THE FIRST WHISPER
When Tom reached the lawn Helen was nowhere to be seen. He searched every
nook and corner which they had been accustomed to haunt, looked through the
rose garden and finally knocked timidly on the door of her room. He was
sure at first that he heard a sound within. He dared not open her door and
so hurried down town to see if he could find her in one of the stores.
Helen shivering inside had held her breath until his his footsteps died
away on the stairs.
With heavy heart but swift hands she was packing her trunk. In spite of
Cleo's assurances she had been startled and frightened beyond measure by
the certainty that Norton had purposely avoided her. She had expected the
most hearty welcome. Her keen intuition had scented his hostility though
not a word had been spoken.
Cleo, who had avoided Tom, again rapped on her door:
"Just a minute, Miss Helen!"
There was no answer and the woman strained her ear to hear what was
happening inside. It couldn't be possible that the girl was really going to
leave! Such an act of madness would upset her plans just as they were
coming out exactly as she had hoped.
"She can't mean it!" Cleo muttered under her breath. "It's only a fit of
petulance!" She didn't dare to give Helen a hint of her clouded birth. That
might send her flying. Yet if necessary she must excite her curiosity by a
whisper about her parentage. She had already guessed from hints the girl
had dropped that her one passionate desire was to know the names of her
father and mother. She would be careful, but it was necessary to hold her
at all hazards.
She rapped again:
"Please, Miss Helen, may I come in just a minute?"
Her voice was full of pleading. A step was heard, a pause and the door
opened. Cleo quickly entered, turned the key and in earnest tones, her eyes
dancing excitedly, asked:
"You are really packing your trunk?"
"It's already packed," was the firm answer.
"But you can't mean this----"
"I do."
"I tell you, child, the major didn't see you----"
"He did see me. I caught his eye in a straight, clear look. And he turned
quickly to avoid me."
"You have his letter of invitation. You can't think it a forgery?" she
asked with impatience.
The girl's color deepened:
"He has evidently changed his mind for some reason."
"Nonsense!"
"I was just ready to rush to meet him and thank him with the deepest
gratitude for his invitation. The look on his face when he turned was like
a blow."
"It's only your imagination!" Cleo urged eagerly. "He's worried over
politics."
"I'm not in politics. No, it's something else--I must go."
Cleo put her hand appealingly on Helen's arm:
"Don't be foolish, child!"
The girl drew away suddenly with instinctive aversion. The act was slight
and quick, but not too slight or quick for the woman's sharp eye. She threw
Helen a look of resentment:
"Why do you draw away from me like that?"
The girl flushed with embarrassment and stammered:
"Why--you see, I've lived up North all my life, shut up in a convent most
of the time and I'm not used--to--colored people----"
"Well, I'm not a negro, please remember that. I'm a nurse and housekeeper,
if you please, and there happens to be a trace of negro blood in my veins,
but a white soul throbs beneath this yellow skin. I'd strip it off inch by
inch if I could change its color"--her voice broke with assumed emotion--it
was a pose for the moment, but its apparent genuineness deceived the girl
and roused her sympathy.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said contritely.
"Oh, it's no matter."
Helen snapped the lid of her trunk:
"I'm leaving on the first train."
"Oh, come now," Cleo urged impatiently. "You'll do nothing of the kind--the
major will be himself to-morrow."
"I am going at once----"
"You're not going!" the woman declared firmly, laying her hand again on the
girl's arm.
With a shudder Helen drew quickly away.
"Please--please don't touch me again!" she cried with anger. "I'm sorry,
but I can't help it."
With an effort Cleo suppressed her rage:
"Well, I won't. I understand--but you can't go like this. The major will be
furious."
"I'm going," the girl replied, picking up the odds and ends she had left
and placing them in her travelling bag.
Cleo watched her furtively:
"I--I--ought to tell you something that I know about your life--"
Helen dropped a brush from her hand and quickly crossed the room, a bright
color rushing to her cheeks:
"About my birth?"
"You believe," Cleo began cautiously, "that the major is the agent of your
guardian who lives abroad. Well, he's not the agent--he is your guardian."
"Why should he deceive me?"
"He had reasons, no doubt," Cleo replied with a smile.
"You mean that he knows the truth? That he knows the full history of my
birth and the names of my father and mother?"
"Yes."
"He has assured me again and again that he does not--"
"I know that he has deceived you."
Helen looked at her with a queer expression of angry repulsion that she
should possess this secret of her unhappy life.
"You know?" she asked faintly.
"No," was the quick reply, "not about your birth; but I assure you the
major does. Demand that he tell you."
"He'll refuse--"
"Ask him again, and stay until he does."
"But I'm intruding!" Helen cried, brushing a tear from her eyes.
"No matter, you're here, you're of age, you have the right to know the
truth--stay until you learn it. If he slights you, pay no attention to
it--stay until you know."
The girl's form suddenly stiffened and her eyes flashed:
"Yes, I will--I'll know at any cost."
With a soft laugh which Helen couldn't hear Cleo hurried from the room.