January and Winter had passed together. February was nearly a week old.
Already the garden was astir. The violet-beds were massed with blue,
and the green spikes of the jonquils showed tiny buds. There was a new
balminess in the air, a new languor in the ardent sunlight. The oaks
were tasseling, the fig-trees were gowning themselves in new green
robes of Edenic simplicity, the clumps of Bridal Wreath were sprinkled
with flecks of white that promised early flowering and the pomegranates
were unfolding fresh leaves. On the magnolia burnished leaves of tender
green squirmed free from brown sheaths like moths from their cocoons.
The south wind blew soft and fresh from the Gulf, spiced with the aroma
of tropic seas. Spring was dawning over Northern Florida.
It was Saturday afternoon, and Holly was perched in the fig-tree at the
end of the porch, one rounded arm thrown back against the dusky trunk
to pillow her head, one hand holding her forgotten book, one slender
ankle swinging slowly like a dainty pendulum from under the hem of
her skirt. Her eyes were on the green knoll where the oaks threw deep
shadow over the red-walled enclosure, and her thoughts wandered like
the blue-jay that flitted restlessly through garden and grove. Life was
a turbid stream, these days, filled with perplexing swirls――a stream
that rippled with laughter in the sunlight, and sighed in its shadowed
depths, and all the while flowed swiftly, breathlessly on toward――what?
[Illustration]
The sound of a horse’s hoofs on the road aroused Holly from her dreams.
She lifted her head and listened. The hoof-beats slackened at the gate,
and then drew nearer up the curving drive. The trees hid the rider,
however, and Holly could only surmise his identity. It could scarcely
be Mr. Winthrop, for he had gone off in the Major’s buggy early in the
forenoon for an all-day visit to Sunnyside. Then it must be Julian,
although it was unlike him to come so early. She slipped from her seat
in the tree and walked toward the steps just as horse and rider trotted
into sight. It was Julian――Julian looking very handsome and eager as he
threw himself from the saddle, drew the reins over White Queen’s head
and strode toward the girl.
“Howdy, Holly?” he greeted. “Didn’t expect to see me so early, I
reckon.” He took her hand, drew her to him, and had kissed her cheek
before she thought to deny him. She had grown so used to having him
kiss her when he came and departed, and his kisses meant so little,
that she forgot. She drew herself away gravely.
“I’ll call Uncle Ran,” she said.
“All right, Holly.” Julian threw himself on to the steps and lighted
a cigarette, gazing appreciatively about him. How pretty it was here
at Waynewood! Some day he meant to own it. He was the only male
descendant of the old family, and it was but right and proper that the
place should be his. In a year or two that interloping Yankee would be
glad enough to get rid of it. Then he would marry Holly, succeed to the
Old Doctor’s practice and―――― Suddenly he recollected that odd note of
Holly’s and drew it from his pocket. Nonsense, of course, but it had
worried him a bit at first. She had been piqued, probably, because he
had not been over to see her. He flicked the letter with his finger and
laughed softly. The idea of Holly releasing him from their engagement!
Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure that there was any engagement; for
the last three years there had been a tacit understanding that some
day they were to be married and live at Waynewood, but Julian couldn’t
remember that he had ever out-and-out asked Holly to marry him. He
laughed again. That was a joke on Holly. He would ask her how she could
break what didn’t exist. And afterwards he would make sure that it did
exist. He had no intention of losing Holly. No, indeed! She was the
only girl in the world for him. He had met heaps of pretty girls, but
never one who could hold a candle to his sweetheart.
Holly came back followed by Uncle Ran. The horse was led away to the
stable, and Holly sat down on the top step at a little distance from
Julian. Julian looked across at her, admiration and mischief in his
black eyes.
“So it’s all over between us, is it, Holly?” he asked, with a soft
laugh. Holly looked up eagerly, and bent forward with a sudden lighting
of her grave face.
“Oh, Julian,” she cried, “it’s all right, then? You’re not going to
care?”
Julian looked surprised.
“Care about what?” he asked, suspiciously.
“But I explained it all in my note,” answered Holly, sinking back
against the pillar. “I thought you’d understand, Julian.”
“Are you talking about this?” he asked, contemptuously, tapping the
letter against the edge of the step. “Do you mean me to believe that
you were in earnest?”
“Yes, quite in earnest,” she answered, gently.
“Shucks!” said Julian. But there was a tone of uneasiness in his
contempt. “What have I done, Holly? If it’s because I haven’t been
getting over here to see you very often, I want you to understand that
I’m a pretty busy man these days. Thompson’s been getting me to do
more and more of his work. Why, he never takes a night call any more
himself; passes it over to me every time. And I can tell you that that
sort of thing is no fun, Holly. Besides,”――he gained reassurance from
his own defence――“you didn’t seem very particular about seeing me the
last time I was here. I reckoned that maybe you and the Yankee were
getting on pretty well without me.”
“It isn’t that,” said Holly. “I――I told you in the letter, Julian.
Didn’t you read it?”
“Of course I read it, but I couldn’t understand it. You said you’d made
a mistake, and a lot of foolishness like that, and had decided you
couldn’t marry me. Wasn’t that it?”
“Yes, that was it――in a way,” answered Holly. “Well, I mean it, Julian.”
Julian stared across impatiently.
“Now don’t be silly, Holly! Who’s been talking about me? Has that
fellow Winthrop been putting fool notions into your head?”
“No, Julian.”
“Then what―――― Oh, well, I dare say I’ll be able to stand it,” he said,
petulantly.
“Don’t be angry, Julian, please,” begged Holly. “I want you to
understand it, dear.”
Holly indulged in endearments very seldom, and Julian melted.
“But, hang it, Holly, you talk as though you didn’t care for me any
more!” he exclaimed.
“No, I’m not talking so at all,” she answered, gently. “I do care for
you――a heap. I always have and always will. But I――I don’t love you
as――as a girl loves the man who is to be her husband, Julian. I tried
to explain that in my letter. You see, we’ve always been such good
friends that it seemed sort of natural that we should be sweethearts,
and then I reckon we just fell into thinking about getting married. I
don’t believe you ever asked me to marry you, Julian; I――I just took it
for granted, I reckon!”
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed.
“I don’t reckon you ever did,” she persisted, with a little smile for
his polite disclaimer. “But I’ve always thought of marrying you, and
it seemed all right until――until lately. I don’t reckon I ever thought
much about what it meant. We’ve always been fond of each other and so
it――it seemed all right, didn’t it?”
“It _is_ all right, Holly,” he answered, earnestly. He changed his seat
to where he could take her hand. “You’ve been thinking about things
too much,” he went on. “I reckon you think that because I don’t come
over oftener and write poetry to you and all that sort of thing that I
don’t love you. Every girl gets romantic notions at some time or other,
Holly, and I reckon you’re having yours. I don’t blame you, Sweetheart,
but you mustn’t get the notion that I don’t love you. Why, you’re the
only woman in the world for me, Holly!”
“I don’t reckon you’ve known so very many women, Julian,” said Holly.
“Haven’t I, though? Why, I met dozens of them when I was at college.”
There was a tiny suggestion of swagger. “And some of them were mighty
clever, too, and handsome. But there’s never been anyone but you,
Holly, never once.”
Holly smiled and pressed the hand that held hers captive.
“That’s dear of you, Julian,” she answered. “But you must get over
thinking of me――in that way.”
He drew back with an angry flush on his face and dropped her hand.
There was an instant’s silence. Then:
“You mean you won’t marry me?” he demanded, hotly.
“I mean that I don’t love you in the right way, Julian.”
“It’s that grinning Yankee!” he cried. “He’s been making love to you
and filling your head with crazy notions. Oh, you needn’t deny it! I’m
not blind! I’ve seen what was going on every time I came over.”
“Julian!” she cried, rising to her feet.
“Yes, I have!” he went on, leaping up and facing her. “A fine thing to
do, isn’t it?” he sneered. “Keep me dangling on your string and all the
while accept attentions from a married man! And a blasted Northerner,
too! Mighty pleased your father would have been!”
“Julian! You forget yourself!” said Holly, quietly. “You have no right
to talk this way to me!”
“It’s you who forget yourself,” he answered, slashing his riding-whip
against his boots. “And if I haven’t the right to call you to account
I’d like to know who has! Miss Indy’s blind, I reckon, but I’m not!”
Holly’s face had faded to a white mask from which her dark eyes flashed
furiously. But her voice, though it trembled, was quiet and cold.
“You’ll beg my pardon, Julian Wayne, for what you’ve said before I’ll
speak to you again. Mr. Winthrop has never made love to me in his life.”
She turned toward the door.
“You don’t dare deny, though, that you love him!” cried Julian, roughly.
“I don’t deny it! I won’t deny it!” cried Holly, facing him in a blaze
of wrath. “I deny nothing to you. You have no right to know. But if I
did love Mr. Winthrop, married though he is, I’d not be ashamed of it.
He is at least a gentleman!”
She swept into the house.
“By God!” whispered Julian, the color rushing from his face. “By God!
I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” He staggered down the steps, beating the
air with his whip. A moment later, Holly, sitting with clenched hands
and heaving breast in her room, heard him shouting for Uncle Ran and
his horse. Ten minutes later he was riding like a whirlwind along the
Marysville road, White Queen in an ecstasy of madness as the whip rose
and fell.
But by the time the distance was half covered Julian’s first anger had
cooled, leaving in its place a cold, bitter wrath toward Winthrop,
to whom he laid the blame not only of Holly’s defection but of his
loss of temper and brutality. He was no longer incensed with Holly;
it was as plain as a pikestaff that the sneaking Yankee had bewitched
her with his damned grinning face and flattering attentions, all the
while, doubtless, laughing at her in his sleeve! His smouldering rage
blazed up again and with a muttered oath Julian raised his whip.
But at Queen’s sudden snort of terror he let it drop softly again,
compunction gripping him. He leaned forward and patted the wet, white
neck soothingly.
“Forgive me, girl,” he whispered. “I was a brute to take it out on
you. There, there, easy now; quiet, quiet!”
On Monday Holly received a letter from him. It was humbly apologetic,
and self-accusing. It made no reference to Winthrop, nor did it refer
to the matter of the broken engagement; only――
[Illustration]
“Try and forget my words, Holly,” he wrote, “and forgive me and let us
be good friends again just as we always have been. I am going over to
see you Saturday evening to ask forgiveness in person, but I shan’t
bother you for more than a couple of hours.”
Holly, too, had long since repented, and was anxious to forgive and
be forgiven. The thought of losing Julian’s friendship just now when,
as it seemed, she needed friendship so much, had troubled and dismayed
her, and when his letter came she was quite prepared to go more than
halfway to effect a reconciliation. Her answer, written in the first
flush of gratitude, represented Holly in her softest mood, and Julian
read between the lines far more than she had meant to convey. He folded
it up and tucked it away with the rest of her letters and smiled his
satisfaction.
[Illustration]
At Waynewood in those days life for Holly and Winthrop was an
unsatisfactory affair, to say the least. Each strove to avoid the
other without seeming to do so, with the result that each felt
piqued. In Winthrop’s case it was one thing to keep out of Holly’s
presence from motives of caution, and quite another to find that she
was avoiding him. He believed that his secret was quite safe, and so
Holly’s apparent dislike for his society puzzled and disturbed him.
When they were together the former easy intimacy was absent and in its
place reigned a restlessness that made the parting almost a relief.
So affairs stood when on the subsequent Saturday Julian rode over to
Waynewood again.
It was almost the middle of February, and the world was aglow under
a spell of warm weather that was quite unseasonable. The garden was
riotous with green leaves and early blossoms. Uncle Ran confided to
Winthrop that “if you jes’ listens right cahful you can hear the leaves
a-growin’ an’ the buds a-poppin’ open, sir!” Winthrop had spent a
restless day. Physically he was as well as he had ever been, he told
himself; three months at Waynewood had worked wonders for him; but
mentally he was far from normal. Of late he had been considering more
and more the advisability of returning North. It was time to get back
into harness. He had no doubt of his ability to retrieve his scattered
fortune, and it was high time that he began. And then, too, existence
here at Waynewood was getting more complex and unsatisfactory every
day. As far as Miss India’s treatment of him was concerned, he had only
cause for congratulation, for his siege of that lady’s heart had been
as successful as it was cunning; only that morning she had spoken to
him of Waynewood as “your property” without any trace of resentment;
but it was very evident that Holly had wearied of him. That should
have been salutary knowledge, tending to show him the absurdity and
hopelessness of his passion, but unfortunately it only increased his
misery without disturbing the cause of it. Yes, it was high time to
break away from an ungraceful position, and get back to his own
world――high time to awake from dreams and face reality.
So his thoughts ran that Saturday afternoon, as he walked slowly out
from town along the shaded road. As he came within sight of Waynewood
a horse and rider turned in at the gate, and when Winthrop left the
oleander path and reached the sun-bathed garden he saw that Julian and
Holly were seated together on the porch, very deep in conversation――so
interested in each other, indeed, that he had almost gained the steps
before either of them became aware of his presence. Holly looked
anxiously at Julian. But that youth was on his good behavior. He arose
and bowed politely, if coldly, to Winthrop. Something told the latter
that an offer to shake hands would not be a happy proceeding. So he
merely returned Julian’s bow as he greeted him, remained for a moment
in conversation, and then continued on his way up-stairs. Once in his
room he lighted a pipe and, from force of habit, sank into a chair
facing the empty fireplace. Life to-day seemed extremely unattractive.
After ten minutes he arose, knocked out the ashes briskly, and dragged
his trunk into the center of the room. He had made up his mind.
Supper passed pleasantly enough. Julian was resolved to reinstall
himself in Holly’s good graces, even if it entailed being polite to
the Northerner. Holly was in good spirits, while Winthrop yielded to
an excitement at once pleasant and perturbing. Now that he had fully
decided to return North he found himself quite eager to go; he wondered
how he could have been content to remain in idleness so long. Miss
India was the same as always, charming in her simple dignity, gravely
responsive to the laughter of the others, presiding behind the teapot
with the appropriate daintiness of a Chelsea statuette. Winthrop said
nothing of his intended departure to-morrow noon; he would not give
Julian that satisfaction. After Julian had gone he would inform Holly.
They must be alone when he told her. He didn’t ask himself why. He
only knew that the blood was racing in his veins to-night, that the air
seemed tinged with an electrical quality that brought pleasant thrills
to his heart, and that it was his last evening at Waynewood. One may be
pardoned something on one’s last evening.
Contrary to his custom, and to all the laws of Cupid’s Court, Winthrop
joined Julian and Holly on the porch after supper. He did his best to
make himself agreeable and flattered himself that Holly, at least,
did not resent his presence. After his first fit of resentment at the
other’s intrusion Julian, too, thawed out and, recollecting his rôle,
was fairly agreeable to Winthrop. A silver moon floated above the house
and flooded the world with light. The white walls shone like snow,
and the shadows were intensely black and abrupt. No air stirred the
sleeping leaves, and the night was thrillingly silent, save when a
Whippoorwill sang plaintively in the grove.
At nine Julian arose to take his leave. White Queen had been brought
around by Uncle Ran and was pawing the earth restively beside the
hitching-post outside the gate at the end of the house. Doubtless
Julian expected that Winthrop would allow him to bid Holly good-night
unmolested. But if so he reckoned without the spirit of recklessness
which controlled the Northerner to-night. Winthrop arose with the
others and accompanied them along the path to the gate, returning
Julian’s resentful glare with a look of smiling insouciance. Julian
unhitched White Queen and a moment of awkward silence followed. Holly,
dimly aware of the antagonism, glanced apprehensively from Julian to
Winthrop.
“That’s a fine horse you have there,” said Winthrop, at last.
“Do you think so?” answered Julian, with a thinly-veiled sneer. “You
know something about horses, perhaps?”
“Not much,” replied Winthrop, with a good-natured laugh. “I used to
ride when I was at college.”
“Perhaps you’d like to try her?” suggested Julian.
“Thanks, no.”
“I reckon you had better not,” Julian drawled. “A horse generally knows
when you’re afraid of her.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid,” said Winthrop. “I dare say I’d manage to stick
on, but it is some time since I’ve ridden and my efforts would only
appear ridiculous to one of your grace and ability.”
“Your modesty does you credit, if your discretion doesn’t,” replied
the other, with a disagreeable laugh. “I hadn’t done you justice, Mr.
Winthrop, it seems.”
“How is that?” asked Winthrop, smilingly.
“Why, it seems that you possess two virtues I had not suspected you of
having, sir.”
“You wound me, Mr. Wayne. I pride myself on my modesty. And as for
discretion――――”
“You doubtless find it useful at such times as the present,” sneered
Julian.
“I really almost believe you are suspecting me of cowardice,” said
Winthrop, pleasantly.
“I really almost believe you are a mind-reader,” mocked Julian.
Their eyes met and held in the moonlight. Julian’s face was white and
strained. Winthrop’s was smiling, but the mouth set hard and there was
a dangerous sparkle in the eyes. Challenge met challenge. Winthrop
laughed softly.
“You see, Miss Holly,” he said, turning to her, “I am forced to exhibit
my deficiencies, after all, or stand accused of cowardice. I pray you
to mercifully turn your eyes away.”
“Please don’t,” said Holly, in a troubled voice. “Really, Queen isn’t
safe, Mr. Winthrop.”
“The advice is good, sir,” drawled Julian. “The mare isn’t safe.”
“Oh, pardon me, the mare is quite safe,” replied Winthrop, as he took
the bridle reins from Julian’s hand; “it’s I who am not safe. But we
shall see. At least, Miss Holly, credit me with the modesty which Mr.
Wayne seems to begrudge me, for here on the verge of the sacrifice I
acknowledge myself no horseman.”
He placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang lightly enough into the
saddle. White Queen flattened her ears as she felt a new weight on her
back, but stood quite still while Winthrop shortened the reins.
“Come on, Queen,” he said. The mare moved a step hesitatingly and shook
her head. At that moment there was a sharp cry of warning from Holly.
Julian raised the whip in his hand and brought it down savagely, and
the mare, with a cry of terror, flung herself across the narrow roadway
so quickly that Winthrop shot out of the saddle and crashed against the
picket fence, to lie crumpled and still in the moonlight. Holly was
beside him in the instant and Julian, tossing aside his whip, sprang
after her.
Holly turned blazing eyes upon him.
“No, no!” she cried, wildly. “You shan’t touch him! Keep away!
You’ve killed him. I won’t let you touch him!” She threw one arm
across Winthrop’s breast protectingly, and with the other sought to
ward Julian away.
[Illustration: “KEEP AWAY! YOU’VE KILLED HIM”]
“Hush!” he cried, tensely. “I must look at him. He is only stunned. His
head struck the fence. Let me look at him.”
“I won’t! I won’t!” sobbed the girl. “You have done enough! Go for
help!”
“Don’t be a fool!” he muttered, kneeling beside the still form and
running a hand under the vest. “You don’t want him to die, do you?
Here, hold his head up――so; that’s it.” There was an instant’s silence
broken only by Holly’s dry, choking sobs. Then Julian arose briskly to
his feet. “Just as I said,” he muttered. “Stunned. Find Uncle Ran and
we’ll take him into the house and attend to him!”
“No, no! I’ll stay here,” said Holly, brokenly. “Hurry! Hurry!”
For an instant Julian hesitated, scowling down upon her. Then, with
a muttered word, he turned abruptly and ran toward the house. Holly,
huddled against the fence with Winthrop’s head on her knee, held
tightly to one limp hand and watched with wide, terrified eyes. The
face was so white and cold in the moonlight! There was a little
troubled frown on the forehead, as though the soul was wondering and
perplexed. Had Julian spoken the truth? Was he really only stunned, or
was this death that she looked on? Would they never come? She gripped
his hand in a sudden panic of awful fear. Supposing death came and took
him away from her while she sat there impotent! She bent closer above
him, as though to hide him, and as she did so he gave a groan. Her
heart leaped.
“Dear,” she whispered, “it’s Holly. She wants you. You won’t die, will
you? When you know that I want you, you won’t leave me, will you? What
would I do without you, dear? I’ve so long to live!”
Footsteps hurried across the porch and down the steps. Very gently
Holly yielded her burden to Uncle Ran, and Winthrop was carried into
the house, where Aunt India, in a pink flowered wrapper, awaited them
at the head of the stairs. They bore Winthrop into his room and laid
him, still unconscious, on his bed. Holly’s gaze clung to the white
face.
“Get on Queen, Uncle Ran, and ride in for the Old Doctor,” Julian
directed. “Tell him there’s a collar-bone to set. You had better leave
us, Holly.”
“No, no!” cried Holly, new fear gripping her heart.
“Holly!” said her aunt. “Go at once, girl. This is no place for you.”
But Holly made no answer. Her eyes were fixed on the silent form on the
bed. Julian laid his hand on her arm.
“Come,” he said. She started and tore away from him, her eyes ablaze.
“Don’t touch me!” she whispered, hoarsely, shudderingly. “Don’t touch
me, Julian! You’ve killed him! I want never to see you again!”
“Holly!” exclaimed Miss India, astoundedly.
“I am going, Auntie.”
Julian held the door open for her, looking troubledly at her as she
passed out. But she didn’t see him. The door closed behind her. She
heard Julian’s quick steps across the floor and the sound of murmuring
voices.
A deep sob shook her from head to feet. Falling to her knees she laid
her forehead against the frame of the door, her hands clasping and
unclasping convulsively.
“Dear God,” she moaned, “I didn’t mean this! I didn’t mean this!”
[Illustration]