MARIE ENCOUNTERS THE SECRET SERVICE
In the beginning Eveley had hesitated to leave her newly adopted sister
alone in the Cloud Cote in the evening, but as Marie seemed absolutely to
know no fear, and as time did not hang at all heavily upon her hands,
Eveley was soon running about among her friends as she had always done.
But with this change: there was always a light in the window at the top
of the rustic stairs when she came home, and a warm and tender welcome
awaiting her.
Marie had come to be charmingly useful in the Cloud Cote. She prepared
breakfast while Eveley dressed, and did the light bit of housework nicely
and without effort. Eveley usually had her luncheon down-town, but in the
evening dinner was well started before she reached home. Her mending was
always exquisitely done, even before she knew that mending was necessary,
and among her lingerie she often came upon fine bits of lace she had not
seen before.
After long and loving persuasion, Marie had consented to meet Eveley's
sister and brother-in-law, and Eveley had them in for dinner. Marie was
quiet that night, scarcely speaking except now and then to the babies.
The next week, however, when Winifred asked both girls to dinner, Marie
went without argument, and seemed to take a great deal of quiet
satisfaction in the visit.
Kitty and Eileen she met often in the Cloud Cote, but always withdrew as
quickly as possible to her own room to leave Eveley alone with her
friends. With Nolan, Eveley openly insisted that Marie should develop a
friendship.
"Why, he will very likely be my husband one of these days, when he gets
around to it," she explained frankly.
"Your husband," echoed Marie. "I thought Mr. Hiltze--"
"Oh, no," denied Eveley, flushing a little. "He is just a pleasant
in-between-whiles. We are fellow-Americanizers, that is all."
"Does Mr. Hiltze know that?" queried Marie.
"Oh, everybody knows that I belong to Nolan when the time comes," said
Eveley, laughing.
Nolan, urgently warned by Eveley, met Marie with friendly ease and asked
no questions. He took her hand cordially and said in his pleasant voice.
"Well, if you are Eveley's sister, I have a half-way claim upon you
myself, and you must count me in." And then he promptly began mashing
potatoes for their dinner, and Marie did not mind him at all.
When Amos Hiltze came to the Cloud Cote she joined serenely with them,
very easy and comfortable, always careful to go to her room before he
left, that he might have a little while alone with Eveley. For she saw
plainly that while he interested Eveley only in his enthusiasm for
Americanization, for him Eveley had a deeper and sweeter charm.
One Saturday afternoon when Nolan was busy, the two girls went out for a
picnic on the beach, a well-filled basket in the car for their dinner. On
a sudden impulse, Eveley turned to Marie and cried:
"Oh, little sister, how would you like to learn to drive? Then you can
take me to the office and have the car yourself to play with while I am
busy."
"Eveley," came the ecstatic gasp, "would you--let me?"
"Would I let you?" laughed Eveley. "Should you like it? Why, you have
been wanting to, haven't you? Why didn't you ask me, Marie?"
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Yes, you should have," said Eveley gravely. "I would have told you
honestly if I did not wish it. I said you must feel free to ask me for
anything, didn't I. And don't I always mean what I say--to you, at
least?"
"Does your love for Americanization carry you so far?" asked Marie
curiously.
Eveley was silent a moment. "I can not exactly count you Americanization,"
she said honestly. "I do not believe Americanizing you could add anything
to your sweetness, anyhow. You are just fun, and--You may not believe it,
Marie," she added rather shyly, for she was not a demonstrative girl, "but
I--really I love you."
Quick tears leaped to Marie's dark eyes, and she placed her head softly
against Eveley's shoulder, though she did not speak. Almost instantly
Eveley brushed away the wave of sentiment and gave her quick bright
laugh.
"Now listen, sweetness," she said. "It is like this. This is the clutch
that controls the gears. When it wabbles like this it is in neutral and
the car will not run. When you shove down with your left foot, and pull
the clutch to the left and backward, it is in low gear, and the car will
go forward when you let your foot back. You must do it very slowly, so
there will be no pull nor jerk. Like this."
So the afternoon wore away, the two girls laughing gaily as Marie made
her first bungling attempts to drive; but later, Marie was aglow with
exultation and Eveley with deep pride, because the little foreigner
showed real aptitude for handling the car.
Then in a lovely quiet part of the beach a little beyond La Jolla, they
had an early supper and drove home, Eveley at the wheel, singing love
songs, Marie humming softly with her.
"This is almost like sweethearting, isn't it?" asked Eveley turning to
look into the dark eyes fixed adoringly upon her. "Next to Nolan you
satisfy me more than anything else in the world. But don't tell Nolan. He
is jealous of you,--he thinks I like you better than I do him."
"You say you love me, Eveley. But do you? Is it the kind of love that can
understand and sympathize and forgive--yes, and keep on loving even
when--things are wrong?"
"Nothing could change my feeling for you, Marie," said Eveley positively.
"But if things were wrong?" came the insistent query.
"Well, I am no angel myself," answered Eveley, laughing again. "If you
are a naughty girl, I shall say, 'I will forgive you if you will forgive
me,' and there you are." She stopped again, to laugh. "But I can't think
of any wrong you could do, Marie. You just naturally do not associate
with wrong things."
"And you will always remember, won't you, what you have said about love
of one's country? That it excuses and glorifies everything in the world?"
But Eveley was singing again.
Eveley had made an arrangement to call for Nolan at the office at eight,
as they were going to Kitty's for a late supper with her and Arnold
Bender, so she kissed Marie good night when they reached home, and said:
"Will you be lonesome without your big sister, and boss?"
"I think I shall go down and watch the dark shadows in your beautiful
canyon," said Marie, clinging to Eveley's hand, and looking deeply into
her eyes.
"Aren't you afraid down there at night?" wondered Eveley. "I have lived
on top of the canyon all my life, and we played hide-and-seek there when
we were children, and I love it,--and yet when night comes, I do not even
go so far as the rose pergola unless Nolan is there to hold my hand and
shoo away the ghosts and things."
"That is our difference. You are afraid of the world and the night, I am
afraid only of men and women. I have lived alone, and have had wide dark
gardens to wander in. They have never harmed me. Only men have injured
me, and my family. So I love to slip down into the soft fragrant darkness
of the canyon and sit on the big stones or on the velvet grass, and see
my future in the shadows."
"But do not stay long. The whole canyon is yours to dream in, if it makes
you happy. But wear a heavy wrap and do not get chilled."
Then with a hasty kiss she ran down the steps to the car.
Eveley was tired that night. The first lesson in driving, the lazy supper
on the beach, and the long ride, left her listless and indolent. So after
their merry dinner, and a dance or two around the Victrola, she said she
had a headache and wanted to go home.
They drove very slowly along the winding road, and were quietly content.
Nolan opened the doors of the garage and Eveley ran the car into place;
then, as she was really tired, at the foot of the rustic stairs he said
good night, while she crept slowly up the steps.
For the first time, there was no Marie to welcome her. The room, though
lighted, looked dreary and forlorn without the pretty adopted girl.
"The little goosie," said Eveley, with a tender smile. "I suppose she is
still dreaming down in that spooky canyon. Maybe she has fallen asleep. I
shall have to go after her."
She took a small flash-light, and hurried down the rustic stairs and the
well-known path beyond the rose pergola, where she hoped to find Marie.
But Marie was not there.
Eveley knew every foot of the canyon by heart; she went surely and
without hesitation along the twisting, winding, rocky path, half-way down
the narrow slope.
"Marie," she called softly, "Marie."
But there was no answer.
"Maybe she is behind the live oak in the Rambler's Retreat," she thought,
and climbed up the steep bank from the path, clinging to bits of
shrubbery and foliage. But Marie was not there. And then as Eveley
turned, she heard quick running steps in the pathway under the swinging
bridge that spanned the canyon lower down.
Eveley sighed aloud in her relief,--then her breath caught in her
throat,--a gasp of fear.
For sounding clear and distinct above the light steps came a pounding of
heavier feet. Some one was following Marie up the path,--no, there were
two for there was another pounding a little fainter, farther away. Now
Eveley could hear the frightened intake of Marie's breath as she ran. Two
girls alone in the dark canyon.
Eveley clung desperately to the heavy shrubbery among which she was
crouching. She was about three feet above the path on the steep bank.
Clinging for support with one hand, she reached noiselessly about for a
stone, but there was nothing upon which she could lay her hand.
Below the path, the canyon dropped sharply for a long way, fifty or sixty
feet perhaps, not a precipice, but with a decided drop that could only be
descended with care. If Marie would only lie down and roll, she might be
able to hide among the bushes at the bottom. But Marie did not think of
that. Her one idea was to run faster and faster, in the hope of escaping
her pursuers.
"Marie," whispered Eveley sharply as the girl came up the path near her,
and Marie, hearing the faint sound, stopped suddenly in her tracks,
swaying, more frightened than ever.
"Lie down, lie down," urged Eveley, but Marie did not hear, and before
she could gather her wits to run on, a man leaped toward her, both arms
outstretched.
"I got you," he panted.
Marie, following the terrified instinct of every hunted animal, swung her
lithe body and ducked beneath his arm. And at that moment, Eveley,
tightening her hold upon the branches of the bush, drew up her feet,
braced herself against the bank for a moment, and then sprang heavily
against the man with both feet and sent him reeling head-first down the
canyon.
[Illustration: "Marie," whispered Eveley sharply.]
Like a flash, Marie flattened herself against the bank--one more dark
shadow among the others--and none too soon, for the second man was close
upon them, so close they could hear the heavy rasp of his breathing.
Eveley had not time to raise herself for another spring, so she crouched
against the bank in terror, hoping in his haste that he might pass them
by. But as he came near he paused suddenly, his attention attracted by
the sound of tearing brush, and the incoherent cries of his companion as
he rolled down the canyon. Taking it as an indication that the chase was
in that direction, he turned blindly to follow, and not knowing the lay
of the land, lost his footing at once and fell headlong.
Eveley was upon her feet in an instant.
"Run, Marie," she whispered, and in less than a moment they were hurrying
up the path behind the rose pergola under the magnolias and beneath the
light from their Cloud Cote.
"Wait," whispered Marie. "Let's hide a moment. They might see us going up
the stairs. Wait beneath the roses until they are gone."
Only faint sounds came up to them as the two men, bruised and sore,
painfully picked themselves up from the rocks and the prickly shrubs.
Evidently they realized there was no hope of further pursuit, for in a
short while the girls could hear the faint echo of their heavy footsteps
as they retraced their way down the canyon.
Eveley held Marie in her arms until the last sound had echoed away, and
then silently they climbed the stairs, crossed the little garden on the
roof, and crawled through the window into the safety of the Cote.
"Are you hurt, Marie?" asked Eveley, the first to break the tense silence
that fell upon them when they were conscious of shelter and security.
Marie shook her head. Then she moved one step toward Eveley, and asked in
a pleading whisper: "Are you angry with me? Do you hate me?"
"Oh, Marie, don't talk so," cried Eveley, nervous tears springing to her
eyes. "How could I be angry with you? But I was so frightened and
shocked. I did not know how very much I loved you. You must never go into
the canyon again at night. Never once,--for one minute. Will you promise
me?"
"I will promise whatever you wish, Eveley, you know."
Eveley smiled at her weakly, and turning to take off her wraps saw with
surprise that the sleeves were torn almost from her coat.
"I must have come down with quite a bang," she said faintly, suddenly
aware that her shoulders were quivering with pain.
With a little cry of pity, Marie ran to her, and tenderly helped to
remove her blouse. The tears ran down her face when she saw the red and
swollen shoulders beneath.
"Oh, my poor angel," she mourned. "All bruised and sore like that. For
me. You never should have done it."
Very sweetly she bathed the shoulders, and when Eveley crept painfully
into bed, she arranged soft compresses of cotton and oil for her to lie
upon. And she asked, shyly, if she might sit by the bed.
"Until you fall asleep," she pleaded. "I can not leave you like this,
when you are in such pain,--for me."
"Come and sleep with me, then," said Eveley. "I do not want to let you go
off alone, either, when--something so terrible might have happened to
you."
Eagerly and with great joy Marie availed herself of the privilege, and
slipped into her place beside Eveley.
"If you suffer in the night, please ask me to help you," she begged. "I
will not sleep, but I do not wish to speak until I know you are awake."
"You must sleep," said Eveley.
But Marie did not sleep. Sometimes Eveley would moan a little, turning
heavily, and then, without a sound, Marie was out of bed, replacing the
bandages with fresh ones, crooning softly over Eveley as a mother over a
suffering child.
Fortunately the next day was Sunday, and Eveley remained quietly on a
couch, with Marie waiting upon her like a tender Madonna. Nolan came up,
too, and insisted upon the full story of what had happened.
"I fell," said Eveley positively.
"You did not fall on your shoulder-blades," he said. "You girls have been
up to some monkey business, and I want to know."
After long insistence, Eveley told him of the night's adventure, Marie
sitting erect and rigid during the recital.
"Where did you go, Marie?" he asked, in deep concern.
"I went too far," she confessed regretfully. "But it was an exquisite
night, and I was happy. I went down farther and farther, and did not
realize it. Suddenly I looked up, and knew I was far, far down. I turned
at once.--Then some one called. A man's voice. I ran, and the steps came
pounding after me."
"You must not go into the canyon at night again, please, Marie. You are
too young. And--the canyon goes away down to the water-front where there
are a lot of Greasers and--I mean, half-breeds," he stammered quickly,
"all kinds of foreigners along the road down there! You must stay on top
of your canyon and be good."
The next morning, although Eveley knew her arms were too stiff and sore
for work, she decided to go to the office anyhow to see the day well
started.
"They will send me home, and I shall be here for luncheon with you. I can
not drive yet, so I'll just cross the bridge and go on the street-car."
As she stood on the swinging bridge, looking down into the lovely canyon,
it seemed impossible that there in the friendly shadows such horrible
dangers had menaced them. Of a sudden impulse, she ran back, and climbed
carefully down to where she had clung so grimly to the tangled vines and
had knocked Marie's assailant from the path.
No, it was no dream. The vines were torn and mangled and on the path were
the marks of trampling feet, and peering down the canyon she could
discern two distinct trails where the men had tumbled and reeled. She
slowly followed the trails, picking her way carefully, clinging to bits
of shrub. Her lips curved into a grim smile as she pictured their
surprise and pain. At the foot of the canyon she saw something shining
among the rocks.
She lifted it curiously, and turned it in her hand. It was clean and
shining,--a small steel badge marked Secret Service.
Eveley's eyes clouded, and her brows took on a troubled frown, as she put
the badge carefully into her purse.
"I shall never tell Marie," she said. "It would not help much with the
Americanization of a sweet and trusting foreign girl to know she had been
followed at night by a steel badge marked Secret Service."
And Eveley followed the path back to the bridge again with a grieved and
troubled air.