him as closely as he would have done the +timber for a new mast or the manila to make its +rigging. Here was a service that required cool heads, +honest hearts, and the highest technical skill, and the +men under him must be sound to the core. He intended +to do his duty, and so should every man +subject to his orders. The Government had trusted +him and he held himself responsible. This would +probably be his last duty, and it would be well done. +He was childless, sixty-five years old, and had been +idle for years. Now he would show his neighbors +something of his skill and his power to command. +He did not need the pay; he needed the occupation +and the being in touch with the things about him. +For the last fifteen or more years he had nursed a +sorrow and lived the life almost of a recluse. It +was time he threw it off. + +During the first week of service, with his crew +about him, he explained to them in minute detail +their several duties. Each day in the week would +have its special work: Monday would be beach drill, +practising with the firing gun and line and the safety +car. Tuesday was boat drill; running the boat on +its wagon to the edge of the sea, unloading it, and +pushing it into the surf, each man in his place, oars +poised, the others springing in and taking their +seats beside their mates. On Wednesdays flag drills; +practising with the international code of signals, so +as to communicate with stranded vessels. Thursdays, +beach apparatus again. Friday, resuscitation +of drowning men. Saturday, scrub-day; every man +except himself and the cook (each man was cook in +turn for a week) on his knees with bucket and brush, +and every floor, chair, table, and window scoured +clean. Sunday, a day of rest, except for the beach +patrol, which at night never ceased, and which by +day only ceased when the sky was clear of snow and +fog. + +This night patrol would be divided into watches +of four hours each at eight, twelve, and four. Two +of the crew were to make the tramp of the beach, +separating opposite the Station, one going south two +and a half miles to meet the surfman from the next +Station, and the other going north to the inlet; exchanging +their brass checks each with the other, as +a record of their faithfulness. + +In addition to these brass checks each patrol would +carry three Coston signal cartridges in a water-proof +box, and a holder into which they were fitted, the +handle having an igniter working on a spring to +explode the cartridge, which burned a red light. +These will-o'-the-wisps, flashed suddenly from out a +desolate coast, have sent a thrill of hope through the +heart of many a man clinging to frozen rigging or +lashed to some piece of wreckage that the hungry +surf, lying in wait, would pounce upon and chew +to shreds. + +The men listened gravely to the captain's words +and took up their duties. Most of them knew them +before, and no minute explanations were necessary. +Skilled men understand the value of discipline and +prefer it to any milder form of government. Archie +was the only member who raised his eyes in astonishment +when the captain, looking his way, mentioned +the scrubbing and washing, each man to take +his turn, but he made no reply except to nudge Tod +and say under his breath: + +"Wouldn't you like to see Aunt Lucy's face when +she comes some Saturday morning? She'll be +pleased, won't she?" As to the cooking, that did not +bother him; he and Tod had cooked many a meal +on Fogarty's stove, and mother Fogarty had always +said Archie could beat her any day making biscuit +and doughnuts and frying ham. + +Before the second week was out the Station had +fallen into its regular routine. The casual visitor +during the sunny hours of the soft September days +when practice drill was over might see only a lonely +house built on the sand; and upon entering, a few +men leaning back in their chairs against the wall of +the living-room reading the papers or smoking their +pipes, and perhaps a few others leisurely overhauling +the apparatus, making minor repairs, or polishing +up some detail the weather had dulled. At night, +too, with the radiance of the moon making a pathway +of silver across the gentle swell of the sleepy surf, +he would doubtless wonder at their continued idle +life as he watched the two surfmen separate and begin +their walk up and down the beach radiant in the +moonlight. But he would change his mind should +he chance upon a north-easterly gale, the sea a froth +in which no boat could live, the slant of a sou'wester +the only protection against the cruel lash of the wind. +If this glimpse was not convincing, let him stand in +the door of their house in the stillness of a winter's +night, and catch the shout and rush of the crew tumbling +from their bunks at the cry of "Wreck +ashore!" from the lips of some breathless patrol +who had stumbled over sand-dunes or plunged +through snowdrifts up to his waist to give warning. +It will take less than a minute to swing wide the +doors, grapple the life-boat and apparatus and whirl +them over the dunes to the beach; and but a moment +more to send a solid shot flying through the air on +its mission of mercy. And there is no time lost. +Ten men have been landed in forty-five minutes +through or over a surf that could be heard for miles; +rescuers and rescued half dead. But no man let +go his grip nor did any heart quail. Their duty was +in front of them; that was what the Government paid +for, and that was what they would earn--every +penny of it. + +The Station house in order, the captain was ready +for visitors--those he wanted. Those he did not +want--the riffraff of the ship-yard and the loungers +about the taverns--he told politely to stay away; and +as the land was Government property and his will +supreme, he was obeyed. + +Little Ellen had been the first guest, and by special +invitation. + +"All ready, Miss Jane, for you and the doctor +and the Pond Lily; bring her down any time. That's +what kind o' makes it lonely lyin' shut up with the +men. We ain't got no flowers bloomin' 'round, and +the sand gits purty white and blank-lookin' sometimes. +Bring her down, you and the doctor; she's +better'n a pot full o' daisies." + +The doctor, thus commanded, brought her over +in his gig, Jane, beside him, holding the child in +her lap. And Archie helped them out, lifting his +good mother in his arms clear of the wheel, skirts +and all--the crew standing about looking on. Some +of them knew Jane and came in for a hearty handshake, +and all of them knew the doctor. There was +hardly a man among them whose cabin he had not +visited--not once, but dozens of times. + +With her fair cheeks, golden curls, and spotless +frock, the child, among those big men, some in their +long hip boots and rough reefing jackets, looked like +some fairy that had come in with the morning mist +and who might be off on the next breeze. + +Archie had her hugged close to his breast and +had started in to show her the cot where he slept, +the kitchen where he was to cook, and the peg in the +hall where he hung his sou'wester and tarpaulins-- +every surfman had his peg, order being imperative +with Captain Nat--when that old sea-dog caught the +child out of the young fellow's arms and placed her +feet on the sand. + +"No, Cobden,"--that was another peculiarity of +the captain's,--every man went by his last name, +and he had begun with Archie to show the men he +meant it. "No, that little posy is mine for to-day. +Come along, you rosebud; I'm goin' to show you +the biggest boat you ever saw, and a gun on wheels; +and I've got a lot o' shells the men has been pickin' +up for ye. Oh, but you're goin' to have a beautiful +time, lassie!" + +The child looked up in the captain's face, and her +wee hand tightened around his rough stubs of fingers. +Archie then turned to Jane and with Tod's help the +three made a tour of the house, the doctor following, +inspecting the captain's own room with its desk and +papers, the kitchen with all its appointments, the +outhouse for wood and coal, the staircase leading to +the sleeping-rooms above, and at the very top the +small ladder leading to the cupola on the roof, where +the lookout kept watch on clear days for incoming +steamers. On their return Mulligan spread a white +oil-cloth on the pine table and put out a china plate +filled with some cake that he had baked the night +before, and which Green supplemented by a pitcher +of water from the cistern. + +Each one did something to please her. Archie +handed her the biggest piece of cake on the dish, +and Uncle Isaac left the room in a hurry and +stumbling upstairs went through his locker and +hauled out the head of a wooden doll which he had +picked up on the beach in one of his day patrols +and which he had been keeping for one of his grand- +children--all blighted with the sun and scarred with +salt water, but still showing a full set of features, +much to Ellen's delight; and Sam Green told her +of his own little girl, just her age, who lived up in +the village and whom he saw every two weeks, and +whose hair was just the color of hers. Meanwhile +the doctor chatted with the men, and Jane, with her +arm locked in Archie's, so proud and so tender over +him, inspected each appointment and comfort of the +house with ever-increasing wonder. + +And so, with the visit over, the gig was loaded +up, and with Ellen waving her hand to the men +and kissing her finger-tips in true French style +to the captain and Archie, and the crew responding +in a hearty cheer, the party drove, past the +old House of Refuge, and so on back to Warehold +and Yardley. + +One August afternoon, some days after this visit, +Tod stood in the door of the Station looking out to +sea. The glass had been falling all day and a dog- +day haze had settled down over the horizon. This, +as the afternoon advanced, had become so thick that +the captain had ordered out the patrols, and Archie +and Green were already tramping the beach--Green +to the inlet and Archie to meet the surfmen of the +station below. Park, who was cook this week, had +gone to the village for supplies, and so the captain +and Tod were alone in the house, the others, with the +exception of Morgan, who was at his home in the village +with a sprained ankle, being at work some distance +away on a crosshead over which the life-line +was always fired in gun practice. + +Suddenly Tod, who was leaning against the jamb +of the door speculating over what kind of weather +the night would bring, and wondering whether the +worst of it would fall in his watch, jerked his neck +out of his woollen shirt and strained his eyes in the +direction of the beach until they rested upon the +figure of a man slowly making his way over the +dunes. As he passed the old House of Refuge, some +hundreds of yards below, he stopped for a moment +as if undecided on his course, looked ahead again at +the larger house of the Station, and then, as if reassured, +came stumbling on, his gait showing his +want of experience in avoiding the holes and tufts +of grass cresting the dunes. His movements were +so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood +that Tod stepped out on the low porch of the +Station to get a better view of him. + +From the man's dress, and from his manner of +looking about him, as if feeling his way, Tod concluded +that he was a stranger and had tramped the +beach for the first time. At the sight of the surfman +the man left the dune, struck the boat path, and +walked straight toward the porch. + +"Kind o' foggy, ain't it?" + +"Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face +and figure, particularly his clothes, which were +queerly cut and with a foreign air about them. He +saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not +over thirty years of age. + +"You work here?" continued the stranger, mounting +the steps and coming closer, his eyes taking in +Tod, the porch, and the view of the sitting-room +through the open window. + +"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes +still on the man's face. + +"Good job, is it?" he asked, unbuttoning his +coat. + +"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and +enough to do." He had resumed his position against +the jamb of the door and stood perfectly impassive, +without offering any courtesy of any kind. Strangers +who asked questions were never very welcome. Then, +again, the inquiry about his private life nettled +him. + +The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked +about for a seat, settled down on the top step of the +porch, pulled his cap from his head, and wiped the +sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. +Then he said slowly, as if to himself: + +"I took the wrong road and got consid'able het +up." + +Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a +red cotton handkerchief, but made no reply. Curiosity +is not the leading characteristic of men who +follow the sea. + +"Is the head man around? His name's Holt, +ain't it?" continued the stranger, replacing his cap +and stuffing his handkerchief into the side-pocket of +his coat. + +As the words fell from his lips Tod's quick eye +caught a sudden gleam like that of a search-light +flashed from beneath the heavy eyebrows of the +speaker. + +"That's his name," answered Tod. "Want to +see him? He's inside." The surfman had not yet +changed his position nor moved a muscle of his body. +Tiger cats are often like this. + +Captain Holt's burly form stepped from the door. +He had overheard the conversation, and not recognizing +the voice had come to find out what the man +wanted. + +"You lookin' for me? I'm Captain Holt. What +kin I do for ye?" asked the captain in his quick, +imperious way. + +"That's what he said, sir," rejoined Tod, bringing +himself to an erect position in deference to his chief. + +The stranger rose from his seat and took his cap +from his head. + +"I'm out o' work, sir, and want a job, and I +thought you might take me on." + +Tod was now convinced that the stranger was a +foreigner. No man of Tod's class ever took his hat +off to his superior officer. They had other ways of +showing their respect for his authority--instant obedience, +before and behind his back, for instance. + +The captain's eyes absorbed the man from his +thick shoes to his perspiring hair. + +"Norwegian, ain't ye?" + +"No, sir; Swede." + +"Not much difference. When did ye leave +Sweden? You talk purty good." + +"When I was a boy." + +"What kin ye do?" + +"I'm a good derrick man and been four years with +a coaler." + +"You want steady work, I suppose." + +The stranger nodded. + +"Well, I ain't got it. Gov'ment app'ints our men. +This is a Life-Saving Station." + +The stranger stood twisting his cap. The first +statement seemed to make but little impression on +him; the second aroused a keener interest. + +"Yes, I know. Just new built, ain't it? and you +just put in charge? Captain Nathaniel Holt's your +name--am I right?" + +"Yes, you're just right." And the captain, dismissing +the man and the incident from his mind, +turned on his heel, walked the length of the +narrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the +blurred horizon line. The twilight was now deepening +and a red glow shimmered through the settling +fog. + +"Fogarty!" cried the captain, beckoning over his +shoulder with his head. + +Tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick +in reply as if two steel springs were fastened to his +heels. + +"Looks rather soapy, Fogarty. May come on +thick. Better take a turn to the inlet and see if that +yawl is in order. We might have to cross it to-night. +We can't count on this weather. When you meet +Green send him back here. That shot-line wants +overhaulin'." Here the captain hesitated and looked +intently at the stranger. "And here, you Swede," +he called in a louder tone of command, "you go +'long and lend a hand, and when you come back I'll +have some supper for ye." + +One of Tod's springs must have slid under the +Swede's shoes. Either the prospect of a meal or of +having a companion to whom he could lend a hand-- +nothing so desolate as a man out of work--a stranger +at that--had put new life into his hitherto lethargic +body. + +"This way," said Tod, striding out toward the +surf. + +The Swede hurried to his side and the two crossed +the boat runway, ploughed through the soft drift of +the dune, and striking the hard, wet sand of the +beach, headed for the inlet. Tod having his high, +waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the +incoming surf, the half-circles of suds swashing past +his feet and spreading themselves up the slope. The +sand was wet here and harder on that account, and +the walking better. The Swede took the inside course +nearer the shore. Soon Tod began to realize that +the interest the captain had shown in the unknown +man and the brief order admitting him for a time +to membership in the crew placed the stranger on a +different footing. He was, so to speak, a comrade +and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy. +This clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more +freedom; not that he had any additional interest in +the man--he only meant to be polite. + +"What you been workin' at?" he asked, kicking +an empty tin can that the tide had rolled within his +reach. Work is the universal topic; the weather is +too serious a subject to chatter about lightly. + +"Last year or two?" asked the Swede, quickening +his pace to keep up. Tod's steel springs always kept +their original temper while the captain's orders were +being executed and never lost their buoyancy until +these orders were entirely carried out. + +"Yes," replied Tod. + +"Been a-minin'; runnin' the ore derricks and the +shaft h'isters. What you been doin'?" And the +man glanced at Tod from under his cap. + +"Fishin'. See them poles out there? You kin +just git sight o' them in the smoke. Them's my +father's. He's out there now, I guess, if he ain't +come in." + +"You live 'round here?" The man's legs were +shorter than Tod's, and he was taking two steps to +Tod's one. + +"Yes, you passed the House o' Refuge, didn't +ye, comin' up? I was watchin' ye. Well, you saw +that cabin with the fence 'round it?" + +"Yes; the woman told me where I'd find the +cap'n. You know her, I s'pose?" asked the Swede. + +"Yes, she's my mother, and that's my home. I +was born there." Tod's words were addressed to the +perspective of the beach and to the way the haze +blurred the horizon; surfmen rarely see anything +else when walking on the beach, whether on or off +duty. + +"You know everybody 'round here, don't you?" +remarked the Swede in a casual tone. The same +quick, inquiring glance shot out of the man's +eyes. + +"Yes, guess so," answered Tod with another kick. +Here the remains of an old straw hat shared the fate +of the can. + +"You ever heard tell of a woman named Lucy +Cobden, lives 'round here somewheres?" + +Tod came to a halt as suddenly as if he had run +into a derelict. + +"I don't know no WOMAN," he answered slowly, +accentuating the last word. "I know a LADY named +Miss Jane Cobden. Why?" and he scrutinized the +man's face. + +"One I mean's got a child--big now--must be +fifteen or twenty years old--girl, ain't it?" + +"No, it's a boy. He's one of the crew here; his +name's Archie Cobden. Me and him's been brothers +since we was babies. What do you know about him?" +Tod had resumed his walk, but at a slower pace. + +"Nothin'; that's why I ask." The man had also +become interested in the flotsam of the beach, and +had stopped to pick up a dam-shell which he shied +into the surf. Then he added slowly, and as if not +to make a point of the inquiry, "Is she alive?" + +"Yes. Here this week. Lives up in Warehold +in that big house with the brick gate-posts." + +The man walked on for some time in silence and +then asked: + +"You're sure the child is livin' and that the +mother's name is Jane?" + +"Sure? Don't I tell ye Cobden's in the crew and +Miss Jane was here this week! He's up the beach +on patrol or you'd 'a' seen him when you fust struck +the Station." + +The stranger quickened his steps. The information +seemed to have put new life into him again. + +"Did you ever hear of a man named Bart Holt," +he asked, "who used to be 'round here?" Neither +man was looking at the other as they talked. The +conversation was merely to pass the time of day. + +"Yes; he's the captain's son. Been dead for years. +Died some'er's out in Brazil, so I've heard my father +say. Had fever or something." + +The Swede walked on in silence for some minutes. +Then he stopped, faced Tod, took hold of the lapel +of his coat, and said slowly, as he peered into his +eyes: + +"He ain't dead, no more'n you and I be. I worked +for him for two years. He run the mines on a percentage. +I got here last week, and he sent me down +to find out how the land lay. If the woman was +dead I was to say nothing and come back. If she +was alive I was to tell the captain, his father, where +a letter could reach him. They had some bad blood +'twixt 'em, but he didn't tell me what it was about. +He may come home here to live, or he may go back +to the mines; it's just how the old man takes it. +That's what I've got to say to him. How do you +think he'll take it?" + +For a moment Tod made no reply. He was trying +to make up his mind what part of the story was +true and what part was skilfully put together to provide, +perhaps, additional suppers. The improbability +of the whole affair struck him with unusual +force. Raising hopes of a long-lost son in the breast +of a father was an old dodge and often meant the +raising of money. + +"Well, I can't say," Tod answered carelessly; he +had his own opinion now of the stranger. "You'll +have to see the captain about that. If the man's +alive it's rather funny he ain't showed up all these +years." + +"Well, keep mum 'bout it, will ye, till I talk to +him? Here comes one o' your men." + +Green's figure now loomed up out of the mist. + +"Where away, Tod?" the approaching surfman +cried when he joined the two. + +"Captain wants me to look after the yawl," answered +Tod. + +"It's all right," cried Green; "I just left it. Went +down a-purpose. Who's yer friend?" + +"A man the cap'n sent along to lend a hand. This +is Sam Green," and he turned to the Swede and +nodded to his brother surfman. + +The two shook hands. The stranger had not volunteered +his name and Tod had not asked for it. +Names go for little among men who obey orders; +they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, +but they do not add to the value of the owner +or help his standing in any way. "Shorty" or +"Fatty" or "Big Mike" is all sufficient. What the +man can DO and how he does it, is more important. + +"No use goin' to the inlet," continued Green. +"I'll report to the captain. Come along back. I +tell ye it's gettin' thick," and he looked out across +the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dim +twilight. + +The three turned and retraced their steps. + +Tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house +ahead of the others. Not only did he intend to tell +the captain of what he had heard, but he intended to +tell him at once. + +Captain Holt was in his private room, sitting at +his desk, busy over his monthly report. A swinging +kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling threw a light +full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of gray +whiskers. Tod stepped in and closed the door behind +him. + +"I didn't go to the inlet, sir. Green had thought +of the yawl and had looked after it; he'll report to +you about it. I just heard a strange yarn from that +fellow you sent with me and I want to tell ye what +it is." + +The captain laid down his pen, pushed his glasses +from his eyes, and looked squarely into Tod's face. + +"He's been askin' 'bout Miss Jane Cobden and +Archie, and says your son Bart is alive and sent him +down here to find out how the land lay. It's a cock- +and-bull story, but I give it to you just as I got it." + +Once in the South Seas the captain awoke to look +into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shot-gun held +in the hand of the leader of a mutiny. The next +instant the man was on the floor, the captain's fingers +twisted in his throat. + +Tod's eyes were now the barrels of that gun. No +cat-like spring followed; only a cold, stony stare, +as if he were awaking from a concussion that had +knocked the breath out of him. + +"He says Bart's ALIVE!" he gasped. "Who? +That feller I sent with ye?" + +"Yes." + +The captain's face grew livid and then flamed up, +every vein standing clear, his eyes blazing. + +"He's a liar! A dirty liar! Bring him in!" +Each word hissed from his lips like an explosive. + +Tod opened the door of the sitting-room and the +Swede stepped in. The captain whirled his chair +suddenly and faced him. Anger, doubt, and the +flicker of a faint hope were crossing his face with +the movement of heat lightning. + +"You know my son, you say?" + +"I do." The answer was direct and the tone +positive. + +"What's his name?" + +"Barton Holt. He signs it different, but that's +his name." + +"How old is he?" The pitch of the captain's +voice had altered. He intended to riddle the man's +statement with a cross-fire of examination. + +"'Bout forty, maybe forty-five. He never told + +"What kind of eyes?" + +"Brown, like yours." + +"What kind of hair?" + +"Curly. It's gray now; he had fever, and it +turned." + +"Where--when?" Hope and fear were now +struggling for the mastery. + +"Two years ago--when I first knew him; we were +in hospital together." + +"What's he been doin'?" The tone was softer. +Hope seemed to be stronger now. + +"Mining out in Brazil." + +The captain took his eyes from the face of the +man and asked in something of his natural tone of +voice: + +"Where is he now?" + +The Swede put his hand in his inside pocket and +took out a small time-book tied around with a piece +of faded tape. This he slowly unwound, Tod's and +the captain's eyes following every turn of his fingers. +Opening the book, he glanced over the leaves, found +the one he was looking for, tore it carefully from the +book, and handed it to the captain. + +"That's his writing. If you want to see him send +him a line to that address. It'll reach him all right. +If you don't want to see him he'll go back with me to +Rio. I don't want yer supper and I don't want yer +job. I done what I promised and that's all there is +to it. Good-night," and he opened the door and disappeared +in the darkness. + +Captain Holt sat with his head on his chest looking +at the floor in front of him. The light of the +banging lamp made dark shadows under his eyebrows +and under his chin whiskers. There was a +firm set to his clean-shaven lips, but the eyes burned +with a gentle light; a certain hope, positive now, +seemed to be looming up in them. + +Tod watched him for an instant, and said: + +"What do ye think of it, cap'n?" + +"I ain't made up my mind." + +"Is he lyin'?" + +"I don't know. Seems too good to be true. He's +got some things right; some things he ain't. Keep +your mouth shut till I tell ye to open it--to Cobden, +mind ye, and everybody else. Better help Green +overhaul that line. That'll do, Fogarty." + +Tod dipped his head--his sign of courteous assent +--and backed out of the room. The captain continued +motionless, his eyes fixed on space. Once he +turned, picked up the paper, scrutinized the handwriting +word for word, and tossed it back on the +desk. Then he rose from his seat and began pacing +the floor, stopping to gaze at a chart on the wall, at +the top of the stove, at the pendulum of the clock, +surveying them leisurely. Once he looked out of the +window at the flare of light from his swinging lamp, +stencilled on the white sand and the gray line of the +dunes beyond. At each of these resting-places his +face assumed a different expression; hope, fear, and +anger again swept across it as his judgment struggled +with his heart. In one of his turns up and down +the small room he laid his hand on a brick lying on +the window-sill--one that had been sent by the builders +of the Station as a sample. This he turned over +carefully, examining the edges and color as if he had +seen it for the first time and had to pass judgment +upon its defects or merits. Laying it back in its +place, he threw himself into his chair again, exclaiming +aloud, as if talking to someone: + +"It ain't true. He'd wrote before if he were +alive. He was wild and keerless, but he never was +dirt-mean, and he wouldn't a-treated me so all these +years. The Swede's a liar, I tell ye!" + +Wheeling the chair around to face the desk, he +picked up a pen, dipped it into the ink, laid it back +on the desk, picked it up again, opened a drawer on +his right, took from it a sheet of official paper, and +wrote a letter of five lines. This he enclosed in the +envelope, directed to the name on the slip of paper. +Then he opened the door. + +"Fogarty." + +"Yes, cap'n." + +"Take this to the village and drop it in the post +yourself. The weather's clearin', and you won't be +wanted for a while," and he strode out and joined +his men. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + + +THE BREAKING OF THE DAWN + + +September weather on Barnegat beach! Fine +gowns and fine hats on the wide piazzas of Beach +Haven! Too cool for bathing, but not too cool to +sit on the sand and throw pebbles and loll under +kindly umbrellas; air fresh and bracing, with a touch +of June in it; skies full of mares'-tails--slips of a +painter's brush dragged flat across the film of blue; +sea gone to rest; not a ripple, no long break of the +surf, only a gentle lift and fall like the breathing +of a sleeping child. + +Uncle Isaac shook his head when he swept his +eye round at all this loveliness; then he turned on +his heel and took a look at the aneroid fastened to +the wall of the sitting-room of the Life-Saving Station. +The arrow showed a steady shrinkage. The +barometer had fallen six points. + +"What do ye think, Captain Holt?" asked the +old surfman. + +"I ain't thinkin', Polhemus; can't tell nothin' +'bout the weather this month till the moon changes; +may go on this way for a week or two, or it may let +loose and come out to the sou'-east I've seen these +dog-days last till October." + +Again Uncle Isaac shook his head, and this time +kept his peace; now that his superior officer had +spoken he had no further opinion to express. + +Sam Green dropped his feet to the floor, swung +himself over to the barometer, gazed at it for a +moment, passed out of the door, swept his eye around, +and resumed his seat--tilted back against the wall. +What his opinion might be was not for publication-- +not in the captain's hearing. + +Captain Holt now consulted the glass, picked up +his cap bearing the insignia of his rank, and went +out through the kitchen to the land side of the house. +The sky and sea--feathery clouds and still, oily flatness +--did not interest him this September morning. +It was the rolling dune that caught his eye, and the +straggly path that threaded its way along the marshes +and around and beyond the clump of scrub pines +and bushes until it was lost in the haze that hid the +village. This land inspection had been going on for +a month, and always when Tod was returning from +the post-office with the morning mail. The men had +noticed it, but no one had given vent to his thoughts. + +Tod, of course, knew the cause of the captain's +impatience, but no one of the others did, not even +Archie; time enough for that when the Swede's +story was proved true. If the fellow had lied that +was an end to it; if he had told the truth Bart would +answer, and the mystery be cleared up. This same +silence had been maintained toward Jane and the +doctor; better not raise hopes he could not verify-- +certainly not in Jane's breast. + +Not that he had much hope himself; he dared +not hope. Hope meant a prop to his old age; hope +meant joy to Jane, who would welcome the prodigal; +hope meant relief to the doctor, who could then +claim his own; hope meant redemption for Lucy, a +clean name for Archie, and honor to himself and +his only son. + +No wonder, then, that he watched for an answer +to his letter with feverish impatience. His own missive +had been blunt and to the point, asking the direct +question: "Are you alive or dead, and if alive, why +did you fool me with that lie about your dying of +fever in a hospital and keep me waiting all these +years?" Anything more would have been superfluous +in the captain's judgment--certainly until he +received some more definite information as to +whether the man was his son. + +Half a dozen times this lovely September morning +the captain had strolled leisurely out of the back door +and had mounted the low hillock for a better view. +Suddenly a light flashed in his face, followed by a +look in his eyes that they had not known for weeks-- +not since the Swede left. The light came when his +glance fell upon Tod's lithe figure swinging along +the road; the look kindled when he saw Tod stop +and wave his hand triumphantly over his head. + +The letter had arrived! + +With a movement as quick as that of a horse +touched by a whip, he started across the sand to meet +the surfman. + +"Guess we got it all right this time, captain," +cried Tod. "It's got the Nassau postmark, anyhow. +There warn't nothin' else in the box but the +newspapers," and he handed the package to his chief. + +The two walked to the house and entered the captain's +office. Tod hung back, but the captain laid +his hand on his shoulder. + +"Come in with me, Fogarty. Shut the door. I'll +send these papers in to the men soon's I open this." + +Tod obeyed mechanically. There was a tone in the +captain's voice that was new to him. It sounded as +if he were reluctant to be left alone with the letter. + +"Now hand me them spectacles." + +Tod reached over and laid the glasses in his chief's +hand. The captain settled himself deliberately in +his revolving chair, adjusted his spectacles, and +slit the envelope with his thumb-nail. Out came a +sheet of foolscap closely written on both sides. This +he read to the end, turning the page as carefully as +if it had been a set of official instructions, his face +growing paler and paler, his mouth tight shut. Tod +stood beside him watching the lights and shadows +playing across his face. The letter was as follows: + +"Nassau, No. 4 Calle Valenzuela, + +"Aug. 29, 18--. + +"Father: Your letter was not what I expected, +although it is, perhaps, all I deserve. I am not going +into that part of it, now I know that Lucy and my +child are alive. What has been done in the past I +can't undo, and maybe I wouldn't if I could, for if +I am worth anything to-day it comes from what I +have suffered; that's over now, and I won't rake it +up, but I think you would have written me some +word of kindness if you had known what I have +gone through since I left you. I don't blame you for +what you did--I don't blame anybody; all I want +now is to get back home among the people who knew +me when I was a boy, and try and make up for the +misery I have caused you and the Cobdens. I would +have done this before, but it has only been for the +last two years that I have had any money. I have +got an interest in the mine now and am considerably +ahead, and I can do what I have always determined +to do if I ever had the chance and means--come home +to Lucy and the child; it must be big now--and take +them back with me to Bolivia, where I have a good +home and where, in a few years, I shall be able to +give them everything they need. That's due to her +and to the child, and it's due to you; and if she'll +come I'll do my best to make her happy while she +lives. I heard about five years ago from a man who +worked for a short time in Farguson's ship-yard how +she was suffering, and what names the people called +the child, and my one thought ever since has been to +do the decent thing by both. I couldn't then, for I +was living in a hut back in the mountains a thousand +miles from the coast, or tramping from place to +place; so I kept still. He told me, too, how you felt +toward me, and I didn't want to come and have bad +blood between us, and so I stayed on. When Olssen +Strom, my foreman, sailed for Perth Amboy, where +they are making some machinery for the company, I +thought I'd try again, so I sent him to find out. One +thing in your letter is wrong. I never went to the +hospital with yellow fever; some of the men had it +aboard ship, and I took one of them to the ward the +night I ran away. The doctor at the hospital wanted +my name, and I gave it, and this may have been +how they thought it was me, but I did not intend to +deceive you or anybody else, nor cover up any tracks. +Yes, father, I'm coming home. If you'll hold out +your hand to me I'll take it gladly. I've had a hard +time since I left you; you'd forgive me if you knew +how hard it has been. I haven't had anybody out +here to care whether I lived or died, and I would +like to see how it feels. But if you don't I can't help +it. My hope is that Lucy and the boy will feel +differently. There is a steamer sailing from here +next Wednesday; she goes direct to Amboy, and you +may expect me on her. Your son, + +"Barton." + +"It's him, Tod," cried the captain, shaking the +letter over his head; "it's him!" The tears stood +in his eyes now, his voice trembled; his iron nerve +was giving way. "Alive, and comin' home! Be +here next week! Keep the door shut, boy, till I pull +myself together. Oh, my God, Tod, think of it! I +haven't had a day's peace since I druv him out nigh +on to twenty year ago. He hurt me here"--and +he pointed to his breast--"where I couldn't forgive +him. But it's all over now. He's come to himself +like a man, and he's square and honest, and he's goin' +to stay home till everything is straightened out. O +God! it can't be true! it CAN'T be true!" + +He was sobbing now, his face hidden by his wrist +and the cuff of his coat, the big tears striking his pea- +jacket and bounding off. It had been many years +since these springs had yielded a drop--not when +anybody could see. They must have scalded his +rugged cheeks as molten metal scalds a sand-pit. + +Tod stood amazed. The outburst was a revelation. +He had known the captain ever since he could remember, +but always as an austere, exacting man. + +"I'm glad, captain," Tod said simply; "the +men'll be glad, too. Shall I tell 'em?" + +The captain raised his head. + +"Wait a minute, son." His heart was very tender, +all discipline was forgotten now; and then he +had known Tod from his boyhood. "I'll go myself +and tell 'em," and he drew his hand across his eyes +as if to dry them. "Yes, tell 'em. Come, I'll go +'long with ye and tell 'em myself. I ain't 'shamed +of the way I feel, and the men won't be 'shamed +neither." + +The sitting-room was full when he entered. Dinner +had been announced by Morgan, who was cook +that week, by shouting the glad tidings from his +place beside the stove, and the men were sitting about +in their chairs. Two fishermen who had come for +their papers occupied seats against the wall. + +The captain walked to the corner of the table, +stood behind his own chair and rested the knuckles +of one hand on the white oilcloth. The look on his +face attracted every eye. Pausing for a moment, he +turned to Polhemus and spoke to him for the others: + +"Isaac, I got a letter just now. Fogarty brought +it over. You knew my boy Bart, didn't ye, the one +that's been dead nigh on to twenty years?" + +The old surfman nodded, his eyes still fastened +on the captain. This calling him "Isaac" was evidence +that something personal and unusual was coming. +The men, too, leaned forward in attention; the +story of Bart's disappearance and death had been +discussed up and down the coast for years. + +"Well, he's alive," rejoined the captain with a +triumphant tone in his voice, "and he'll be here in +a week--comin' to Amboy on a steamer. There +ain't no mistake about it; here's his letter." + +The announcement was received in dead silence. +To be surprised was not characteristic of these men, +especially over a matter of this kind. Death was a +part of their daily experience, and a resurrection +neither extraordinary nor uncommon. They were +glad for the captain, if the captain was glad--and he, +evidently was. But what did Bart's turning up at this +late day mean? Had his money given out, or was he +figuring to get something out of his father--something +he couldn't get as long as he remained dead? + +The captain continued, his voice stronger and with +a more positive ring in it: + +"He's part owner in a mine now, and he's comin' +home to see me and to straighten out some things +he's interested in." It was the first time in nearly +twenty years that he had ever been able to speak of +his son with pride. + +A ripple of pleasure went through the room. If +the prodigal was bringing some money with him and +was not to be a drag on the captain, that put a new +aspect on the situation. In that case the father was +to be congratulated. + +"Well, that's a comfort to you, captain," cried +Uncle Isaac in a cheery tone. "A good son is a +good thing. I never had one, dead or alive, but I'd +'a' loved him if I had had. I'm glad for you, Captain +Nat, and I know the men are." (Polhemus's +age and long friendship gave him this privilege. +Then, of course, the occasion was not an official one.) + +"Been at the mines, did ye say, captain?" remarked +Green. Not that it was of any interest to +him; merely to show his appreciation of the captain's +confidence. This could best be done by prolonging +the conversation. + +"Yes, up in the mountains of Brazil some'er's, I +guess, though he don't say," answered the captain in +a tone that showed that the subject was still open for +discussion. + +Mulligan now caught the friendly ball and tossed +it back 'with: + +"I knowed a feller once who was in Brazil--so he +said. Purty hot down there, ain't it, captain?" + +"Yes; on the coast. I ain't never been back in +the interior." + +Tod kept silent. It was not his time to speak, nor +would it be proper for him, nor necessary. His chief +knew his opinion and sympathies and no word of +his could add to their sincerity. + +Archie was the only man in the room, except Uncle +Isaac, who regarded the announcement as personal +to the captain. Boys without fathers and fathers +without boys had been topics which had occupied his +mind ever since he could remember. That this old +man had found one of his own whom he loved and +whom he wanted to get his arms around, was an +inspiring thought to Archie. + +"There's no one happier than I am, captain," +he burst out enthusiastically. "I've often heard +of your son, and of his going away and of your +giving him up for dead. I'm mighty glad for you," +and he grasped his chief's hand and shook it +heartily. + +As the lad's fingers closed around the rough hand +of the captain a furtive look flashed from out Morgan's +eyes. It was directed to Parks--they were +both Barnegat men--and was answered by that surfman +with a slow-falling wink. Tod saw it, and his +face flushed. Certain stories connected with Archie +rose in his mind; some out of his childhood, others +since he had joined the crew. + +The captain's eyes filled as he shook the boy's +hand, but he made no reply to Archie's outburst. +Pausing for a moment, as if willing to listen to any +further comments, and finding that no one else had +any word for him, he turned on his heel and reentered +his office. + +Once inside, he strode to the window and looked +out on the dunes, his big hands hooked behind his +back, his eyes fixed on vacancy. + +"It won't be long, now, Archie, not long, my +lad," he said in a low voice, speaking aloud to himself. +"I kin say you're my grandson out loud when +Bart comes, and nothin' kin or will stop me! And +now I kin tell Miss Jane." + +Thrusting the letter into his inside pocket, he +picked up his cap, and strode across the dune in the +direction of the new hospital. + +Jane was in one of the wards when the captain +sent word to her to come to the visiting-room. She +had been helping the doctor in an important operation. +The building was but half way between the +Station and Warehold, which made it easier for the +captain to keep his eye on the sea should there be any +change in the weather. + +Jane listened to the captain's outburst covering +the announcement that Bart was alive without a +comment. Her face paled and her breathing came +short, but she showed no signs of either joy or sorrow. +She had faced too many surprises in her life to be +startled at anything. Then again, Bart alive or dead +could make no difference now in either her own or +Lucy's future. + +The captain continued, his face brightening, his +voice full of hope: + +"And your troubles are all over now, Miss Jane; +your name will be cleared up, and so will Archie's, +and the doctor'll git his own, and Lucy kin look +everybody in the face. See what Bart says," and he +handed her the open letter. + +Jane read it word by word to the end and handed +it back to the captain. Once in the reading she +had tightened her grasp on her chair as if to steady +herself, but she did not flinch; she even read some +sentences twice, so that she might be sure of their +meaning. + +In his eagerness the captain had not caught the +expression of agony that crossed her face as her +mind, grasping the purport of the letter, began to +measure the misery that would follow if Bart's plan +was carried out. + +"I knew how ye'd feel," he went on, "and I've +been huggin' myself ever since it come when I +thought how happy ye'd be when I told ye; but I +ain't so sure 'bout Lucy. What do you think? Will +she do what Bart wants?" + +"No," said Jane in a quiet, restrained voice; +"she will not do it." + +"Why?" said the captain in a surprised tone. +He was not accustomed to be thwarted in anything +he had fixed his mind upon, and he saw from Jane's +expression that her own was in opposition. + +"Because I won't permit it." + +The captain leaned forward and looked at Jane +in astonishment. + +"You won't permit it!" + +"No, I won't permit it." + +"Why?" The word came from the captain as if +it had been shot from a gun. + +"Because it would not be right." Her eyes were +still fixed on the captain's. + +"Well, ain't it right that he should make some +amends for what he's done?" he retorted with increasing +anger. "When he said he wouldn't marry +her I druv him out; now he says he's sorry and wants +to do squarely by her and my hand's out to him. She +ain't got nothin' in her life that's doin' her any good. +And that boy's got to be baptized right and take +his father's name, Archie Holt, out loud, so everybody +kin hear." + +Jane made no answer except to shake her head. +Her eyes were still on the captain's, but her mind +was neither on him nor on what fell from his lips. +She was again confronting that spectre which for +years had lain buried and which the man before her +was exorcising back to life. + +The captain sprang from his seat and stood before +her; the words now poured from his lips in a +torrent. + +"And you'll git out from this death blanket you +been sleepin' under, bearin' her sin; breakin' the +doctor's heart and your own; and Archie kin hold +his head up then and say he's got a father. You +ain't heard how the boys talk 'bout him behind his +back. Tod Fogarty's stuck to him, but who else +is there 'round here? We all make mistakes; that's +what half the folks that's livin' do. Everything's +been a lie--nothin' but lies--for near twenty years. +You've lived a lie motherin' this boy and breakin' +your heart over the whitest man that ever stepped in +shoe leather. Doctor John's lived a lie, tellin' folks +he wanted to devote himself to his hospital when he'd +rather live in the sound o' your voice and die a +pauper than run a college anywhere else. Lucy has +lived a lie, and is livin' it yet--and LIKES IT, TOO, that's +the worst of it. And I been muzzled all these years; +mad one minute and wantin' to twist his neck, and +the next with my eyes runnin' tears that the only +boy I got was lyin' out among strangers. The only +one that's honest is the little Pond Lily. She ain't +got nothin' to hide and you see it in her face. Her +father was square and her mother's with her and +nothin' can't touch her and don't. Let's have this +out. I'm tired of it--" + +The captain was out of breath now, his emotions +still controlling him, his astonishment at the unexpected +opposition from the woman of all others on +whose assistance he most relied unabated. + +Jane rose from her chair and stood facing him, +a great light in her eyes: + +"No! No! NO! A thousand times, no! You +don't know Lucy; I do. What you want done now +should have been done when Archie was born. It +was my fault. I couldn't see her suffer. I loved her +too much. I thought to save her, I didn't care how. +It would have been better for her if she had faced +her sin then and taken the consequences; better for +all of us. I didn't think so then, and it has taken +me years to find it out. I began to be conscious of +it first in her marriage, then when she kept on living +her lie with her husband, and last when she deserted +Ellen and went off to Beach Haven alone--that broke +my heart, and my mistake rose up before me, and I +KNEW!" + +The captain stared at her in astonishment. He +could hardly credit his ears. + +"Yes, better, if she'd faced it. She would have +lived here then under my care, and she might have +loved her child as I have done. Now she has no tie, +no care, no responsibility, no thought of anything +but the pleasures of the moment. I have tried to +save her, and I have only helped to ruin her." + +"Make her settle down, then, and face the music! +blurted out the captain, resuming his seat. "Bart +warn't all bad; he was only young and foolish. He'll +take care of her. It ain't never too late to begin to +turn honest. Bart wants to begin; make her begin, +too. He's got money now to do it; and she kin live +in South America same's she kin here. She's got +no home anywhere. She don't like it here, and never +did; you kin see that from the way she swings 'round +from place to place. MAKE her face it, I tell ye. +You been too easy with her all your life; pull her +down now and keep her nose p'inted close to the +compass." + +"You do not know of what you talk," Jane +answered, her eyes blazing. "She hates the past; +hates everything connected with it; hates the +very name of Barton Holt. Never once has she +mentioned it since her return. She never loved +Archie; she cared no more for him than a bird that +has dropped its young out of its nest. Besides, your +plan is impossible. Marriage does not condone a +sin. The power to rise and rectify the wrong lies +in the woman. Lucy has not got it in her, and she +never will have it. Part of it is her fault; a large +part of it is mine. She has lived this lie all these +years, and I have only myself to blame. I have +taught her to live it. I began it when I carried her +away from here; I should have kept her at home +and had her face the consequences of her sin then. +I ought to have laid Archie in her arms and kept +him there. I was a coward and could not, and in +my fear I destroyed the only thing that could have +saved her--the mother-love. Now she will run her +course. She's her own mistress; no one can compel +her to do anything." + +The captain raised his clenched hand: + +"Bart will, when he comes." + +"How?" + +"By claimin' the boy and shamin' her before the +world, if she don't. She liked him well enough when +he was a disgrace to himself and to me, without a +dollar to his name. What ails him now, when he +comes back and owns up like a man and wants to do +the square thing, and has got money enough to see +it through? She's nothin' but a THING, if she knew +it, till this disgrace's wiped off'n her. By God, +Miss Jane, I tell you this has got to be put through +just as Bart wants it, and quick!" + +Jane stepped closer and laid her hand on the captain's +arm. The look in her eyes, the low, incisive, +fearless ring in her voice, overawed him. Her courage +astounded him. This side of her character was +a revelation. Under their influence he became silent +and humbled--as a boisterous advocate is humbled +by the measured tones of a just judge. + +"It is not my friend, Captain Nat, who is talking +now. It is the father who is speaking. Think for a +moment. Who has borne the weight of this, you or +I? You had a wayward son whom the people here +think you drove out of your home for gambling on +Sunday. No other taint attaches to him or to you. +Dozens of other sons and fathers have done the same. +He returns a reformed man and lives out his life in +the home he left. + +"I had a wayward sister who forgot her mother, +me, her womanhood, and herself, and yet at whose +door no suspicion of fault has been laid. I stepped +in and took the brunt and still do. I did this for +my father's name and for my promise to him and +for my love of her. To her child I have given my +life. To him I am his mother and will always be-- +always, because I will stand by my fault. That is +a redemption in itself, and that is the only thing that +saves me from remorse. You and I, outside of his +father and mother, are the only ones living that know +of his parentage. The world has long since forgotten +the little they suspected. Let it rest; no good could +come--only suffering and misery. To stir it now +would only open old wounds and, worst of all, it +would make a new one." + +"In you?" + +"No, worse than that. My heart is already +scarred all over; no fresh wound would hurt." + +"In the doctor?" + +"Yes and no. He has never asked the truth and +I have never told him." + +"Who, then?" + +"In little Ellen. Let us keep that one flower +untouched." + +The captain rested his head in his hand, and for +some minutes made no answer. Ellen was the apple +of his eye. + +"But if Bart insists?" + +"He won't insist when he sees Lucy. She is no +more the woman that he loved and wronged than I +am. He would not know her if he met her outside +this house." + +"What shall I do?" + +"Nothing. Let matters take their course. If he +is the man you think he is he will never break the +silence." + +"And you will suffer on--and the doctor?" + +Jane bowed her head and the tears sprang to her +eyes. + +"Yes, always; there is nothing else to do." + + +CHLPTER XX + +THE UNDERTOW + + +Within the month a second letter was handed to +the captain by Tod, now regularly installed as postman. +It was in answer to one of Captain Holt's +which he had directed to the expected steamer and +which had met the exile on his arrival. It was dated +"Amboy," began "My dear father," and was signed +"Your affectionate son, Barton." + +This conveyed the welcome intelligence--welcome +to the father--that the writer would be detained a +few days in Amboy inspecting the new machinery, +after which he would take passage for Barnegat by +the Polly Walters, Farguson's weekly packet. Then +these lines followed: "It will be the happiest day +of my life when I can come into the inlet at high +tide and see my home in the distance." + +Again the captain sought Jane. + +She was still at the hospital, nursing some shipwrecked +men--three with internal injuries--who had +been brought in from Forked River Station, the +crew having rescued them the week before. Two +of the regular attendants were worn out with the +constant nursing, and so Jane continued her vigils. + +She had kept at her work--turning neither to the +right nor to the left, doing her duty with the bravery +and patience of a soldier on the firing-line, knowing +that any moment some stray bullet might end her +usefulness. She would not dodge, nor would she +cower; the danger was no greater than others she +had faced, and no precaution, she knew, could save +her. Her lips were still sealed, and would be to the +end; some tongue other than her own must betray +her sister and her trust. In the meantime she would +wait and bear bravely whatever was sent to her. + +Jane was alone when the captain entered, the doctor +having left the room to begin his morning inspection. +She was in her gray-cotton nursing-dress, her +head bound about with a white kerchief. The pathos +of her face and the limp, tired movement of her figure +would have been instantly apparent to a man less +absorbed in his own affairs than the captain. + +"He'll be here to-morrow or next day!" he cried, +as he advanced to where she sat at her desk in the +doctor's office, the same light in his eyes and the same +buoyant tone in his voice, his ruddy face aglow with +his walk from the station. + +"You have another letter then?" she said in a +resigned tone, as if she had expected it and was +prepared to meet its consequences. In her suffering +she had even forgotten her customary welcome of +him--for whatever his attitude and however gruff +he might be, she never forgot the warm heart beneath. + +"Yes, from Amboy," panted the captain, out of +breath with his quick walk, dragging a chair beside +Jane's desk as he spoke. "He got mine when the +steamer come in. He's goin' to take the packet so +he kin bring his things--got a lot o' them, he says. +And he loves the old home, too--he says so--you +kin read it for yourself." As he spoke he unbuttoned +his jacket, and taking Bart's letter from its +inside pocket, laid his finger on the paragraph and +held it before her face. + +"Have you talked about it to anybody?" Jane +asked calmly; she hardly glanced at the letter. + +"Only to the men; but it's all over Barnegat. A +thing like that's nothin' but a cask o' oil overboard +and the bung out--runs everywhere--no use tryin' +to stop it." He was in the chair now, his arms on the +edge of the desk. + +"But you've said nothing to anybody about Archie +and Lucy, and what Bart intends to do when he +comes, have you?" Jane inquired in some alarm. + +"Not a word, and won't till ye see him. She's +more your sister than she is his wife, and you got +most to say 'bout Archie, and should. You been +everything to him. When you've got through I'll +take a hand, but not before." The captain always +spoke the truth, and meant it; his word settled at +once any anxieties she might have had on that score. + +"What have you decided to do?" She was not +looking at him as she spoke; she was toying with a +penholder that lay before her on the desk, apparently +intent on its construction. + +"I'm goin' to meet him at Farguson's ship-yard +when the Polly comes in," rejoined the captain in a +positive tone, as if his mind had long since been +made up regarding details, and he was reciting them +for her guidance--"and take him straight to my +house, and then come for you. You kin have it out +together. Only one thing, Miss Jane"--here his +voice changed and something of his old quarter-deck +manner showed itself in his face and gestures--"if +he's laid his course and wants to keep hold of the +tiller I ain't goin' to block his way and he shall make +his harbor, don't make no difference who or what gits +in the channel. Ain't neither of us earned any extry +pay for the way we've run this thing. You've got +Lucy ashore flounderin' 'round in the fog, and I had +no business to send him off without grub or compass. +If he wants to steer now he'll STEER. I don't want +you to make no mistake 'bout this, and you'll excuse +me if I put it plain." + +Jane put her hand to her head and looked out of +the window toward the sea. All her life seemed to +be narrowing to one small converging path which +grew smaller and smaller as she looked down its +perspective. + +"I understand, captain," she sighed. All the fight +was out of her; she was like one limping across a +battlefield, shield and spear gone, the roads unknown. + +The door opened and the doctor entered. His +quick, sensitive eye instantly caught the look of +despair on Jane's face and the air of determination +on the captain's. What had happened he did not +know, but something to hurt Jane; of that he was +positive. He stepped quickly past the captain without +accosting him, rested his hand on Jane's shoulder, +and said in a tender, pleading tone: + +"You are tired and worn out; get your cloak and +hat and I'll drive you home." Then he turned to +the captain: "Miss Jane's been up for three nights. +I hope you haven't been worrying her with anything +you could have spared her from--at least until she +got rested," and he frowned at the captain. + +"No, I ain't and wouldn't. I been a-tellin' her +of Bart's comin' home. That ain't nothin' to worry +over--that's something to be glad of. You heard +about it, of course?" + +"Yes, Morgan told me. Twenty years will make +a great difference in Bart. It must have been a great +surprise to you, captain." + +Both Jane and the captain tried to read the doctor's +face, and both failed. Doctor John might have +been commenting on the weather or some equally +unimportant topic, so light and casual was his tone. + +He turned to Jane again. + +"Come, dear--please," he begged. It was only +when he was anxious about her physical condition +or over some mental trouble that engrossed her that +he spoke thus. The words lay always on the tip of +his tongue, but he never let them fall unless someone +was present to overhear. + +"You are wrong, John," she answered, bridling +her shoulders as if to reassure him. "I am not tired +--I have a little headache, that's all." With the +words she pressed both hands to her temples and +smoothed back her hair--a favorite gesture when her +brain fluttered against her skull like a caged pigeon. +"I will go home, but not now--this afternoon, perhaps. +Come for me then, please," she added, looking +up into his face with a grateful expression. + +The captain picked up his cap and rose from his +seat. One of his dreams was the marriage of these +two. Episodes like this only showed him the clearer +what lay in their hearts. The doctor's anxiety and +Jane's struggle to bear her burdens outside of his +touch and help only confirmed the old sea-dog in his +determination. When Bart had his way, he said to +himself, all this would cease. + +"I'll be goin' along," he said, looking from one +to the other and putting on his cap. "See you +later, Miss Jane. Morgan's back ag'in to work, +thanks to you, doctor. That was a pretty bad sprain +he had--he's all right now, though; went on practice +yesterday. I'm glad of it--equinox is comin' on +and we can't spare a man, or half a one, these days. +May be blowin' a livin' gale 'fore the week's out. +Good-by, Miss Jane; good-by, doctor." And he shut +the door behind him. + +With the closing of the door the sound of wheels +was heard--a crisp, crunching sound--and then the +stamping of horses' feet. Max Feilding's drag, +drawn by the two grays and attended by the diminutive +Bones, had driven up and now stood beside the +stone steps of the front door of the hospital. The +coats of the horses shone like satin and every hub +and plate glistened in the sunshine. On the seat, the +reins in one pretty gloved hand, a gold-mounted whip +in the other, sat Lucy. She was dressed in her smartest +driving toilette--a short yellow-gray jacket fastened +with big pearl buttons and a hat bound about +with the breast of a tropical bird. Her eyes were +dancing, her cheeks like ripe peaches with all the +bloom belonging to them in evidence, and something +more, and her mouth all curves and dimples. + +When the doctor reached her side--he had heard +the sound of the wheels, and looking through the +window had caught sight of the drag--she had risen +from her perch and was about to spring clear of the +equipage without waiting for the helping hand of +either Bones or himself. She was still a girl in her +suppleness. + +"No, wait until I can give you my hand," he +said, hurrying toward her. + +"No--I don't want your hand, Sir Esculapius. +Get out of the way, please--I'm going to jump! +There--wasn't that lovely?" And she landed beside +him. "Where's sister? I've been all the way to +Yardley, and Martha tells me she has been here +almost all the week. Oh, what a dreadful, gloomy- +looking place! How many people have you got here +anyhow, cooped up in this awful-- Why, it's +like an almshouse," she added, looking about her. +"Where did you say sister was?" + +"I'll go and call her," interpolated the doctor +when he could get a chance to speak. + +"No, you won't do anything of the kind; I'll +go myself. You've had her all the week, and now +it's my turn." + +Jane had by this time closed the lid of her desk, +had moved out into the hall, and now stood on the +top step of the entrance awaiting Lucy's ascent. In +her gray gown, simple head-dress, and resigned face, +the whole framed in the doorway with its connecting +background of dull stone, she looked like one of +Correggio's Madonnas illumining some old cloister +wall. + +"Oh, you dear, DEAR sister!" Lucy cried, running +up the short steps to meet her. "I'm so glad I've +found you; I was afraid you were tying up somebody's +broken head or rocking a red-flannelled baby." +With this she put her arms around Jane's neck and +kissed her rapturously. + +"Where can we talk? Oh, I've got such a lot of +things to tell you! You needn't come, you dear, +good doctor. Please take yourself off, sir--this way, +and out the gate, and don't you dare come back until +I'm gone." + +My Lady of Paris was very happy this morning; +bubbling over with merriment--a condition that set +the doctor to thinking. Indeed, he had been thinking +most intently about my lady ever since he had +heard of Bart's resurrection. He had also been +thinking of Jane and Archie. These last thoughts +tightened his throat; they had also kept him awake +the past few nights. + +The doctor bowed with one of his Sir Roger bows, +lifted his hat first to Jane in all dignity and reverence, +and then to Lucy with a flourish--keeping up +outwardly the gayety of the occasion and seconding +her play of humor--walked to the shed where his +horse was tied and drove off. He knew these moods +of Lucy's; knew they were generally assumed and +that they always concealed some purpose--one which +neither a frown nor a cutting word nor an outbreak +of temper would accomplish; but that fact rarely +disturbed him. Then, again, he was never anything +but courteous to her--always remembering Jane's +sacrifice and her pride in her. + +"And now, you dear, let us go somewhere where +we can be quiet," Lucy cried, slipping her arm +around Jane's slender waist and moving toward the +hall. + +With the entering of the bare room lined with +bottles and cases of instruments her enthusiasm began +to cool. Up to this time she had done all the talking. +Was Jane tired out nursing? she asked herself; or +did she still feel hurt over her refusal to take Ellen +with her for the summer? She had remembered for +days afterward the expression on her face when she +told of her plans for the summer and of her leaving +Ellen at Yardley; but she knew this had all passed +out of her sister's mind. This was confirmed by +Jane's continued devotion to Ellen and her many +kindnesses to the child. It was true that whenever +she referred to her separation from Ellen, which she +never failed to do as a sort of probe to be assured +of the condition of Jane's mind, there was no direct +reply--merely a changing of the topic, but this had +only proved Jane's devotion in avoiding a subject +which might give her beautiful sister pain. What, +then, was disturbing her to-day? she asked herself +with a slight chill at her heart. Then she raised her +head and assumed a certain defiant air. Better not +notice anything Jane said or did; if she was tired +she would get rested and if she was provoked with +her she would get pleased again. It was through her +affections and her conscience that she could hold +and mould her sister Jane--never through opposition +or fault-finding. Besides, the sun was too bright +and the air too delicious, and she herself too blissfully +happy to worry over anything. In time all +these adverse moods would pass out of Jane's heart +as they had done a thousand times before. + +"Oh, you dear, precious thing!" Lucy began +again, all these matters having been reviewed, settled, +and dismissed from her mind in the time it took +her to cross the room. "I'm so sorry for you when +I think of you shut up here with these dreadful people; +but I know you wouldn't be happy anywhere +else," she laughed in a meaning way. (The bringing +in of the doctor even by implication was always +a good move.) "And Martha looks so desolate. +Dear, you really ought to be more with her; but for +my darling Ellen I don't know what Martha would +do. I miss the child so, and yet I couldn't bear to +take her from the dear old woman." + +Jane made no answer. Lucy had found a chair +now and had laid her gloves, parasol, and handkerchief +on another beside her. Jane had resumed her +seat; her slender neck and sloping shoulders and +sparely modelled head with its simply dressed hair-- +she had removed the kerchief--in silhouette against +the white light of the window. + +"What is it all about, Lucy?" she asked in a grave +tone after a slight pause in Lucy's talk. + +"I have a great secret to tell you--one you mustn't +breathe until I give you leave." + +She was leaning back in her chair now, her eyes +trying to read Jane's thoughts. Her bare hands were +resting in her lap, the jewels flashing from her +fingers; about her dainty mouth there hovered, like +a butterfly, a triumphant smile; whether this would +alight and spread its wings into radiant laughter, or +disappear, frightened by a gathering frown, depended +on what would drop from her sister's lips. + +Jane looked up. The strong light from the +window threw her head into shadow; only the +slight fluff of her hair glistened in the light. This +made an aureole which framed the Madonna's +face. + +"Well, Lucy, what is it?" she asked again simply. + +"Max is going to be married." + +"When?" rejoined Jane in the same quiet tone. +Her mind was not on Max or on anything connected +with him. It was on the shadow slowly settling upon +all she loved. + +"In December," replied Lucy, a note of triumph +in her voice, her smile broadening. + +"Who to?" + +"Me." + +With the single word a light ripple escaped from +her lips. + +Jane straightened herself in her chair. A sudden +faintness passed over her--as if she had received a +blow in the chest, stopping her breath. + +"You mean--you mean--that you have promised +to marry Max Feilding!" she gasped. + +"That's exactly what I do mean." + +The butterfly smile about Lucy's mouth had vanished. +That straightening of the lips and slow contraction +of the brow which Jane knew so well was +taking its place. Then she added nervously, unclasping +her hands and picking up her gloves: + +"Aren't you pleased?" + +"I don't know," answered Jane, gazing about the +room with a dazed look, as if seeking for a succor +she could not find. "I must think. And so you have +promised to marry Max!" she repeated, as if to herself. +"And in December." For a brief moment +she paused, her eyes again downcast; then she raised +her voice quickly and in a more positive tone asked, +"And what do you mean to do with Ellen?" + +"That's what I want to talk to you about, you +dear thing." Lucy had come prepared to ignore any +unfavorable criticisms Jane might make and to give +her only sisterly affection in return. "I want to +give her to you for a few months more," she added +blandly, "and then we will take her abroad with us +and send her to school either in Paris or Geneva, +where her grandmother can be near her. In a year +or two she will come to us in Paris." + +Jane made no answer. + +Lucy moved uncomfortably in her chair. She +had never, in all her life, seen her sister in any such +mood. She was not so much astonished over her +lack of enthusiasm regarding the engagement; that +she had expected--at least for the first few days, +until she could win her over to her own view. It +was the deadly poise--the icy reserve that disturbed +her. This was new. + +"Lucy!" Again Jane stopped and looked out +of the window. "You remember the letter I wrote +you some years ago, in which I begged you to tell +Ellen's father about Archie and Barton Holt?" + +Lucy's eyes flashed. + +"Yes, and you remember my answer, don't you?" +she answered sharply. "What a fool I would have +been, dear, to have followed your advice!" + +Jane went straight on without heeding the interruption +or noticing Lucy's changed tone. + +"Do you intend to tell Max?" + +"I tell Max! My dear, good sister, are you +crazy! What should I tell Max for? All that is +dead and buried long ago! Why do you want to +dig up all these graves? Tell Max--that aristocrat! +He's a dear, sweet fellow, but you don't know him. +He'd sooner cut his hand off than marry me if he +knew!" + +"I'm afraid you will have to--and this very day," +rejoined Jane in a calm, measured tone. + +Lucy moved uneasily in her chair; her anxiety +had given way to a certain ill-defined terror. Jane's +voice frightened her. + +"Why?" she asked in a trembling voice. + +"Because Captain Holt or someone else will, if +you don't." + +"What right has he or anybody else to meddle +with my affairs?" Lucy retorted in an indignant +tone. + +"Because he cannot help it. I intended to keep +the news from you for a time, but from what you have +just told me you had best hear it now. Barton Holt +is alive. He has been in Brazil all these years, in +the mines. He has written to his father that he is +coming home." + +All the color faded from Lucy's cheeks. + +"Bart! Alive! Coming home! When?" + +"He will be here day after to-morrow; he is at +Amboy, and will come by the weekly packet. What +I can do I will. I have worked all my life to save +you, and I may yet, but it seems now as if I had +reached the end of my rope." + +"Who said so? Where did you hear it? It +CAN'T be true!" + +Jane shook her head. "I wish it was not true-- +but it is--every word of it. I have read his letter." + +Lucy sank back in her chair, her cheeks livid, a +cold perspiration moistening her forehead. Little +lines that Jane had never noticed began to gather +about the corners of her mouth; her eyes were wide +open, with a strained, staring expression. What +she saw was Max's eyes looking into her own, that +same cold, cynical expression on his face she had +sometimes seen when speaking of other women he +had known. + +"What's he coming for?" Her voice was thick +and barely audible. + +"To claim his son." + +"He--says--he'll--claim--Archie--as--his-- +son!" she gasped. "I'd like to see any man living +dare to--" + +"But he can TRY, Lucy--no one can prevent that, +and in the trying the world will know." + +Lucy sprang from her seat and stood over her +sister: + +"I'll deny it!" she cried in a shrill voice; "and +face him down. He can't prove it! No one about +here can!" + +"He may have proofs that you couldn't deny, +and that I would not if I could. Captain Holt +knows everything, remember," Jane replied in her +same calm voice. + +"But nobody else does but you and Martha!" The +thought gave her renewed hope--the only ray she saw. + +"True; but the captain is enough. His heart is +set on Archie's name being cleared, and nothing that +I can do or say will turn him from his purpose. Do +you know what he means to do?" + +"No," she replied faintly, more terror than curiosity +in her voice. + +"He means that you shall marry Barton, and +that Archie shall be baptized as Archibald Holt. +Barton will then take you both back to South America. +A totally impossible plan, but--" + +"I marry Barton Holt! Why, I wouldn't marry +him if he got down on his knees. Why, I don't even +remember what he looks like! Did you ever hear +of such impudence! What is he to me?" The outburst +carried with it a certain relief. + +"What he is to you is not the question. It is +what YOU are to Archie! Your sin has been your +refusal to acknowledge him. Now you are brought +face to face with the consequences. The world will +forgive a woman all the rest, but never for deserting +her child, and that, my dear sister, IS PRECISELY WHAT +YOU DID TO ARCHIE." + +Jane's gaze was riveted on Lucy. She had never +dared to put this fact clearly before--not even to +herself. Now that she was confronted with the +calamity she had dreaded all these years, truth was +the only thing that would win. Everything now must +be laid bare. + +Lucy lifted her terrified face, burst into tears, +and reached out her hands to Jane. + +"Oh, sister,--sister!" she moaned. "What shall +I do? Oh, if I had never come home! Can't you +think of some way? You have always been so good-- +Oh, please! please!" + +Jane drew Lucy toward her. + +"I will do all I can, dear. If I fail there is only +one resource left. That is the truth, and all of it. +Max can save you, and he will if he loves you. Tell, +him everything!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + + +THE MAN IN THE SLOUCH HAT + + +The wooden arrow on the top of the cupola of the +Life-Saving Station had had a busy night of it. +With the going down of the sun the wind had continued +to blow east-southeast--its old course for +weeks--and the little sentinel, lulled into inaction, +had fallen into a doze, its feather end fixed on the +glow of the twilight. + +At midnight a rollicking breeze that piped from +out the north caught the sensitive vane napping, and +before the dawn broke had quite tired it out, shifting +from point to point, now west, now east, now +nor'east-by-east, and now back to north again. By +the time Morgan had boiled his coffee and had cut +his bacon into slivers ready for the frying-pan the +restless wind, as if ashamed of its caprices, had again +veered to the north-east, and then, as if determined +ever after to lead a better life, had pulled itself +together and had at last settled down to a steady +blow from that quarter. + +The needle of the aneroid fastened to the wall of +the sitting-room, and in reach of everybody's eye, +had also made a night of it. In fact, it had not had +a moment's peace since Captain Holt reset its register +the day before. All its efforts for continued good +weather had failed. Slowly but surely the baffled +and disheartened needle had sagged from "Fair" +to "Change," dropped back to "Storm," and before +noon the next day had about given up the fight and +was in full flight for "Cyclones and Tempests." + +Uncle Isaac Polhemus, sitting at the table with +one eye on his game of dominoes (Green was his partner) +and the other on the patch of sky framed by the +window, read the look of despair on the honest face +of the aneroid, and rising from his chair, a "double +three" in his hand, stepped to where the weather +prophet hung. + +"Sompin's comin' Sam," he said solemnly. "The +old gal's got a bad setback. Ain't none of us goin' +to git a wink o' sleep to-night, or I miss my guess. +Wonder how the wind is." Here he moved to the +door and peered out. "Nor'-east and puffy, just as I +thought. We're goin' to hev some weather, Sam-- +ye hear?--some WEATHER!" With this he regained +his chair and joined the double three to the long tail +of his successes. Good weather or bad weather-- +peace or war--was all the same to Uncle Isaac. What +he wanted was the earliest news from the front. + +Captain Holt took a look at the sky, the aneroid +and the wind--not the arrow; old sea-dogs know +which way the wind blows without depending on +any such contrivance--the way the clouds drift, the +trend of the white-caps, the set of a distant sail, and +on black, almost breathless nights, by the feel of a +wet finger held quickly in the air, the coolest side +determining the wind point. + +On this morning the clouds attracted the captain's +attention. They hung low and drifted in long, +straggling lines. Close to the horizon they were ashy +pale; being nearest the edge of the brimming sea, +they had, no doubt, seen something the higher and +rosier-tinted clouds had missed; something of the +ruin that was going on farther down the round of the +sphere. These clouds the captain studied closely, +especially a prismatic sun-dog that glowed like a bit +of rainbow snipped off by wind-scissors, and one or +two dirt spots sailing along by themselves. + +During the captain's inspection Archie hove in +sight, wiping his hands with a wad of cotton waste. +He and Parks had been swabbing out the firing gun +and putting the polished work of the cart apparatus +in order. + +"It's going to blow, captain, isn't it?" he called +out. Blows were what Archie was waiting for. So +far the sea had been like a mill-pond, except on one +or two occasions, when, to the boy's great regret, +nothing came ashore. + +"Looks like it. Glass's been goin' down and the +wind has settled to the nor'east. Some nasty dough- +balls out there I don't like. See 'em goin' over that +three-master?" + +Archie looked, nodded his head, and a certain +thrill went through him. The harder it blew the +better it would suit Archie. + +"Will the Polly be here to-night?" he added. +"Your son's coming, isn't he?" + +"Yes; but you won't see him to-night, nor to- +morrow, not till this is over. You won't catch old +Ambrose out in this weather" (Captain Ambrose +Farguson sailed the Polly). "He'll stick his nose +in the basin some'er's and hang on for a spell. I +thought he'd try to make the inlet, and I 'spected +Bart here to-night till I saw the glass when I got +up. Ye can't fool Ambrose--he knows. Be two or +three days now 'fore Bart comes," he added, a look +of disappointment shadowing his face. + +Archie kept on to the house, and the captain, after +another sweep around, turned on his heel and reentered +the sitting-room. + +"Green!" + +"Yes, captain." The surfman was on his feet +in an instant, his ears wide open. + +"I wish you and Fogarty would look over those +new Costons and see if they're all right. And, +Polhemus, perhaps you'd better overhaul them cork +jackets; some o' them straps seemed kind o' awkward +on practice yesterday--they ought to slip on +easier; guess they're considerable dried out and a +little mite stiff." + +Green nodded his head in respectful assent and +left the room. Polhemus, at the mention of his name, +had dropped his chair legs to the floor; he had finished +his game of dominoes and had been tilted back +against the wall, awaiting the dinner-hour. + +"It's goin' to blow a livin' gale o' wind, Polhemus," +the captain continued; "that's what it's goin' +to do. Ye kin see it yerself. There she comes +now!" + +As he spoke the windows on the sea side of the +house rattled as if shaken by the hand of a man +and as quickly stopped. + +"Them puffs are jest the tootin' of her horn--" +this with a jerk of his head toward the windows. "I +tell ye, it looks ugly!" + +Polhemus gained his feet and the two men stepped +to the sash and peered out. To them the sky was +always an open book--each cloud a letter, each mass +a paragraph, the whole a warning. + +"But I'm kind o' glad, Isaac." Again the captain +forgot the surfman in the friend. "As long +as it's got to blow it might as well blow now and be +over. I'd kind o' set my heart on Bart's comin', but +I guess I've waited so long I kin wait a day or two +more. I wrote him to come by train, but he wrote +back he had a lot o' plunder and he'd better put it +'board the Polly; and, besides, he said he kind o' +wanted to sail into the inlet like he used to when he +was a boy. Then again, I couldn't meet him; not +with this weather comin' on. No--take it all in all, +I'm glad he ain't comin'." + +"Well, I guess yer right, captain," answered +uncle Isaac in an even tone, as he left the room to +overhaul the cork jackets. The occasion was not +one of absorbing interest to Isaac. + +By the time the table was cleared and the kitchen +once more in order not only were the windows on +the sea side of the house roughly shaken by the rising +gale, but the sand caught from the dunes was +being whirled against their panes. The tide, too, +egged on by the storm, had crept up the slope of the +dunes, the spray drenching the grass-tufts. + +At five o'clock the wind blew forty miles an hour +at sundown it had increased to fifty; at eight o'clock +it bowled along at sixty. Morgan, who had been to +the village for supplies, reported that the tide was +over the dock at Barnegat and that the roof of the big +bathing-house at Beach Haven had been ripped off +and landed on the piazza. He had had all he could +do to keep his feet and his basket while crossing +the marsh on his way back to the station. Then he +added: + +"There's a lot o' people there yit. That feller +from Philadelphy who's mashed on Cobden's aunt +was swellin' around in a potato-bug suit o' clothes +as big as life." This last was given from behind his +hand after he had glanced around the room and found +that Archie was absent. + +At eight o'clock, when Parks and Archie left the +Station to begin their patrol, Parks was obliged to +hold on to the rail of the porch to steady himself, and +Archie, being less sure of his feet, was blown against +the water-barrel before he could get his legs well +under him. At the edge of the surf the two separated +for their four hours' patrol, Archie breasting the gale +on his way north, and Parks hurrying on, helped by +the wind, to the south. + +At ten o'clock Parks returned. He had made his +first round, and had exchanged his brass check with +the patrol at the next station. As he mounted the +sand-dune he quickened his steps, hurried to the +Station, opened the sitting-room door, found it +empty, the men being in bed upstairs awaiting their +turns, and then strode on to the captain's room, his +sou'wester and tarpaulin drenched with spray and +sand, his hip-boots leaving watery tracks along the +clean floor. + +"Wreck ashore at No. 14, sir!" Parks called out +in a voice hoarse with fighting the wind. + +The captain sprang from his cot--he was awake, +his light still burning. + +"Anybody drownded?" + +"No, sir; got 'em all. Seven of 'em, so the patrol +said. Come ashore 'bout supper-time." + +"What is she?" + +"A two-master from Virginia loaded with cord- +wood. Surf's in bad shape, sir; couldn't nothin' +live in it afore; it's wuss now. Everything's a bobble; +turrible to see them sticks thrashin' 'round and +slammin' things." + +"Didn't want no assistance, did they?" + +"No, sir; they got the fust line 'round the foremast +and come off in less'n a hour; warn't none of +'em hurted." + +"Is it any better outside?" + +"No, sir; wuss. I ain't seen nothin' like it 'long +the coast for years. Good-night," and Parks took +another hole in the belt holding his tarpaulins together, +opened the back door, walked to the edge of +the house, steadied himself against the clapboards, +and boldly facing the storm, continued his patrol. + +The captain stretched himself again on his bed; +he had tried to sleep, but his brain was too active. +As he lay listening to the roar of the surf and the +shrill wail of the wind, his thoughts would revert +to Bart and what his return meant; particularly to +its effect on the fortunes of the doctor, of Jane and +of Lucy. + +Jane's attitude continued to astound him. He +had expected that Lucy might not realize the advantages +of his plan at first--not until she had seen +Bart and listened to what he had to say; but that +Jane, after the confession of her own weakness +should still oppose him, was what he could not under +stand, he would keep his promise, however, to the +very letter. She should have free range to dissuade +Bart from his purpose. After that Bart should have +his way. No other course was possible, and no other +course either honest or just. + +Then he went over in his mind all that had happened +to him since the day he had driven Bart out +into the night, and from that same House of Refuge, +too, which, strange to say, lay within sight of the +Station. He recalled his own and Bart's sufferings; +his loneliness; the bitterness of the terrible secret +which had kept his mouth closed all these years, depriving +him of even the intimate companionship of +his own grandson. With this came an increased +love for the boy; he again felt the warm pressure of +his hand and caught the look in his eyes the morning +Archie congratulated him so heartily on Bart's +expected return, he had always loved him; he +would love him now a thousand times more when he +could put his hand on the boy's shoulder and tell +him everything. + +With the changing of the patrol, Tod and Polhemus +taking the places of Archie and Parks, he fell +into a doze, waking with a sudden start some hours +later, springing from his bed, and as quickly turning +up the lamp. + +Still in his stocking feet and trousers--on nights +like this the men lie down in half their clothes--he +walked to the window and peered out. It was nearing +daylight; the sky still black. The storm was at +its height; the roar of the surf incessant and the +howl of the wind deafening. Stepping into the +sitting-room he glanced at the aneroid--the needle +had not advanced a point; then turning into the hall, +he mounted the steps to the lookout in the cupola, +walked softly past the door of the men's room so +as not to waken the sleepers, particularly Parks and +Archie, whose cots were nearest the door--both had +had four hours of the gale and would have hours more +if it continued--and reaching the landing, pressed +his face against the cool pane and peered out. + +Below him stretched a dull waste of sand hardly +distinguishable in the gloom until his eyes became +accustomed to it, and beyond this the white line of +the surf, whiter than either sky or sand. This +writhed and twisted like a cobra in pain. To the +north burned Barnegat Light, only the star of its +lamp visible. To the south stretched alternate bands +of sand, sky, and surf, their dividing lines lost in +the night. Along this beach, now stopping to get +their breath, now slanting the brim of their sou'westers +to escape the slash of the sand and spray, +strode Tod and Polhemus, their eyes on and beyond +the tumbling surf, their ears open to every unusual +sound, their Costons buttoned tight under their coats +to keep them from the wet. + +Suddenly, while his eyes were searching the horizon +line, now hardly discernible in the gloom, a +black mass rose from behind a cresting of foam, see- +sawed for an instant, clutched wildly at the sky, and +dropped out of sight behind a black wall of water. +The next instant there flashed on the beach below +him, and to the left of the station, the red flare of a +Coston signal. + +With the quickness of a cat Captain Holt sprang +to the stairs shouting: + +"A wreck, men, a wreck!" The next instant he +had thrown aside the door of the men's room. "Out +every one of ye! Who's on the beach?" And he +looked over the cots to find the empty ones. + +The men were on their feet before he had ceased +speaking, Archie before the captain's hand had left +the knob of the door. + +"Who's on the beach, I say?" he shouted again. + +"Fogarty and Uncle Ike," someone answered. + +"Polhemus! Good! All hands on the cart, men; +boat can't live in that surf. She lies to the north of +us!" And he swung himself out of the door and +down the stairs. + +"God help 'em, if they've got to come through +that surf!" Parks said, slinging on his coat. "The +tide's just beginnin' to make flood, and all that cord- +wood'll come a-waltzin' back. Never see nothin' +like it!" + +The front door now burst in and another shout +went ringing through the house: + +"Schooner in the breakers!" + +It was Tod. He had rejoined Polhemus the moment +before he flared his light and had made a dash +to rouse the men. + +"I seen her, Fogarty, from the lookout," cried +the captain, in answer, grabbing his sou'wester; he +was already in his hip-boots and tarpaulin. "What +is she?" + +"Schooner, I guess, sir." + +"Two or three masts?" asked the captain hurriedly, +tightening the strap of his sou'wester and +slipping the leather thong under his gray whiskers. + +"Can't make out, sir; she come bow on. Uncle +Ike see her fust." And he sprang out after the men. + +A double door thrown wide; a tangle of wild cats +springing straight at a broad-tired cart; a grappling +of track-lines and handle-bars; a whirl down the +wooden incline, Tod following with the quickly +lighted lanterns; a dash along the runway, the sand +cutting their cheeks like grit from a whirling stone; +over the dune, the men bracing the cart on either +side, and down the beach the crew swept in a rush to +where Polhemus stood waving his last Coston. + +Here the cart stopped. + +"Don't unload nothin'," shouted Polhemus. "She +ain't fast; looks to me as if she was draggin' her +anchors." + +Captain Holt canted the brim of his sou'wester, +held his bent elbow against his face to protect it +from the cut of the wind, and looked in the direction +of the surfman's fingers. The vessel lay about a +quarter of a mile from the shore and nearer the +House of Refuge than when the captain had first +seen her from the lookout. She was afloat and drifting +broadside on to the coast. Her masts were still +standing and she seemed able to take care of herself. +Polhemus was right. Nothing could be done till +she grounded. In the meantime the crew must keep +abreast of her. Her fate, however, was but a question +of time, for not only had the wind veered to the +southward--a-dead-on-shore wind--but the set of the +flood must eventually strand her. + +At the track-lines again, every man in his place, +Uncle Isaac with his shoulder under the spokes of +the wheels, the struggling crew keeping the cart +close to the edge of the dune, springing out of the +way of the boiling surf or sinking up to their waists +into crevices of sluiceways gullied out by the hungry +sea. Once Archie lost his footing and would have +been sucked under by a comber had not Captain +Holt grapped him by the collar and landed him on +his feet again. Now and then a roller more vicious +than the others would hurl a log of wood straight at +the cart with the velocity of a torpedo, and swoop +back again, the log missing its mark by a length. + +When the dawn broke the schooner could be made +out more clearly. Both masts were still standing, +their larger sails blown away. The bowsprit was +broken short off close to her chains. About this +dragged the remnants of a jib sail over which the +sea soused and whitened. She was drifting slowly +and was now but a few hundred yards from the beach, +holding, doubtless, by her anchors. Over her deck +the sea made a clean breach. + +Suddenly, and while the men still tugged at the +track-ropes, keeping abreast of her so as to be ready +with the mortar and shot-line, the ill-fated vessel +swung bow on toward the beach, rose on a huge mountain +of water, and threw herself headlong. When the +smother cleared her foremast was overboard and her +deck-house smashed. Around her hull the waves +gnashed and fought like white wolves, leaping high, +flinging themselves upon her. In the recoil Captain +Holt's quick eye got a glimpse of the crew; two were +lashed to the rigging and one held the tiller--a short, +thickset man, wearing what appeared to be a slouch +hat tied over his ears by a white handkerchief. + +With the grounding of the vessel a cheer went up +from around the cart. + +"Now for the mortar!" + +"Up with it on the dune, men!" shouted the captain, +his voice ringing above the roar of the tempest. + +The cart was forced up the slope--two men at the +wheels, the others straining ahead--the gun lifted out +and set, Polhemus ramming the charge home, Captain +Holt sighting the piece; there came a belching +sound, a flash of dull light, and a solid shot carrying +a line rose in the air, made a curve like a flying +rocket, and fell athwart the wreck between her forestay +and jib. A cheer went up from the men about +the gun. When this line was hauled in and the +hawser attached to it made fast high up on the mainmast +and above the raging sea, and the car run off +to the wreck, the crew could be landed clear of the +surf and the slam of the cord-wood. + +At the fall of the line the man in the slouch hat +was seen to edge himself forward in an attempt to +catch it. The two men in the rigging kept their hold. +The men around the cart sprang for the hawser and +tally-blocks to rig the buoy, when a dull cry rose +from the wreck. To their horror they saw the mainmast +waver, flutter for a moment, and sag over the +schooner's side. The last hope of using the life-car +was gone! Without the elevation of the mast and +with nothing but the smashed hull to make fast to, +the shipwrecked men would be pounded into pulp +in the attempt to drag them through the boil of +wreckage. + +"Haul in, men!" cried the captain. "No use +of another shot; we can't drag 'em through that +surf!" + +"I'll take my chances," said Green, stepping forward. +"Let me, cap'n. I can handle 'em if they +haul in the slack and make fast." + +"No, you can't," said the captain calmly. "You +couldn't get twenty feet from shore. We got to wait +till the tide cleans this wood out. It's workin' right +now. They kin stand it for a while. Certain death +to bring 'em through that smother--that stuff'd knock +the brains out of 'em fast as they dropped into it. +Signal to 'em to hang on, Parks." + +An hour went by--an hour of agony to the men +clinging to the grounded schooner, and of impatience +to the shore crew, who were powerless. The only +danger was of exhaustion to the shipwrecked men +and the breaking up of the schooner. If this occurred +there was nothing left but a plunge of rescuing +men through the surf, the life of every man in +his hand. + +The beach began filling up. The news of a shipwreck +had spread with the rapidity of a thunder- +shower. One crowd, denser in spots where the +stronger men were breasting the wind, which was +now happily on the wane, were moving from the village +along the beach, others were stumbling on +through the marshes. From the back country, along +the road leading from the hospital, rattled a gig, +the horse doing his utmost. In this were Doctor +John and Jane. She had, contrary to his advice, +remained at the hospital. The doctor had been awakened +by the shouts of a fisherman, and had driven +with all speed to the hospital to get his remedies +and instruments. Jane had insisted upon accompanying +him, although she had been up half the night +with one of the sailors rescued the week before by the +crew of No. 14. The early morning air--it was now +seven o'clock--would do her good, she pleaded, and +she might be of use if any one of the poor fellows +needed a woman's care. + +Farther down toward Beach Haven the sand was +dotted with wagons and buggies; some filled with +summer boarders anxious to see the crew at work. +One used as the depot omnibus contained Max Feilding, +Lucy, and half a dozen others. She had passed +a sleepless night, and hearing the cries of those +hurrying by had thrown a heavy cloak around her +and opening wide the piazza door had caught sight +of the doomed vessel fighting for its life. Welcoming +the incident as a relief from her own maddening +thoughts, she had joined Max, hoping that the excitement +might divert her mind from the horror that +overshadowed her. Then, too, she did not want to +be separated a single moment from him. Since the +fatal hour when Jane had told her of Bart's expected +return Max's face had haunted her. As long as he +continued to look into her eyes, believing and trusting +in her there was hope. He had noticed her +haggard look, but she had pleaded one of her headaches, +and had kept up her smiles, returning his +caresses. Some way would be opened; some way +MUST be opened! + +While waiting for the change of wind and tide +predicted by Captain Holt to clear away the deadly +drift of the cord-wood so dangerous to the imperilled +men, the wreckage from the grounded schooner began +to come ashore--crates of vegetables, barrels of groceries, +and boxes filled with canned goods. Some of +these were smashed into splinters by end-on collisions +with cord-wood; others had dodged the floatage and +were landed high on the beach. + +During the enforced idleness Tod occupied himself +in rolling away from the back-suck of the surf +the drift that came ashore. Being nearest a stranded +crate he dragged it clear and stood bending over it, +reading the inscription. With a start he beckoned +to Parks, the nearest man to him, tore the card from +the wooden slat, and held it before the surfman's +face. + +"What's this? Read! That's the Polly Walters +out there, I tell ye, and the captain's son's aboard! +I've been suspicionin' it all the mornin'. That's him +with the slouch hat. I knowed he warn't no sailor +from the way he acted. Don't say nothin' till we're +sure." + +Parks lunged forward, dodged a stick of cord-wood +that drove straight at him like a battering-ram and, +watching his chance, dragged a floating keg from the +smother, rolled it clear of the surf, canted it on end, +and took a similar card from its head. Then he +shouted with all his might: + +"It's the Polly, men! It's the Polly--the Polly +Walters! O God, ain't that too bad! Captain Ambrose's +drowned, or we'd a-seen him! That feller +in the slouch hat is Bart Holt! Gimme that line!" +He was stripping off his waterproofs now ready for +a plunge into the sea. + +With the awful words ringing in his ears Captain +Holt made a spring from the dune and came running +toward Parks, who was now knotting the shot-line +about his waist. + +"What do you say she is?" he shouted, as he +flung himself to the edge of the roaring surf and +strained his eyes toward the wreck. + +"The Polly--the Polly Walters!" + +"My God! How do ye know? She ain't left +Amboy, I tell ye!" + +"She has! That's her--see them kerds! They +come off that stuff behind ye. Tod got one and +I got t'other!" he held the bits of cardboard under +the rim of the captain's sou'wester. + +Captain Holt snatched the cards from Parks's +hand, read them at a glance, and a dazed, horror- +stricken expression crossed his face. Then his eye +fell upon Parks knotting the shot-line about his +waist. + +"Take that off! Parks, stay where ye are; don't +ye move, I tell ye." + +As the words dropped from the captain's lips a +horrified shout went up from the bystanders. The +wreck, with a crunching sound, was being lifted from +the sand. She rose steadily, staggered for an instant +and dropped out of sight. She had broken amidships. +With the recoil two ragged bunches showed above the +white wash of the water. On one fragment--a splintered +mast--crouched the man with the slouch hat; +to the other clung the two sailors. The next instant +a great roller, gathering strength as it came, threw +itself full length on both fragments and swept on. +Only wreckage was left and one head. + +With a cry to the men to stand by and catch the +slack, the captain ripped a line from the drum of +the cart, dragged off his high boots, knotted the +bight around his waist, and started on a run for the +surf. + +Before his stockinged feet could reach the edge of +the foam, Archie seized him around the waist and +held him with a grip of steel. + +"You sha'n't do it, captain!" he cried, his eyes +blazing. "Hold him, men--I'll get him!" With +the bound of a cat he landed in the middle of the +floatage, dived under the logs, rose on the boiling +surf, worked himself clear of the inshore wreckage, +and struck out in the direction of the man clinging +to the shattered mast, and who was now nearing the +beach, whirled on by the inrushing seas. + +Strong men held their breath, tears brimming their +eyes. Captain Holt stood irresolute, dazed for the +moment by Archie's danger. The beach women-- +Mrs. Fogarty among them--were wringing their +hands. They knew the risk better than the others. + +Jane, at Archie's plunge, had run down to the +edge of the surf and stood with tight-clenched fingers, +her gaze fixed on the lad's head as he breasted +the breakers--her face white as death, the tears +streaming down her cheeks. Fear for the boy she +loved, pride in his pluck and courage, agony over the +result of the rescue, all swept through her as she +strained her eyes seaward. + +Lucy, Max, and Mrs. Coates were huddled together +under the lee of the dune. Lucy's eyes were +staring straight ahead of her; her teeth chattering +with fear and cold. She had heard the shouts of +Parks and the captain, and knew now whose life was +at stake. There was no hope left; Archie would +win and pull him out alive, and her end would +come. + +The crowd watched the lad until his hand touched +the mast, saw him pull himself hand over hand along +its slippery surface and reach out his arms. Then +a cheer went up from a hundred throats, and as instantly +died away in a moan of terror. Behind, +towering over them like a huge wall, came a wave of +black water, solemn, merciless, uncrested, as if bent +on deadly revenge. Under its impact the shattered +end of the mast rose clear of the water, tossed about +as if in agony, veered suddenly with the movement of +a derrick-boom, and with its living freight dashed +headlong into the swirl of cord-wood. + +As it ploughed through the outer drift and reached +the inner line of wreckage, Tod, whose eyes had never +left Archie since his leap into the surf, made a running +jump from the sand, landed on a tangle of drift, +and sprang straight at the section of the mast to +which Archie clung. The next instant the surf rolled +clear, submerging the three men. + +Another ringing order now rose above the roar +of the waters, and a chain of rescuing surfmen--the +last resort--with Captain Nat at the head dashed +into the turmoil. + +It was a hand-to-hand fight now with death. At +the first onslaught of the battery of wreckage Polhemus +was knocked breathless by a blow in the stomach +and rescued by the bystanders just as a log was +curling over him. Green was hit by a surging crate, +and Mulligan only saved from the crush of the cord- +wood by the quickness of a fisherman. Morgan, +watching his chance, sprang clear of a tangle of barrels +and cord-wood, dashed into the narrow gap of +open water, and grappling Tod as he whirled past, +twisted his fingers in Archie's waistband. The three +were then pounced upon by a relay of fishermen led +by Tod's father and dragged from under the crunch +and surge of the smother. Both Tod and Morgan +were unhurt and scrambled to their feet as soon as +they gained the hard sand, but Archie lay insensible +where the men had dropped him, his body limp, his +feet crumpled under him. + +All this time the man in the slouch hat was being +swirled in the hell of wreckage, the captain meanwhile +holding to the human chain with one hand and +fighting with the other until he reached the half- +drowned man whose grip had now slipped from +the crate to which he clung. As the two were +shot in toward the beach, Green, who had recovered +his breath, dodged the recoil, sprang straight +for them, threw the captain a line, which he caught, +dashed back and dragged the two high up on the +beach, the captain's arm still tightly locked about the +rescued man. + +A dozen hands were held out to relieve the captain +of his burden, but he only waved them away. + +"I'll take care of him!" he gasped in a voice +almost gone from buffeting the waves, as the body +slipped from his arms to the wet sand. "Git out +of the way, all of you!" + +Once on his feet, he stood for an instant to catch +his breath, wrung the grime from his ears with his +stiff fingers, and then shaking the water from his +shoulders as a dog would after a plunge, he passed +his great arms once more under the bedraggled body +of the unconscious man and started up the dune +toward the House of Refuge, the water dripping +from both their wet bodies. Only once did he pause, +and then to shout: + +"Green,--Mulligan! Go back, some o' ye, and +git Archie. He's hurt bad. Quick, now! And one +o' ye bust in them doors. And-- Polhemus, pull +some coats off that crowd and a shawl or two from +them women if they can spare 'em, and find Doctor +John, some o' ye! D'ye hear! DOCTOR JOHN!" + +A dozen coats were stripped from as many backs, +a shawl of Mrs. Fogarty's handed to Polhemus, the +doors burst in and Uncle Isaac lunging in tumbled +the garments on the floor. On these the captain laid +the body of the rescued man, the slouch hat still +clinging to his head. + +While this was being done another procession was +approaching the house. Tod and Parks were carrying +Archie's unconscious form, the water dripping +from his clothing. Tod had his hands under the +boy's armpits and Parks carried his feet. Behind +the three walked Jane, half supported by the doctor. + +"Dead!" she moaned. "Oh, no--no--no, John; +it cannot be! Not my Archie! my brave Archie!" + +The captain heard the tramp of the men's feet +on the board floor of the runway outside and rose +to his feet. He had been kneeling beside the form +of the rescued man. His face was knotted with the +agony he had passed through, his voice still thick +and hoarse from battling with the sea. + +"What's that she says?" he cried, straining his +ears to catch Jane's words. "What's that! Archie +dead! No! 'Tain't so, is it, doctor?" + +Doctor John, his arm still supporting Jane, shook +his head gravely and pointed to his own forehead. + +"It's all over, captain," he said in a broken voice. +"Skull fractured." + +"Hit with them logs! Archie! Oh, my God! +And this man ain't much better off--he ain't hardly +breathin'. See for yerself, doctor. Here, Tod, lay +Archie on these coats. Move back that boat, men, +to give 'em room, and push them stools out of the +way. Oh, Miss Jane, maybe it ain't true, maybe +he'll come round! I've seen 'em this way more'n +a dozen times. Here, doctor let's get these wet +clo'es off 'em." He dropped between the two limp, +soggy bodies and began tearing open the shirt from +the man's chest. Jane, who had thrown herself in +a passion of grief on the water-soaked floor beside +Archie, commenced wiping the dead boy's face with +her handkerchief, smoothing the short wet curls from +his forehead as she wept. + +The man's shirt and collar loosened, Captain Holt +pulled the slouch hat from his head, wrenched the +wet shoes loose, wrapped the cold feet in the dry +shawl, and began tucking the pile of coats closer +about the man's shoulders that he might rest the +easier. For a moment he looked intently at the pallid +face smeared with ooze and grime, and limp +body that the doctor was working over, and then +stepped to where Tod now crouched beside his friend, +the one he had loved all his life. The young surfman's +strong body was shaking with the sobs he +could no longer restrain. + +"It's rough, Tod," said the captain, in a choking +voice, which grew clearer as he talked on. "Almighty +rough on ye and on all of us. You did what +you could--ye risked yer life for him, and there +ain't nobody kin do more. I wouldn't send ye out +again, but there's work to do. Them two men of +Cap'n Ambrose's is drowned, and they'll come ashore +some'er's near the inlet, and you and Parks better +hunt 'em up. They live up to Barnegat, ye know, +and their folks'll be wantin' 'em." It was strange +how calm he was. His sense of duty was now controlling +him. + +Tod had raised himself to his feet when the captain +had begun to speak and stood with his wet sou'wester +in his hand. + +"Been like a brother to me," was all he said, as +he brushed the tears from his eyes and went to join +Parks. + +The captain watched Tod's retreating figure for +a moment, and bending again over Archie's corpse, +stood gazing at the dead face, his hands folded across +his girth--as one does when watching a body being +slowly lowered into a grave. + +"I loved ye, boy," Jane heard him say between +her sobs. "I loved ye! You knowed it, boy. I +hoped to tell ye so out loud so everybody could hear. +Now they'll never know." + +Straightening himself up, he walked firmly to the +open door about which the people pressed, held back +by the line of surfmen headed by Polhemus, and +calmly surveyed the crowd. Close to the opening, +trying to press her way in to Jane, his eyes fell on +Lucy. Behind her stood Max Feilding. + +"Friends," said the captain, in a low, restrained +voice, every trace of his grief and excitement gone, +"I've got to ask ye to git considerable way back +and keep still. We got Doctor John here and Miss +Jane, and there ain't nothin' ye kin do. When +there is I'll call ye. Polhemus, you and Green see +this order is obeyed." + +Again he hesitated, then raising his eyes over the +group nearest the door, he beckoned to Lucy, pushed +her in ahead of him, caught the swinging doors in +his hands, and shut them tight. This done, he again +dropped on his knees beside the doctor and the now +breathing man. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + + +THE CLAW OF THE SEA-PUSS + + +With the closing of the doors the murmur of the +crowd, the dull glare of the gray sky, and the thrash +of the wind were shut out. The only light in the +House of Refuge now came from the two small +windows, one above the form of the suffering man +and the other behind the dead body of Archie. Jane's +head was close to the boy's chest, her sobs coming +from between her hands, held before her face. The +shock of Archie's death had robbed her of all her +strength. Lucy knelt beside her, her shoulder resting +against a pile of cordage. Every now and then she +would steal a furtive glance around the room--at +the boat, at the rafters overhead, at the stove with +its pile of kindling--and a slight shudder would +pass through her. She had forgotten nothing of the +past, nor of the room in which she crouched. Every +scar and stain stood out as clear and naked as those +on some long-buried wreck dug from shifting sands +by a change of tide. + +A few feet away the doctor was stripping the wet +clothes from the rescued man and piling the dry +coats over him to warm him back to life. His emergency +bag, handed in by Polhemus through the crack +of the closed doors, had been opened, a bottle selected, +and some spoonfuls of brandy forced down the sufferer's +throat. He saw that the sea-water had not +harmed him; it was the cordwood and wreckage +that had crushed the breath out of him. In confirmation +he pointed to a thin streak of blood oozing from +one ear. The captain nodded, and continued chafing +the man's hands--working with the skill of a surfman +over the water-soaked body. Once he remarked +in a half-whisper--so low that Jane could not hear +him: + +"I ain't sure yet, doctor. I thought it was Bart +when I grabbed him fust; but he looks kind o' +different from what I expected to see him. If it's +him he'll know me when he comes to. I ain't changed +so much maybe. I'll rub his feet now," and he kept +on with his work of resuscitation. + +Lucy's straining ears had caught the captain's +words of doubt, but they gave her no hope. She +had recognized at the first glance the man of all +others in the world she feared most. His small +ears, the way the hair grew on the temples, the bend +of the neck and slope from the chin to the throat. +No--she had no misgivings. These features had +been part of her life--had been constantly before +her since the hour Jane had told her of Bart's expected +return. Her time had come; nothing could +save her. He would regain consciousness, just as +the captain had said, and would open those awful +hollow eyes and would look at her, and then that +dreadful mouth, with its thin, ashen lips, would speak +to her, and she could deny nothing. Trusting to her +luck--something which had never failed her--she +had continued in her determination to keep everything +from Max. Now it would all come as a shock +to him, and when he asked her if it was true she +could only bow her head. + +She dared not look at Archie--she could not. +All her injustice to him and to Jane; her abandonment +of him when a baby; her neglect of him since, +her selfish life of pleasure; her triumph over Max-- +all came into review, one picture after another, like +the unrolling of a chart. Even while her hand was +on Jane's shoulder, and while comforting words fell +from her lips, her mind and eyes were fixed on the +face of the man whom the doctor was slowly bringing +back to life. + +Not that her sympathy was withheld from Archie +and Jane. It was her terror that dominated her-- +a terror that froze her blood and clogged her veins +and dulled every sensibility and emotion. She was +like one lowered into a grave beside a corpse upon +which every moment the earth would fall, entombing +the living with the dead. + +The man groaned and turned his head, as if in +pain. A convulsive movement of the lips and face +followed, and then the eyes partly opened. + +Lucy clutched at the coil of rope, staggered to her +feet, and braced herself for the shock. He would +rise now, and begin staring about, and then he would +recognize her. The captain knew what was coming; +he was even now planning in his mind the details +of the horrible plot of which Jane had told her! + +Captain Holt stooped closer and peered under the +half-closed lids. + +"Brown eyes," she heard him mutter to himself, +"just 's the Swede told me." She knew their +color; they had looked into her own too often. + +Doctor John felt about with his hand and drew a +small package of letters from inside the man's shirt. +They were tied with a string and soaked with salt +water. This he handed to the captain. + +The captain pulled them apart and examined them +carefully. + +"It's him," he said with a start, "it's Bart! It's +all plain now. Here's my letter," and he held it up. +"See the printing at the top--'Life-Saving Service'? +And here's some more--they're all stuck together. +Wait! here's one--fine writing." Then his +voice dropped so that only the doctor could hear: +"Ain't that signed 'Lucy'? Yes--'Lucy'--and +it's an old one." + +The doctor waved the letters away and again laid +his hand on the sufferer's chest, keeping it close to +his heart. The captain bent nearer. Jane, who, +crazed with grief, had been caressing Archie's cold +cheeks, lifted her head as if aware of the approach +of some crisis, and turned to where the doctor knelt +beside the rescued man. Lucy leaned forward with +straining eyes and ears. + +The stillness of death fell upon the small room. +Outside could be heard the pound and thrash of the +surf and the moan of the gale; no human voice-- +men and women were talking in whispers. One soul +had gone to God and another life hung by a thread. + +The doctor raised his finger. + +The man's face twitched convulsively, the lids +opened wider, there came a short, inward gasp, and +the jaw dropped. + +"He's dead," said the doctor, and rose to his +feet. Then he took his handkerchief from his pocket +and laid it over the dead man's face. + +As the words fell from his lips Lucy caught at +the wall, and with an almost hysterical cry of joy +threw herself into Jane's arms. + +The captain leaned back against the life-boat and +for some moments his eyes were fixed on the body +of his dead son. + +"I ain't never loved nothin' all my life, doctor," +he said, his voice choking, "that it didn't go that +way." + +Doctor John made no reply except with his eyes. +Silence is ofttimes more sympathetic than the spoken +word. He was putting his remedies back into his +bag so that he might rejoin Jane. The captain +continued: + +"All I've got is gone now--the wife, Archie, and +now Bart. I counted on these two. Bad day's work, +doctor--bad day's work." Then in a firm tone, "I'll +open the doors now and call in the men; we got to +git these two bodies up to the Station, and then we'll +get 'em home somehow." + +Instantly all Lucy's terror returned. An unaccountable, +unreasoning panic took possession of her. +All her past again rose before her. She feared the +captain now more than she had Bart. Crazed over the +loss of his son he would blurt out everything. Max +would hear and know--know about Archie and Bart +and all her life! + +Springing to her feet, maddened with an undefinable +terror, she caught the captain's hand as he +reached out for the fastenings of the door. + +"Don't--don't tell them who he is! Promise +me you won't tell them anything! Say it's a +stranger! You are not sure it's he--I heard you +say so!" + +"Not say it's my own son! Why?" He was +entirely unconscious of what was in her mind. + +Jane had risen to her feet at the note of agony +in Lucy's voice and had stepped to her side as if to +protect her. The doctor stood listening in amazement +to Lucy's outbreak. He knew her reasons, and +was appalled at her rashness. + +"No! Don't--DON'T!" Lucy was looking up into +the captain's face now, all her terror in her eyes. + +"Why, I can't see what good that'll do!" For +the moment he thought that the excitement had +turned her head. "Isaac Polhemus'll know him," +he continued, "soon's he sets his eyes on him. And +even if I was mean enough to do it, which I ain't, +these letters would tell. They've got to go to the +Superintendent 'long with everything else found on +bodies. Your name's on some o' 'em and mine's on +some others. We'll git 'em ag'in, but not till Gov'ment +see 'em." + +These were the letters which had haunted her! + +"Give them to me! They're mine!" she cried, +seizing the captain's fingers and trying to twist the +letters from his grasp. + +A frown gathered on the captain's brow and his +voice had an ugly ring in it: + +"But I tell ye the Superintendent's got to have +'em for a while. That's regulations, and that's what +we carry out. They ain't goin' to be lost--you'll +git 'em ag'in." + +"He sha'n't have them, I tell you!" Her voice +rang now with something of her old imperious tone. +"Nobody shall have them. They're mine--not +yours--nor his. Give them--" + +"And break my oath!" interrupted the captain. +For the first time he realized what her outburst +meant and what inspired it. + +"What difference does that make in a matter like +this? Give them to me. You dare not keep them," +she cried, tightening her fingers in the effort to +wrench the letters from his hand. "Sister--doctor +--speak to him! Make him give them to me--I will +have them!" + +The captain brushed aside her hand as easily as a +child would brush aside a flower. His lips were tight +shut, his eyes flashing. + +"You want me to lie to the department?" + +"YES!" She was beside herself now with fear +and rage. "I don't care who you lie to! You +brute--you coward-- I want them! I will have +them!" Again she made a spring for the letters. + +"See here, you she-devil. Look at me!"--the +words came in cold, cutting tones. "You're the only +thing livin', or dead, that ever dared ask Nathaniel +Holt to do a thing like that. And you think I'd +do it to oblige ye? You're rotten as punk--that's +what ye are! Rotten from yer keel to yer top-gallant! +and allus have been since I knowed ye!" + +Jane started forward and faced the now enraged +man. + +"You must not, captain--you shall not speak to +my sister that way!" she commanded. + +The doctor stopped between them: "You forget +that she is a woman. I forbid you to--" + +"I will, I tell ye, doctor! It's true, and you +know it." The captain's voice now dominated the +room. + +"That's no reason why you should abuse her. +You're too much of a man to act as you do." + +"It's because I'm a man that I do act this way. +She's done nothin' but bring trouble to this town +ever since she landed in it from school nigh twenty +year ago. Druv out that dead boy of mine lyin' +there, and made a tramp of him; throwed Archie +off on Miss Jane; lied to the man who married her, +and been livin' a lie ever since. And now she wants +me to break my oath! Damn her--" + +The doctor laid his hand over the captain's mouth. +"Stop! And I mean it!" His own calm eyes were +flashing now. "This is not the place for talk of this +kind. We are in the presence of death, and--" + +The captain caught the doctor's wrist and held it +like a vice. + +"I won't stop. I'll have it out--I've lived all +the lies I'm goin' to live! I told you all this fifteen +year ago when I thought Bart was dead, and you +wanted me to keep shut, and I did, and you did, too, +and you ain't never opened your mouth since. That's +because you're a man--all four square sides of ye. +You didn't want to hurt Miss Jane, and no more did +I. That's why I passed Archie there in the street; +that's why I turned round and looked after him when +I couldn't see sometimes for the tears in my eyes; and +all to save that THING there that ain't worth savin'! +By God, when I think of it I want to tear my tongue +out for keepin' still as long as I have!" + +Lucy, who had shrunk back against the wall, now +raised her head: + +"Coward! Coward!" she muttered. + +The captain turned and faced her, his eyes blazing, +his rage uncontrollable: + +"Yes, you're a THING, I tell ye !--and I'll say it +ag'in. I used to think it was Bart's fault. Now I +know it warn't. It was yours. You tricked him, +damn ye! Do ye hear? Ye tricked him with yer +lies and yer ways. Now they're over--there'll be no +more lies--not while I live! I'm goin' to strip ye +to bare poles so's folks 'round here kin see. Git out +of my way--all of ye! Out, I tell ye!" + +The doctor had stepped in front of the infuriated +man, his back to the closed door, his open palm upraised. + +"I will not, and you shall not!" he cried. "What +you are about do to is ruin--for Lucy, for Jane, and +for little Ellen. You cannot--you shall not put such +a stain upon that child. You love her, you--" + +"Yes--too well to let that woman touch her ag'in +if I kin help it!" The fury of the merciless sea was +in him now--the roar and pound of the surf in his +voice. "She'll be a curse to the child all her days; +she'll go back on her when she's a mind to just as +she did on Archie. There ain't a dog that runs the +streets that would 'a' done that. She didn't keer +then, and she don't keer now, with him a-lyin' dead +there. She ain't looked at him once nor shed a tear. +It's too late. All hell can't stop me! Out of my +way, I tell ye, doctor, or I'll hurt ye!" + +With a wrench he swung back the doors and flung +himself into the light. + +"Come in, men! Isaac, Green--all of ye--and +you over there! I got something to say, and I +don't want ye to miss a word of it! You, too, Mr. +Feilding, and that lady next ye--and everybody else +that kin hear! + +"That's my son, Barton Holt, lyin' there dead! +The one I druv out o' here nigh twenty year ago. +It warn't for playin' cards, but on account of a +woman; and there she stands--Lucy Cobden! That +dead boy beside him is their child--my own grandson, +Archie! Out of respect to the best woman that +ever lived, Miss Jane Cobden, I've kep' still. If +anybody ain't satisfied all they got to do is to look +over these letters. That's all!" + +Lucy, with a wild, despairing look at Max, had +sunk to the floor and lay cowering beneath the lifeboat, +her face hidden in the folds of her cloak. + +Jane had shrunk back behind one of the big folding +doors and stood concealed from the gaze of the +astonished crowd, many of whom were pressing into +the entrance. Her head was on the doctor's shoulder, +her fingers had tight hold of his sleeve. Doctor +John's arms were about her frail figure, his lips close +to her cheek. + +"Don't, dear--don't," he said softly. "You have +nothing to reproach yourself with. Your life has +been one long sacrifice." + +"Oh, but Archie, John! Think of my boy being +gone! Oh, I loved him so, John!" + +"You made a man of him, Jane. All he was he +owed to you." He was holding her to him--comforting +her as a father would a child. + +"And my poor Lucy," Jane moaned on, "and +the awful, awful disgrace!" Her face was still +hidden in his shoulder, her frame shaking with the +agony of her grief, the words coming slowly, as if +wrung one by one out of her breaking heart. + +"You did your duty, dear--all of it." His lips +were close to her ear. No one else heard. + +"And you knew it all these years, John--and you +did not tell me." + +"It was your secret, dear; not mine." + +"Yes, I know--but I have been so blind--so foolish. +I have hurt you so often, and you have been +so true through it all. O John, please--please forgive +me! My heart has been so sore at times--I +have suffered so!" + +Then, with a quick lifting of her head, as if the +thought alarmed her, she asked in sudden haste: + +"And you love me, John, just the same? Say +you love me, John!" + +He gathered her closer, and his lips touched her +cheek: + +"I never remember, my darling, when I did not +love you. Have you ever doubted me?" + +"No, John, no! Never, never! Kiss me again, +my beloved. You are all I have in the world!" + + +THE END + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Tides of Barnegat, by F. Hopkinson Smith + diff --git a/old/tdbnt10.zip b/old/tdbnt10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fd6e47 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tdbnt10.zip |