Julia slept soundly and sweetly, but awoke early and arose at once. It
was an awful thing--this sudden transition from carefree, blissful
girlhood into woman's estate, with the attending hardships and strange
trials which she had to face. Her plan of action for that morning was
not at all clear. She merely knew that she was going to face a desperate
and wicked man who had wofully mistreated her and her father. She
conceived this to be her duty, and there was no shrinking or hanging
back in her soul when she thought of it. But as she combed her hair into
place and put on a flowered muslin--she could not wear her riding habit,
because her expedition must be kept from her father--she did not know
what she would do, or say, when she came before Devil Marston. Her face
grew hot as she thought of the swiftly approaching encounter, but this
only heightened her unusual beauty. That moment, for the first time in
her life, she wished that she was plain. Her beauty had not brought her
love or happiness, but had cursed her instead with the obnoxious
attentions of a beast in the shape of a man. Concealing the revolver in
the folds of a light wrap, she went down stairs. The Major had not
risen. Swiftly she passed through the library and dining-room, and
entered the kitchen. Aunt Frances' fat person was bustling about, and
breakfast was in preparation.
"Good morning, Aunt Frances!" said Julia, cheerily; "where's Uncle
Peter?"
"Mawnin', missus--whar he allus is 'cep'n' w'en he's sleepin'--foolin'
roun' dat colt ob a Prince!"
There was a degree of asperity in the old colored lady's speech, coupled
with an ominous shake of the head. But Julia had been accustomed to the
family difficulties upon which Peter and Aunt Frances throve, since
infancy, and she paid no heed to the present demonstration of a ruffled
temper.
"Thank you," she answered, sweetly. "I want to see him, so I'll run down
to the smoke-house."
She passed onto the small kitchen porch as she said this, and here the
old negress' voice halted her. There was a protesting, plaintive, sad
inflection in the one word--
"Missus?"
Julia stopped and turned abruptly, vaguely alarmed.
"Yes, Aunt Frances?"
"Missus, de flour bar'l done gone plum', clean em'ty; de side meat goes
dis mawnin' foh breakfus', 'n' de meal bar'l ain' much bettuh. I done
kotch a chick'n foh dinner yistiddy, but de Massa lub his biscuit
breakfus', dinner, _en_ suppuh!"
"You are right to tell me when things get low," she answered bravely,
but in a peculiarly low voice. "I'll send Uncle Peter into town with an
order this morning. Be careful not to let the flour run out completely
again."
"Bress dat chile!" exclaimed Aunt Frances, lifting the corner of her
apron to her eye as Julia disappeared. "I wonduh ef she t'inks she's
foolin' her ol' mammy? Hain't I lived heah always, 'n' hain't I seen dis
house go down 'n' down 'twell now hit mos' tech rock bottom? Some'in's
gwi' drap, sho! But me 'n' Peter'll be hyar w'en it comes!"
She tossed her turbaned head, and, stanch old Methodist that she was,
began crooning a "'vival" tune, wherewith to bolster up her sinking
courage.
Julia came to a standstill in the smoke-house doorway. Within, with his
back to her, stood Peter. A curry-comb was in one hand, and a brush in
the other. He had evidently come to a halt while making The Prince's
morning toilet, to spend a few moments in silent contemplation and
admiration. He had withdrawn several feet from the satin-sleek form of
the young colt, and reposed in an attitude of adoration, his skinny,
ridged neck stretched towards the object of his devotion. Julia was
compelled to speak his name twice before he heard her. Then he turned
with his customary profound bow, and greeted her deferentially.
"Uncle Peter, I want The Prince this morning," she said, coming straight
to the point, for she knew too well the old fellow's garrulousness to
attempt circumlocution. He would have kept her there till noonday.
Now this was the first time Julia had ever said she would ride The
Prince, and the wilfully deafened ears of Peter refused to recognize
this first declaration.
"Mom--missus--mom?" he ejaculated, bending slightly from the waist and
looking up at her keenly and suspiciously. "D'ye say de Prince look well
dis mawnin'? 'Deed he do! He's had he breakfus' 'n' a good rub down--not
quite finished, though. I's tekkin' a breathin' spell w'en you come.
Hahd wuk foh an' ol' nigguh gittin' de duht 'n' stuff off'n a hoss w'en
he's slep' in it. 'Scuse me, missus, 'n' I'll finish wid 'im now!"
Peter was sly and Peter was jealous. He heard plainly enough what his
mistress had said, but he could not bear to think of the colt leaving
his sight, even for a short time. His subsequent harangue was given
simply to cause his mistress to forget her idea, or to forego its
execution. He now approached the colt and began a vigorous attack upon
its flank and hind legs, where there was no particle of dirt, and no
hair out of place.
"Uncle Peter!" called Julia, firmly, "did you not hear me?"
"Yas'm'; I heah yo', missus!" he replied, between grunts. "I's proud
you's pleased wid de way de Prince looks. Oh! he's peart, let me tell
yo'!"
"Come here, Uncle Peter; come to me!"
He could not disobey the direct summons. He straightened up with a groan
and a wry face, partly feigned and partly caused by a "ketch" from
rheumatism, and shuffled forward.
"I said I wanted The Prince this morning," repeated Julia, quite
positively, "and I meant it. I shall want him for perhaps an
hour--certainly not longer. It does not matter that I have never ridden
him. I have ridden real vicious horses before father sold his racers,
and this colt is gentle, and we are friends besides. He knows me--see
him looking at me now?--Good morning, Prince!"
She smiled and waved her hand at the intelligent face turned towards
her.
"Now, Uncle Peter," she resumed, "listen to me, and pay attention to
what I say. I'm going to ride down the road for a short distance this
morning, and I don't want anyone to know about it, not even father, or
Aunt Frances. Can I trust you, Uncle Peter, to keep this secret with
me?"
"'Deed yo' kin, missus; 'deed yo' kin!"
"I thought so. Dudleys don't lie, and you are a Dudley, Uncle Peter,
always remember that! When you give me your word, I trust you as I would
anyone else. I want you to bridle and saddle The Prince at once--you
know where my saddle is hung. Then take him through the back lot and the
side meadow around to the road. _Don't_ lead him down the drive. It is
very necessary that my father should know nothing of this. You must stay
with The Prince until I come, which will be soon, immediately after
breakfast. Do you understand now, and can I rely upon you?"
"'Deed I do, missus; 'deed yo' kin! I'll fotch de sad'l 'n' tek 'im
right roun' to de road!"
"Be careful that no one from the house sees you; hurry, now."
Upon her return she found breakfast ready, and the Major waiting for
her. He gave her a morning kiss with his old air of doting pride, and
the quick look with which she surveyed him told her that he was in
excellent spirits, but whether feigned or real she could not tell. When
the meal was over the Major settled himself in the library with a book,
and Julia's chance had come. She dared not wait a moment. Already her
heart misgave her as she realized to the full all that she was about to
undertake. Charged with a subdued excitement which shone in her eyes and
glowed on her cheeks, she put on a hat, found her gloves, and secreting
the weapon as she walked, she left the house by way of the long side
porch and sought her rendezvous with Peter. He was waiting for her like
a faithful Arab, with one arm over the neck of his charge. She whispered
a few added words of caution to the mystified old servitor, mounted, and
started slowly down the road. The distance was short, and she wanted to
have herself well in hand, and decide upon the best method in which to
approach this enemy to her house.
It was a bright June morning. The air was balmy and fresh and
invigorating; it came to her nostrils as the very essence of life from
the earth's great laboratory, and it gently lifted the curls which clung
about her forehead and neck. The sun had not gathered its full power;
its rays blessed while they did not burn. The dense foliage of the
roadside trees rustled gently, showering down upon her an elfin song of
gladness. All nature was a-thrill with the joy of living, and only this
poor little human seemed sad and out of tune. The Prince, too, felt the
call of the new day. His pointed ears were up and attentive to every
sound; his neck was arched, and his nostrils stretched to the sweet
waves of air. It was with some difficulty his rider succeeded in holding
him down to a walk. He longed to run--to race with the morning, for this
was his breeding through a long, long line of ancestors. To feel the
keen wind in his face, to have it rushing past his ears and plucking at
his mane and dashing in his eyes; to know the earth was reeling beneath
his flying hoofs and that nothing could gain a place in front of him!
But his rider kept a firm hold on the reins, and pursued her way in a
walk. She would reach her destination soon enough. How she wished the
interview was over and done, and she was now on her return trip! She
believed she would have let The Prince run, then. The road took a turn a
few rods in advance. She knew the place. When she had rounded that bend
the house of Devil Marston would be in view. She shut her eyes as she
neared it, and breathed a little prayer for strength and guidance.
As the sombre brick pile burst on her sight her face grew white, and she
felt a chill of absolute terror settling over her. She told herself
fiercely that this would never do--that a contained presence and visible
courage she must have, or assume, as they would be invaluable allies in
the success of her scheme. The thought of her old father, almost
helpless, and the cruel wrong they had each sustained, brought a sudden
flood of resentment, and borne on this same current was self-possession
and assurance. She turned off the highway directly in front of the
gloomy-looking house girt with funereal cedars, and came to a farm gate,
loosely hung, and sagging. It was hard work for her to drag it open from
the saddle sufficiently wide for The Prince to pass through, but she
managed it in time, conscious that the exertion had brought the rich
colour back to her face. A rutty, unkept road led towards the yard
fence, where it swerved around the corner and went on towards the
stables. But there was a small gate in the fence, which, while not
intended for the use of horsemen, Julia rode through. It was a dreary
place into which she had come. There was no pavement or walk of any sort
going up to the front of the house. The yard was covered with some rank
and worthless variety of grass, which was tangled and long. Bushes,
shrubs, all run wild, and an occasional flower which had come up by
chance, were dispersed about. The flowers seemed sickly and afraid to
grow, as though they had made a mistake in attempting life amid such
surroundings, and wished to bloom and die and be done with it as quickly
as possible. The cedars were nearer the house, and created a doleful,
grave-yard-like air. The sun was lost among their dark branches, and the
breeze which passed through them soughed mournfully. The ground beneath
the trees was bare and brown.
Julia had involuntarily reined in the colt when she entered this almost
gruesome demesne. She had not imagined anything so repellant. Yet it all
was a fitting environment for the master of it. It was in perfect
keeping with the unholy spirit of the man who dwelt in the house beyond.
Up to this moment Julia had seen no sign of life, but as she urged The
Prince forward towards the shut front door gleaming dingily green
between the vivid colours of the cedars, a monstrous dog appeared from
somewhere and disputed her passage with a low growl and bristling
hackles. It was a fierce beast, half-starved, huge, savage as a tiger.
It was a boar-hound of foreign breed--Marston had a number of them,
though Julia, of course, knew nothing of this. The Prince stopped as
this spectre of war took its place in front of him, and Julia felt the
rigour which swept his frame. But he did not attempt to bolt. He merely
stood with bright eyes, watching the sinister apparition. The dog was
not inclined to be aggressive; he merely appeared to be a sentinel, his
duty being to stop further progress of the intruders. Julia did not know
what to do. She would not retreat now. She was before the lion's den,
and she would see him before she withdrew. She _had_ to see him, for
life and death hung in the balance. If she did not see him she was
surely lost; if she did see him, there was a chance. The dog had no
notion of retiring, and the situation was rapidly becoming strained.
Just as she had made up her mind to call, and try and bring some one to
her aid, a shrill whistle sounded somewhere in the rear. The brute
before her turned its head, and its tail drooped. The whistle was
repeated, louder than before, and thereupon the guardian of the way
forsook his post, and retreated in a trot around the corner of the
house. Julia promptly rode forward. There was some open ground between
the trees, and she presently found herself in a clear space just in
front of the house. Some flagstones were placed before the wooden step
under the portals, and an iron knocker was imbedded in one of the panels
of the massive doors. Should she dismount, and raise a summons? The very
atmosphere was oppressive, in spite of the enveloping sunshine. She
hesitated again; she did not know what to do. Everything was so
different from all to which she had been accustomed. Here was silence,
mystery, secrecy; a house without a window or door open to that glorious
morning. And the only sign of life that had been evinced was a ferocious
dog, and a whistle from some hidden source, which must have come from
human lips. She looked about her piteously, undecided. How still
everything was! There were no birds singing--but how could bird hearts
break forth in song under that pall of cedar? She turned again to gaze
at the heavy iron knocker, and just then a piercing animal yelp of pain
or fright reached her, followed by a foul malediction in a man's rough
voice. More yelps ensued, mingled with snarls and vicious oaths, then
around the corner of the house they came--the dog which had stood in her
path, with Devil Marston in hot pursuit. Plainly the dog had trespassed
in a most unwarrantable manner, for between his strong jaws was a roast
of beef, which thus far he had refused to deliver to its owner. Its
pursuer was armed with a heavy cudgel, and he did not temper his blows
with either mercy or judgment. In this wise they swept into view, the
dog but slightly in advance of the man, who was swinging his bludgeon to
an accompaniment of awful curses.
It happened that Julia was facing this spectacle, and its presentation
made her weak and faint for the moment. Never had her tender ears
listened to such words before as fell from the lips of this man. His
swarthy face was working and twitching from the volcano-like violence of
his rage, and his fangs showed even as did the beast's he was pursuing.
The sudden and altogether unexpected appearance of Miss Julia Dudley
before his door, mounted upon The Prince, was not sufficient to calm on
the instant his superlative passion, which at times almost amounted to a
fit, or frenzy. It is true he stopped short in his mad rush, but before
he could bring himself to any degree of control he hurled the cudgel in
his hand after the fleeing hound with all his strength, at the same
moment delivering a half smothered, parting malediction.
Julia sat like a stone statue upon The Prince, which had shied violently
at first, and in a way which would have unseated a less skillful rider.
Her head was up, her brows slightly contracted, and her fine eyes set
straight at the being who now walked towards her, his hat in his hand.
By a superhuman effort of will Marston had composed his features, and as
he halted a little to one side of The Prince's head, he was smiling, if
the incongruous facial expression he now assumed could be designated
that way.
"Good morning, Miss Julia," he said.
The covert insolence in his voice was thinly veiled by a respectful
intonation.
"Good morning, Mr. Marston."
Julia was surprised at the steady tones in which she responded to his
salutation. She had feared a quiver would run through the words.
"I believe an apology is due you," resumed Marston, "before I inquire
the cause of this visit. I'm glad to see you, you know."
He paused a moment to gloat openly over her face and figure. The girl
felt herself grow colder before his bold gaze, but said nothing.
"That da--that dog was called to his breakfast, and took a fancy to my
dinner, which was on a shelf near. Of course I tried to get it away from
him, and in the chase we ran into you. But I haven't welcomed you to my
home yet; shake hands with me!"
He advanced to her side and held up his hand.
For a moment a mist swam before Julia's eyes, and she hesitated. All the
hateful story which her father had told her rose up in detail, and she
felt that to touch this monster would blast her. But she had come to sue
for a favour--really to demand justice, but it meant the same thing. She
could not afford to affront him, or anger him, if she could help it. She
bent and placed her gloved hand in his, silently. He held it in a firm,
fierce grasp until she forcibly withdrew it. His little, pig-like eyes
were flaming with a different emotion from that which had possessed them
a moment ago.
"Come--get down," he said, hoarsely. "You have come to call and I want
to receive you in my house. I will get a boy to hold your horse."
He looked at her with hungry cunning as he spoke, and the proud spirit
of the Dudleys within her rebelled.
"I shall not dismount," she said, backing The Prince a few steps ere she
was aware of what she was doing. "My business here can be told briefly,
and I haven't time to stay."
She tried to choose her words carefully, for there was so much involved.
"Ah!" he snarled; "so you refuse my hospitality!"
"I do not mean it that way, believe me. But I must hurry, and we can
talk as well here."
He came a few paces nearer, covering the distance she had placed between
them when she unconsciously backed The Prince.
"I don't like this!" he exclaimed, half rudely, looking at her with bold
deviltry in his heavy face. "We are too far apart; friends should be
nearer when they talk."
He bared his protruding teeth in a horrible grin as he said this. His
shrewd if debased intellect had told him from the first that nothing but
the direst need would bring a Dudley to his door on any sort of mission
whatsoever. And as he realized that both girl and horse were for the
time in his power, a Satanic joy possessed him, and made him toy with
the situation, in order to prolong it as far as possible.
"Let me insist on your being my guest as long as you stay!" he leered,
trying no longer to cloak the wicked passion which seethed in his
tainted soul. "I have wine--refreshments. Come into the parlour where we
can talk undisturbed."
A feeling of actual physical nausea shook Julia. She grasped the pommel
of her saddle and swayed the least bit, then the sickness passed, and
she was erect again, though whiter than one dead. She seemed the wraith
of the girl who had ridden down the road. She did not know why this man
should insist so strongly on her entering his door. She knew that he had
pretended to love her, but that was over now, and gone. They had not
seen each other for months. He could not wish to entertain her for any
worthy reason, and though she could neither comprehend nor even suspect
the depths of vileness in his heart, she knew that she had best remain
where she was.
"Please don't insist," she pleaded, her voice slightly tremulous in
spite of her will. "I must speak quickly, and be gone. I do not feel
that I have come to ask a favour, but simply to ask you to do right.
Won't you please have the dividend declared at the bank, instead of
passing it? You know it means very much to father and me."
Although she endeavoured to present her cause coolly, her voice was that
of a suppliant. It vibrated with pent-up emotion, and had a strange
effect upon the man before her. His expression changed; his hands
clenched at his sides, and he seemed battling with some internal
feeling. He had taken his eyes from her, too, and was looking at the
ground. But as she watched him, waiting breathlessly for his answer, he
lifted his face again, and she almost cried out from terror, for she was
in the presence of an incarnate fiend. His eyes seemed swimming in fire,
and his countenance was that of a demon. He did not move nor speak for
several moments; he was literally holding himself in his tracks. He was
a moral outlaw; the lawless offspring of lawless parents; begotten in
basest sin and nurtured in infamy. He had never put the slightest check
on any of his wishes or desires. With him desire had always meant
gratification. And now, in the murky gloom of his black soul's recesses
a new desire had been born; or, rather, a new flame had been given to an
old desire. Even when driven from Major Dudley's home he had not
forsaken the idea that some day this fair young thing should be his.
Subsequently the idea had slumbered in his breast, but he had been only
waiting--waiting and plotting. Now she had come within reach of his
hand, alone, and he would have given his left hand to have grasped her
with his right. No one but his hirelings were near, and it was no
innate, dormant worth or goodness which stayed his hand. In part it was
the innocence and unconscious purity of the girl herself, which wrapped
her as in a garment and held an invisible but powerful shield before
her. This moral atmosphere which enveloped her was so evident that even
the dulled and warped sensibilities of Devil Marston, at their best but
unformed and sickly fungi, recognized it, and trembled before it. Yet
the lash which was driving him would in time have made him dash aside
this shield, in all probability, had there not been another powerful,
though absent factor. The face and form of John Glenning kept constantly
recurring. Should he dare touch this girl's dress, to say nothing of
forcing his beast's lips on hers, he knew that his life would pay the
forfeit. He knew that John Glenning would certainly kill him. So he was
torn horribly by different emotions, as he stood and wrestled silently.
At length he spoke; the voice of a beast made articulate. It was
croaking and harsh; the blending of a bellow and a growl.
"So--you--need money, do you?"
The words in themselves was an insult, independent of the wagging of his
bull-like head, which slowly moved in mockery.
The terrible trial was telling upon Julia. Her great eyes were strained,
and lines of distress were forming at the corners of her mouth. She
shifted the reins to her left hand and thrust her right under the loose
folds of a light wrap which she carried. When her fingers closed upon
the handle of the revolver, new courage came. She would go on, though
something told her that her quest was hopeless.
"Yes, we need money, but we don't want any that isn't rightfully ours. I
have read in the _Herald_ all about the affair at the bank, and how the
dividend was passed that you might make improvements and buy a new
safe. Can't you do these things, and declare the dividend, too?"
"We _might_ do without these things altogether," he answered, darkly.
She grasped at the straw.
"Oh, please do! I felt that if I would come and ask you to give us what
was really ours, that you would. Won't you have it done, Mr. Marston?
Tell me, and I'll not detain you any longer."
Again he smiled his wolfish smile, and gazed on her in a sinister way.
"We do not get things for nothing in this world," he answered, in a
cold, deliberate voice. The paroxysm of passion which had shaken him was
gone now, and had left him maliciously cool and scheming. "You want me
to declare this dividend. I can do it yet, for I'm the bank, you know. I
kick those pups around down there like I do these dogs and niggers here
at home. The question is--how badly do you want this dividend?"
A rosy flush flared up into Julia's waxen cheeks.
"It is not quite fair to flaunt our need in my face," she answered, all
but imperiously. "But you know how we are situated, as does every one in
Macon, and this county. Father's bank stock is his only source of
income, if you will have me say it."
"You have not exactly answered my question," pursued Devil Marston. "I
told you that everything worth having must be bought. What will you give
me for this dividend?"
"I do not understand what you mean. It belongs to us--or our part of it
does. Why will you not let us have it?"
She could not look at him; his face was repulsive beyond measure, and
she kept her eyes on the delicately-veined ears of The Prince as she
desperately fought her battle of words.
"I will let you have it--but, there is a price to pay. You cannot get
something for nothing, from me!"
His voice rang hard and exultant on the last sentence.
"Please be plain," she urged. "Tell me what you mean, quickly."
"The dividend has its price, if you will pay!" he said, drawing a step
closer. "A little price to save you and your father from starvation. Get
down, come into my home with me, drink a glass of wine with me, kiss me
once!--Will you pay it?"