Very late that night Bailey Girard arrived at the house, after an
absence of ten days. Dosia had gone to bed unusually early, but she
could not sleep. She could not seem to sleep at all lately--the tireder
she was, the more ceaselessly luminous seemed her brain; it was like
trying to sleep in a white glare in which all sorts of trivial things
became unnaturally distinct. Darkness brought, not a sense of rest, but
that dread knowledge that she was going to lie there staring through all
the hours of it. Since that night that the pitcher had broken, she was
ever waiting tensely for the day to bring her something that it never
brought. Lawson's death--Girard--Billy, who was getting a little
troublesome lately--the dear little brothers far away, mixed up with
tiny household perplexities, kept going through and through her mind.
Her heart was wrung for Justin and Lois; yet they had each other! Dreams
could no longer comfort and support Dosia. Prayer but wakened her
further. If she could only sleep and forget!
To-night she heard Justin's return from the automobile ride; apparently
the machine had broken down, but the accident seemed only to have added
to the zest. Lois was still dressed and waiting up for him. Then Girard
came--he had seen the light in the window. Dosia could hear the
murmuring of the voices down-stairs--Girard's sent the blood leaping to
her heart so fast that she pressed her hands against it. For a moment
his face seemed near, his lips almost touched hers--her heart stopped
before it went on again. Why had he come now? It seemed suddenly an
unbearable thing that those others down-stairs should see him and hear
him, and that she could not. Why, oh, why, had she gone to bed so early
to-night of all nights? She was ready to cry with the passion of a
disappointment that seemed, not a little thing, but something crushing
and calamitous, a loss for which she never could be repaid. She could
imagine Justin and Lois meeting the kind glances of those gray eyes,
smiling when he did. He was beautiful when he smiled! She was within a
few yards of him, but convention, absurd yet maddening, held her in its
chains. She couldn't get dressed and break in upon their intimate
conference--or it seemed as if she could not. Besides, he would probably
go very soon. But he did not go! After a while she could lie there no
longer. She crept out upon the landing of the stairs, and sat there
desolately on the top step, "in her long night-gown, sweet as boughs of
May," with her little bare feet curled over each other, and her hands
clasping the balustrade against which her cheek was pressed, watching
and waiting for him to go. The ends of her long fair hair fell into
large loose curls where it hung over her shoulder, as she bent to
listen--and to listen--and to listen.
"I want to be there, too--I want to be there, too!" she whispered, with
quivering lips, in her voice the sobbing catch of a very little child.
"I want to be there, too. They're having it all--without me. And I want
to be there, too. They might have called me to come down, and they
didn't." They might have called her! All her passion, all her
philosophy, all her endurance, melted into that one desire. If she had
only known at first that he was going to stay so long, she would have
dressed and gone down. She could hardly bear it a moment longer.
After a while a door on the landing of the second story below opened,
and a little figure crept out--Zaidee. She stood irresolute in the hall,
looking down; then she looked up, and, seeing Dosia, ran to her and
climbed into her lap, resting her little pigtailed head confidingly
against Dosia's warm young shoulder.
"They woke me up," she said placidly. "Did they woke you up, too, Cousin
Dosia?"
"Yes," said Dosia, hugging the child close. "Hush! some one is coming;
you'll get sent to bed again." This time it was Lois. Her abstracted
gaze seemed to take in the two on the upper stairway as a matter of
course.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said. "I thought I heard some one talking."
She rested on the post below, looking up. "I came to see if you'd take
Zaidee in with you for the rest of the night, Dosia. I want to give
Justin's room to Mr. Girard."
"Is he going to stay?" asked Dosia.
"Yes. It's too late for him to disturb the Snows, and he's been
traveling all day; he's dreadfully tired. He wanted to sleep on the sofa
down-stairs, but I wouldn't let him." She was carrying Zaidee, already
half asleep again, in her arms as she talked, depositing her in Dosia's
bed, while Dosia followed her.
"Did he sell the island?" asked Dosia.
Lois shook her head. "No. They may really sell it next week, but not
now--only that will be too late to save the business. Of course, Mr.
Girard doesn't know that, and Justin will not tell him--he says Mr.
Girard cannot help. Oh, Dosia, when Justin came in from that ride he
looked so well, and now--" She covered her face with her hands, before
recovering herself. "It's time you were both asleep."
"Can't I help you?" asked Dosia; but Lois only answered indifferently,
"No, it's not necessary," and went around making arrangements, while
Dosia, with Zaidee nestling close to her, slept at last.
It was late the next morning before Girard came down. Justin had had
breakfast, and gone; Lois was up-stairs with the children, and Dosia,
who had been tidying up the place, was arranging some flowers in the
vases when he strode in. There was no vestige of that sick-hearted,
imploring maiden of the night before; no desolate frenzy was to be seen
in this trim, neat, capable little figure, clad in blue gingham, that
made her throat very white, her hair very fair. Something in Girard's
glance seemed to show an instant pleasure that she should be the one to
greet him, but he bent anxiously over the watch he held in his hand.
"Will you tell me what time it is? My watch has stopped."
"It's half-past nine," said Dosia.
"Half-past _nine_!" He looked at her in a sort of quick, horrified
arraignment. "What do you mean?" His eye fell upon the clock, and
conviction seemed to steal upon him against his will. "Heavens and
earth, why wasn't I called? On this morning of all others, when every
moment's of importance! I thought I asked particularly to be waked
early."
"I suppose they thought you were tired and needed the rest," apologized
Dosia.
"Needed the rest!" His tone was poignant; he looked outraged; but his
anger was entirely impersonal--there was in it even a sort of boyish
appeal to her, as if she must feel it, too.
"You had better sit down and have some breakfast."
"Oh, _breakfast_!" His gesture deprecated her evident intention. "Please
don't. Thank you very much, but I don't want any breakfast; I only want
to get to town."
"There isn't any train for twenty-five minutes, so you might as well sit
down and eat," said Dosia firmly. "Come out to this little table on the
piazza." She led the way to the screened corner at the end, sweet with
the honeysuckle that swung its long loops in the wind, and faced him
sternly. "Do you take coffee?"
"Please don't, please don't cook me anything! I'd hate to trouble you."
He seemed so distressed that she relented a little.
"A glass of milk and some fruit, then; you'll _have_ to take that."
"Very well--if I must. Can't I get the things myself?"
"No." She ran away to get them for him, with some new joy singing in her
heart as she went backward and forward, bringing a pitcher of milk, a
glass, a dish of strawberries, some cream, and the sugar, sitting down
herself by the table afterward as he ate and drank. He gave her a sudden
smile, so surprised and pleased that the color surged in her cheeks.
"I'm not used to this," he said simply. "What is that dress you have
on--silk?"
[Illustration: SHE TOOK THE PISTOL FROM HIS RELAXED HOLD]
"No, it's cotton; do you like it?"
"_Very_ much. Oh, please don't get up--Zaidee wasn't calling you. I
won't eat another mouthful unless you stay just where you are--please!"
"Well!" said Dosia, with laughing pleasure.
"Besides, I've been wanting to consult you about the Alexanders," he
went on, leaning across the table toward her, intimately. "It's so
beautiful to see them together, that to feel that they're in trouble
distresses me beyond words. You're so near to them both, I thought that
perhaps"--His face clouded partly. "Do you know anything about the real
state of Mr. Alexander's affairs?"