SHIFTING SANDS
Mary Louise hid herself in the drawing-room, where she could watch the
closed door of the library opposite. At times she trembled with an
unknown dread; again, she told herself that no harm could possibly
befall her dear, good Gran'pa Jim or her faithful, loving mother. Yet
why were they closeted in the library so long, and how could the
meeting with that insolent stranger affect Colonel Weatherby so
strongly?
After a long time her mother came out, looking more pallid and harassed
than ever but strangely composed. She kissed Mary Louise, who came to
meet her, and said:
"Get ready for dinner, dear. We are late."
The girl went to her room, dazed and uneasy. At dinner her mother
appeared at the table, eating little or nothing, but Gran'pa Jim was
not present. Afterward she learned that he had gone over to Miss
Stearne's School for Girls, where he completed important arrangements
concerning his granddaughter.
When dinner was over Mary Louise went into the library and, drawing a
chair to where the light of the student lamp flooded her book, tried to
read. But the words were blurred and her mind was in a sort of chaos.
Mamma Bee had summoned Aunt Polly and Uncle Eben to her room, where she
was now holding a conference with the faithful colored servants. A
strange and subtle atmosphere of unrest pervaded the house; Mary Louise
scented radical changes in their heretofore pleasant home life, but
what these changes were to be or what necessitated them she could not
imagine.
After a while she heard Gran'pa Jim enter the hall and hang up his hat
and coat and place his cane in the rack. Then he came to the door of
the library and stood a moment looking hard at Mary Louise. Her own
eyes regarded her grandfather earnestly, questioning him as positively
as if she had spoken.
He drew a chair before her and leaning over took both her hands in his
and held them fast.
"My dear," he said gently, "I regret to say that another change has
overtaken us. Have you ever heard of 'harlequin fate'? 'Tis a very
buffoon of mischief and irony that is often permitted to dog our
earthly footsteps and prevent us from becoming too content with our
lot. For a time you and I, little maid, good comrades though we have
been, must tread different paths. Your mother and I are going away,
presently, and we shall leave you here in Beverly, where you may
continue your studies under the supervision of Miss Stearne, as a
boarder at her school. This house, although the rental is paid for six
weeks longer, we shall at once vacate, leaving Uncle Eben and Aunt
Sallie to put it in shape and close it properly. Do you understand all
this, Mary Louise?"
"I understand what you have told me, Gran'pa Jim. But why--"
"Miss Stearne will be supplied with ample funds to cover your tuition
and to purchase any supplies you may need. You will have nothing to
worry about and so may devote all your energies to your studies."
"But how long---"
"Trust me and your mother to watch over your welfare, for you are very
dear to us, believe me," he continued, disregarding her interruptions.
"Do you remember the address of the Conants, at Dorfield?"
"Of course."
"Well, you may write to me, or to your mother, once a week, addressing
the letter in care of Peter Conant. But if you are questioned by
anyone," he added, gravely, "do not mention the address of the Conants
or hint that I have gone to Dorfield. Write your letters privately and
unobserved, in your own room, and post them secretly, by your own hand,
so that no one will be aware of the correspondence. Your caution in
this regard will be of great service to your mother and me. Do you
think you can follow these instructions?"
"To be sure I can, Gran'pa Jim. But why must I---"
"Some day," said he, "you will understand this seeming mystery and be
able to smile at your present perplexities. There is nothing to fear,
my dear child, and nothing that need cause you undue anxiety. Keep a
brave heart and, whatever happens, have faith in Gran'pa Jim. Your
mother--as good a woman as God ever made--believes in me, and she knows
all. Can you accept her judgment, Mary Louise? Can you steadfastly
ignore any aspersions that may be cast upon my good name?"
"Yes, Gran'pa Jim."
She had not the faintest idea what he referred to. Not until afterward
was she able to piece these strange remarks together and make sense of
them. Just now the girl was most impressed by the fact that her mother
and grandfather were going away and would leave her as a boarder with
Miss Stearne. The delightful home life, wherein she had passed the
happiest two years of her existence, was to be broken up for good and
all.
"Now I must go to your mother. Kiss me, my dear!"
As he rose to his feet Mary Louise also sprang from her chair and the
Colonel folded his arms around her and for a moment held her tight in
his embrace. Then he slowly released her, holding the girl at arms'
length while he studied her troubled face with grave intensity. One
kiss upon her upturned forehead and the old man swung around and left
the room without another word.
Mary Louise sank into her chair, a little sob in her throat. She felt
very miserable, indeed, at that moment. "Harlequin fate!" she sighed.
"I wonder why it has chosen us for its victims?"
After an hour passed in the deserted library she stole away to her own
room and prepared for bed. In the night, during her fitful periods of
sleep, she dreamed that her mother bent over her and kissed her
lips--once, twice, a third time.
The girl woke with a start. A dim light flooded her chamber, for
outside was a full moon. But the room was habited only by shadows, save
for her own feverish, restless body. She turned over to find a cooler
place and presently fell asleep again.