LADY BAZELHURST was right. Penelope was making her way through the
blackest of nights toward the home of Randolph Shaw. In deciding upon
this step, after long deliberation, she had said to herself: “Randolph
Shaw is the only real man I 've seen since coming to the mountains. I
can trust him to help me to-night.”
It was fully three miles to Shaw's place, most of the way over the
narrow valley road. She knew she would encounter but few tortuous
places. The last half-mile, however, was steep, rugged, and unfamiliar
to her. She had ventured no nearer to his home than Renwood's deserted
cottage, lying above and to the south of the road, almost at the base of
the long hill on whose side Shaw had built his big home. To climb that
hill was no easy task in daylight; at midnight, with the stars obscured
by clouds and tree-tops, there was something perilously uncertain in the
prospect.
Only the knowledge that patience and courage eventually would bring her
to the end made the journey possible. Time would lead her to the haven;
care would make the road a friend; a stout heart was her best ally.
Strength of limb and strength of purpose she had, in use and in reserve.
No power could have made her turn back willingly. Her anxious eyes were
set ahead in the blackness; her runaway feet were eager in obedience to
her will.
“Why couldn't I have put it off until morning?” she was saying to
herself as she passed down the gravelled drive and advanced to meet the
wall of trees that frowned blackly in her face. “What will he think?
What will he say? Oh, he'll think I'm such a silly, romantic fool. No,
he won't. He'll understand. He'll help me on to Platts-burg to-morrow.
But will he think I've done this for effect? Won't he think I'm actually
throwing myself at his head? No, I can't turn back. I'd rather die than
go back to that house. It won't matter what he thinks; I'll be away from
all of it tomorrow. I'll be out of his life and I won't care what he
thinks. England! Goodness, what's that?” She had turned a bend in the
drive and just ahead there was a light. A sigh of relief followed the
question. It came from the lantern which hung to a stake in the road
where the new stone gate-posts were being built by workmen from town.
Bazelhurst Villa was a quarter of a mile, through the park, behind her;
the forest was ahead.
At the gate she stopped between the half-finished stone posts and
looked ahead with the first shiver of dismay. Her limbs seemed ready
to collapse. The flush of anger and excitement left her face; a white,
desolate look came in its stead. Her eyes grew wide and she blinked her
lashes with an awed uncertainty that boded ill for the stability of her
adventure. An owl hooted in mournful cadence close by and she felt
that her hair was going straight on end. The tense fingers of one
hand gripped the handle of the travelling-bag while the other went
spasmodically to her heart.
“Oh!” she gasped, moving over quickly to the stake on which the lantern
hung. The wind was rushing through the tree-tops with increased fervour;
the air was cool and wet with the signs of rain; a swirl of dust flew up
into her face; the swish of leaves sounded like the splashing of water
in the air. Holding her heart for minutes, she at last regained some
of the lost composure. A hysterical laugh fell from her lips. “What a
goose! It was an owl and I've heard hundreds of them up here. Still,
they _do_ sound different outside of one's own room. It's going to rain.
What wretched luck! Dear me, I can't stand here all night. How black it
is ahead there. Oooh! Really, now, it does seem a bit terrifying. If
I only had a lantern it would n't be so--” her gaze fell upon the
labourers' lantern that clattered aimlessly, uselessly against the
stake. An instant later she had jerked it from its fastenings with a cry
of joy. “I'll send it back when they go for my trunks. What luck!”
Without a second's hesitation she started off briskly into the woodland
road, striding along with the splendid swing of the healthy Englishwoman
who has not been trained to dawdle. Her walking-skirt gave free play to
her limbs; she was far past the well-known “line in the road” before she
paused to take a full breath and to recapitulate.
Her heart beat faster and the sudden glow in her cheek was not from
the exercise. Somehow, out there alone in the world, the most amazing
feeling of tenderness sped on ahead to Randolph Shaw. She tried to put
it from her, but it grew and grew. Then she blushed deep within herself
and her eyes grew sweet with the memory of those stolen, reprehensible
hours along the frontier. Something within her breast cried out for
those shining, gone-by moments, something seemed to close down on her
throat, something flooded her eyes with a softness that rolled up from
her entire being. Their line! Their insurmountable barrier! An absurd
yet ineffable longing to fall down and kiss that line came over her with
compelling force.
Her head grew light with the thought of those moments when their horses
stood with muzzles together as if kissing by proxy--the flush grew
deeper, though her blood went cold and she trembled.
A pitiful confusion seized her, an inexplicable timidity crept into her
heart, replacing the bold assurance that had been recklessly carrying
her on to him. It was as though some one had whispered the truth into
her ear and she was beginning to believe.
From that moment her courage began to fail. The glow from her lantern
was a menace instead of a help. A sweet timorousness enveloped her and
something tingled--she knew not what.
Spattering raindrops whizzed in her face, ominous forerunners from the
inky sky. The wind was whistling with shrill glee in the tree-tops and
the tree-tops tried to flee before it. A mile and a half lay between
her and the big cottage on the hillside--the most arduous part of the
journey by far. She walked and ran as though pursued, scudding over the
road with a swiftness that would have amazed another, but which seemed
the essence of slowness to her. Thoughts of robbers, tramps, wild
beasts, assailed her with intermittent terrors, but all served to
diminish the feeling of shyness that had been interfering with her
determination.
Past Renwood's cottage she sped, shuddering as she recognized the stone
steps and path that ran up the hillside to the haunted house. Ghosts,
witches, hobgoblins fell into the procession of pursuers, cheered on by
the shrieking wind that grew more noisome as her feet carried her
higher up the mountain. Now she was on new ground. She had never before
explored so far as this. The hill was steep and the road had black
abysses out beyond its edges....
She was breathless, half dead from fatigue and terror when at last her
feet stumbled up the broad steps leading to his porch. Trembling, she
sank into the rustic bench that stood against the wall. The lantern
clattered to her feet, and the bag with her jewels, her letter of
credit, and her curling irons slid to the floor behind the bench. Here
was his home! What cared she for the storm?
Even as she lay there gasping for breath, her eyes on the shadowy moon
that was breaking its way through the clouds, three men raced from the
stables at Bazelhurst Villa bent on finding the mad young person who had
fled the place. Scarcely knowing what direction he took, Lord Bazelhurst
led the way, followed by the duke and the count, all of them supplied
with carriage lamps, which, at any other time, would have been sickening
in their obtrusiveness. Except for Lady Evelyn, the rest of the house
slept the sleep of ease.
Gradually Penelope recovered from the effects of the mad race up the
hill. The sputtering flame in the lantern called her into action.
Clutching it from the floor of the porch, she softly began a tour of
inspection, first looking at her watch to find that it was the unholy
hour of two! Had some one yelled boo! she would have swooned, so tense
was every nerve. Now that she was here, what was she to do? Her heart
came to her mouth, her hand shook, but not with fear; a nervous smile
tried to wreak disaster to the concern in her eyes.
The house was dark and still. No one was stirring. The porch was
littered with rugs and cushions, while on a small table near the end
stood a decanter, a siphon, and two glasses. Two? He had said he was
alone except for the housekeeper and the servants. A visitor, then. This
was not what she had expected. Her heart sank. It would be hard to
face the master of the house, but--a stranger? Cigarette stubs met her
bewildered, troubled gaze--many of them. Deduction was easy out there in
the lonely night. It was easy to see that Shaw and his companion sat up
so late that the servants had gone to bed.
Distractedly she looked about for means of shelter on the porch until
daylight could abet her in the flight to the village beyond.
The storm was sure to come at no far distant time. She knew and feared
the violence of the mountain rains.
“By all that's holy,” came in a man's voice, low-toned and uncertain;
“it _is_ a dream, after all!”
She turned like a flash, with a startled exclamation and an instinctive
movement as if to shield herself from unbidden gaze. Her lips parted and
her heart pounded like a hammer. Standing in the doorway was Randolph
Shaw, his figure looming up like monstrous, wavering genie in the
uncertain light from the shaking lantern. His right hand was to his brow
and his eyes were wide with incredulous joy. She noticed that the left
sleeve of his dinner jacket hung limp, and that the arm was in a white
sling beneath.
“Is it really you?” he cried, his hand going instinctively to his
watch-pocket as if doubting that it was night instead of morning.
“I've--I 've run away from them,” she stammered. “It's two
o'clock--don't look! Oh, I'm so sorry now--why did I--”
“You ran away?” he exclaimed, coming toward her. “Oh, it can't be a
dream. You are there, aren't you?” She was a pitiable object as she
stood there, powerless to retreat, shaking like a leaf. He took her by
the shoulder. “Yes--it is. Good Lord, what does it mean? What has
happened? How did you come here? Are you alone?”
“Utterly, miserably alone. Oh, Mr. Shaw!” she cried despairingly. “You
_will_ understand, won't you?”
“Never! Never as long as I live. It is beyond comprehension. The
wonderful part of it all is that I was sitting in there dreaming of
you--yes, I was. I heard some one out here, investigated and found
you--_you_, of all people in the world. And I was dreaming that I held
you in my arms. Yes, I was! I was dreaming it--”
“Mr. Shaw! You should n't--”
“And I awoke to find you--not in my arms, not in Bazelhurst Villa, but
here--here on my porch.”
“Like a thief in the night,” she murmured. “What _do_ you think of me?”
“Shall I tell you--really?” he cried. The light in his eyes drove her
back a step or two, panic in her heart.
“N--no, no--not now!” she gasped, but a great wave of exaltation swept
through her being. He turned and walked away, too dazed to speak.
Without knowing it, she followed with hesitating steps. At the edge of
the porch he paused and looked into the darkness.
“By Jove, I _must_ be dreaming,” she heard him mutter.
“No, you are not,” she declared desperately. “I _am_ here. I ask your
protection for the night. I am going away--to England--to-morrow. I
could n't stay there--I just could n't. I'm sorry I came here--I'm--”
“Thank heaven, you _did_ come,” he exclaimed, turning to her joyously.
“You are like a fairy--the fairy princess come true. It's unbelievable!
But--but what was it you said about England?” he concluded, suddenly
sober.
“I am go--going home. There's no place else. I can't live with her,” she
said, a bit tremulously.
“To England? At once? Your father--will he--?”
“My father? I have no father. Oh!” with a sudden start Her eyes met
his in a helpless stare. “I never thought. My home was at Bazelhurst
Castle--their home. I can't go there. Good heavens, what am I to do?”
A long time afterward she recalled his exultant exclamation, checked
at its outset,--recalled it with a perfect sense of understanding. With
rare good taste he subdued whatever it was that might have struggled
for expression and simply extended his right hand to relieve her of the
lantern.
“We never have been enemies, Miss Drake,” he said, controlling his voice
admirably. “But had we been so up to this very instant, I am sure I 'd
surrender now. I don't know what has happened at the Villa. It does
n't matter. You are here to ask my protection and my help. I am at your
service, my home is yours, my right hand also. You are tired and wet
and--nervous. Won't you come inside? I 'll get a light in a jiffy and
Mrs. Ulrich, my housekeeper, shall be with you as soon as I can rout her
out. Come in, please.” She held back doubtfully, a troubled, uncertain
look in her eyes.
“You _will_ understand, won't you?” she asked simply.
“And no questions asked,” he said from the doorway. Still she held back,
her gaze going involuntarily to the glasses on the table. He interpreted
the look of inquiry. “There were two of us. The doctor was here picking
out the shot, that 's all. He 's gone. It's all right. Wait here and
I'll get a light.” The flame in her lantern suddenly ended its feeble
life.
She stood inside his doorway and heard him shuffle across the floor in
search of the lamps.
“Dark as Egypt, eh?” he called out from the opposite side of the room.
“Not as dark as the forest, Mr. Shaw.”
“Good heavens, what a time you must have had. All alone, were you?”
“Of course. I was not eloping.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Where were you sitting when I came up?”
“Here--in the dark. I was waiting for the storm to come and dozed away,
I daresay. I love a storm, don't you?”
“Yes, if I 'm indoors. Ah!” He had struck a match and was lighting the
wick of a lamp beside the huge fireplace. “I suppose you think I 'm
perfectly crazy. I 'm horrid.”
“Not at all. Sit down here on the couch, please. More cheerful, eh?
Good Lord, listen to the wind. You got here just in time. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I'll have Mrs. Ulrich down in a minute. She'll take good care
of you. And I 'll make you a nice hot drink, too. You need it.” In the
door of the big living-room he turned to her, a look of extreme doubt in
his eyes. “By Jove, I bet I _do_ wake up. It can't be true.” She laughed
plaintively and shook her head in humble self-abasement. “Don't be
lonesome. I'll be back in a minute.”
“Don't hurry,” she murmured apologetically. Then she settled back
limply in the wide couch and inspected the room, his footsteps noisily
clattering down the long hallway to the left. She saw, with some
misgiving, that it was purely a man's habitation. Shaw doubtless had
built and furnished the big cottage without woman as a consideration.
The room was large, comfortable, solid; there was not a suggestion of
femininity in, it--high or low--except the general air of cleanliness.
The furniture was rough-hewn and built for use, not ornamentation; the
walls were hung with English prints, antlers, mementoes of the hunt and
the field of sport; the floor was covered with skins and great “carpet
rag” rugs. The whole aspect was so distinctly mannish that her heart
fluttered ridiculously in its loneliness. Her cogitations were running
seriously toward riot when he came hurriedly down the hall and into her
presence.
“She'll be down presently. In fact, so will the cook and the housemaid.
Gad, Miss Drake, they were so afraid of the storm that all of them piled
into Mrs. Ulrich's room. I wonder at your courage in facing the symptoms
outdoors. Now, I'll fix you a drink. Take off your hat--be comfortable.
Cigarette? Good! Here's my sideboard. See? It's a nuisance, this having
only one arm in commission; affects my style as a barkeep. Don't stir;
I'll be able--”
“Let me help you. I mean, please don't go to so much trouble. Really
I want nothing but a place to sleep to-night. This couch will
do--honestly. And some one to call me at daybreak, so that I may be on
my way.” He looked at her and laughed quizzically. “Oh, I'm in earnest,
Mr. Shaw, I would not have stopped here if it had n't been tor the
storm.”
“Come, now, Miss Drake, you spoil the fairy tale. You _did_ intend to
come here. It was the only place for you to go--and I'm glad of it. My
only regret is that the house is n't filled with chaperons.”
“Why?” she demanded with a guilty start.
“Because I could then say to you all the things that are in my
heart--aye, that are almost bursting from my lips. I--I can't say them
now, you know,” he said, and she understood his delicacy. For some
minutes she sat in silence watching him as he clumsily mixed the drinks
and put the water over the alcohol blaze. Suddenly he turned to her with
something like alarm in his voice. “By George, you don't suppose they
'll pursue you?”
“Oh, would n't that be jolly? It would be like the real story-book--the
fairy and the ogres and all that. But,” dubiously, “I'm sorely afraid
they consider me rubbish. Still--” looking up encouragingly--“my brother
would try to find me if he--if he knew that I was gone.”
To her surprise, he whistled softly and permitted a frown of anxiety
to creep over his face. “I had n't thought of that,” he observed
reflectively. Then he seemed to throw off the momentary symptoms of
uneasiness, adding, with a laugh: “I daresay nothing will happen. The
storm would put a stop to all idea of pursuit.”
“Let them pursue,” she said, a stubborn light in her eyes. “I am my
own mistress, Mr. Shaw. They can't take me, willy nilly, as if I were a
child, you know.”
[Illustration: 0082]
“That's quite true. You don't understand,” he said slowly, his back to
her.
“You mean the law? Is it different from ours?”
“Not that. The--er--situation. You see, they might think it a trifle odd
if they found you here--with me. Don't you understand?” He turned to
her with a very serious expression. She started and sat bolt upright to
stare at him comprehensively.
“You mean--it--it isn't quite--er--”
“Regular, perhaps,” he supplied. “Please keep your seat! I'm not the
censor; I'm not even an opinion. Believe me, Miss Drake, my only thought
was and is for your good.”
“I see. They would believe evil of me if they knew I had come to you,”
she mused, turning quite cold.
“I know the kind of people your sister-in-law has at her place, Miss
Drake. Their sort can see but one motive in anything. You know them,
too, I daresay.”
“Yes, I know them,” she said uneasily. “Good heavens, what a fool I've
been,” she added, starting to her feet. “I might have known they 'll
say all sorts of terrible things. They must not find me here. Mr. Shaw,
I'm--I am so ashamed--I wonder what you are thinking of me.” Her lip
trembled and there was such a pleading look in her dark eyes that he
controlled himself with difficulty. It was only by imposing the severest
restraint upon his susceptibilities that he was able to approach her
calmly.
“I can't tell you now--not here--what I am thinking. It is n't the
place. Maybe--maybe you can read my thought. Please--Miss Drake. Look up,
please. Can't you read--oh, there now--I beg your pardon! You come to me
for protection and I--well, don't be too hard on me just yet. I'll find
the time and place to tell you.” He drew away almost as his hand
was ready to clasp hers--all because her sweet eyes met his
trustingly--lovingly.
“Just now I am a poor little reprobate,” she sighed ever so miserably.
“You are very good. I'll not forget.”
“I 'll not permit you to forget,” he said eagerly.
“Is n't the housekeeper a long time in coming?” she asked quickly. He
laughed contentedly.
“We've no reason to worry about her. It 's the pursuers from Bazelhurst
that should trouble us. Won't you tell me the whole story?” And she told
him everything, sitting there beside him with a hot drink in her hand
and a growing shame in her heart. It was dawning upon her with alarming
force that she was exposing a hitherto unknown incentive. It was not a
comfortable awakening. “And you champion me to that extent?” he cried
joyously. She nodded bravely and went on.
“So here I am,” she said in conclusion. “I really could not have walked
to Ridgely to-night, could I?”
“I should say not.”
“And there was really nowhere else to come but here?” dubiously.
“See that light over there--up the mountain?” he asked, leading her to
a window. “Old man Grimes and his wife live up there. They keep a light
burning all night to scare Renwood's ghost away. By Jove, the storm will
be upon us in a minute. I thought it had blown around us.” The roll of
thunder came up the valley. “Thank heaven, you 're safe indoors. Let
them pursue if they like. I 'll hide you if they come, and the servants
are close-mouthed.”
“I don't like the way you put it, Mr. Shaw.”
“Hullo, hullo--the house,” came a shout from the wind-ridden night
outside. Two hearts inside stopped beating for a second or two. She
caught her breath sharply as she clasped his arm.
“They are after me!” she gasped.
“They must not find you here. Really, Miss Drake, I mean it. They would
n't understand. Come with me. Go down this hall quickly. It leads to the
garden back of the house. There's a gun-room at the end of the hall.
Go in there, to your right. Here, take this! It's an electric
saddle-lantern. I 'll head these fellows off. They shan't find you.
Don't be alarmed.”
She sped down the narrow hall and he, taking time to slip into a
long dressing-coat, stepped out upon the porch in response to the now
prolonged and impatient shouts.
“Who 's there?” he shouted. The light from the windows revealed several
horsemen in the roadway.
“Friends,” came back through the wind. “Let us in out of the storm. It's
a terror.”
“I don't know you.” There was a shout of laughter and some profanity.
“Oh, yes you do, Mr. Shaw. Open up and let us in. It's Dave Rank and Ed
Hunter. We can't make the cabin before the rain.” Shaw could see their
faces now and then by the flashes of lightning and he recognized the two
woodsmen, who doubtless had been visiting sweethearts up toward Ridgely.
“Take your horses to the stable, boys, and come in,” he called, laughing
heartily. Then he hurried off to the gun-room. He passed Mrs. Ulrich
coming downstairs yawning prodigiously; he called to her to wait for him
in the library.
There was no one in the gun-room; the door leading to the back porch was
open.
With an exclamation he leaped outside and looked about him.
“Good heavens!” he cried, staggering back.
Far _off_ in the night, a hundred yards or more up the road, leading to
Grimes' cabin he saw the wobbling, uncertain flicker of a light wending
its way like a will-o'-the-wisp through the night. Without a moment's
hesitation and with something strangely like an oath, he rushed into the
house, almost upsetting the housekeeper in his haste.
“Visitors outside. Make 'em comfortable. Back soon,” he jerked out as
he changed his coat with small respect for his injured arm. Then he
clutched a couple of raincoats from the rack and flew out of the back
door like a man suddenly gone mad.