“I’m going for a walk with Mr. Winthrop, Auntie,” said Holly. She
fastened a broad-brimmed hat on her head and looked down at Miss India
with soft, shining eyes. Dinner was over and Miss India, the Major and
Julian were sitting in a shady spot on the porch. Winthrop awaited
Holly at the steps.
“Well, my dear,” answered Miss India. “But keep Mr. Winthrop away from
those dark, damp places, Holly. It’s so easy to get the feet wet at
this time of year.”
“You see, Uncle Major,” laughed Holly, “she doesn’t care whether I
catch cold or not; it’s just Mr. Winthrop!”
“Holly!” expostulated her Aunt.
“She knows, my dear,” said the Major, gallantly, “that those little
feet of yours will skim the wet places like swallows!”
“Thank you, sir!” She made a face at the Major. “You will be here when
we get back, won’t you, Julian?”
“I don’t know,” answered Julian, dismally.
“We won’t be long.” She nodded to the trio and joined Winthrop, and
side by side they went down the steps, wound through the garden and
disappeared into the oleander path. Julian watched them with a pain
at his heart until they were out of sight, and for several minutes
afterwards he sat silent, thinking bitter thoughts. Then a remark of
the Major’s aroused him and he leaped impetuously into the conversation.
“Trouble!” he exclaimed. “Why, we can clear the Spaniards out of Cuba
in two weeks. Look at our ships! And look at our army! There isn’t a
better one in the world! Trouble! Why, it’ll be too easy; you’ll see;
it’ll be all over before we know it!”
“I dread another war, Major,” said Miss India, with a little shudder.
“The last one was so terrible.”
“It was, ma’am, it was. It was brother kill brother. But this one will
be different, Miss Indy, for North and South will stand together and
fight together, and, by Godfrey, there’ll be no stopping until Spanish
dominion in Cuba is a thing of the past!”
“That’s right,” cried Julian. “This is the whole country together this
time; it’s the United States of America, by Jupiter!”
“Let us thank God for that,” said Miss India, devoutly.
* * * * *
Winthrop and Holly were rather silent until they had left the red clay
road behind and turned into the woods. There, in a little clearing,
Winthrop led the way to the trunk of a fallen pine and they seated
themselves upon it. The afternoon sunlight made its way between the
branches in amber streams. Above them festoons of gray-green moss
decked the trees. The woods were very silent and not even a bird-call
broke the silence. Holly took her hat off and laid it beside her on the
gray bark. Then she turned gravely to Winthrop and met his eyes.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I’ve brought you here, Holly, to ask you to marry me,” he answered.
Holly’s hand flew to her heart, and her eyes grew big and dark.
“I don’t understand,” she faltered.
“No, and before I do ask you, dear, I’ve got something to tell you.
Will you listen?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Holly, simply.
“I was married when I was twenty-four years old,” began Winthrop, after
a moment. “I had just finished a course in the law school. The girl
I married was four years younger than I. She was very beautiful and
a great belle in the little city in which she lived. We went to New
York and I started in business with a friend of mine. We were stock
brokers. A year later my wife bore me a son; we called him Robert. For
five years we were very happy; those years were the happiest I have
ever known. Then the boy died.” He was silent a moment. “I loved him
a great deal, and I took it hard. I made a mistake then. To forget my
trouble I immersed myself too deeply, perhaps, in business. Well, two
years later I made the discovery that I had failed to keep my wife’s
love. If our boy had lived it would have been different but his death
left her lonely and――I was thoughtless, selfish in my own sorrow, until
it was too late. I found that my wife had grown to love another man. I
don’t blame her; I never have. And she was always honest with me. She
told me the truth. She sued me for divorce and I didn’t contest. That
was six years ago. She has been married for five years and I think, I
pray, that she is very happy.”
He paused, and Holly darted a glance at his face. He was looking
straight ahead down the woodland path, and for an instant she felt very
lonely and apart. Then――
“You see, dear,” he continued, “I have failed to keep one woman’s love.
Could I do better another time? I think so, but――who knows? It would
be a risk for you, wouldn’t it?”
He turned and smiled gently at her, and she smiled tremulously back.
“There,” he said. “Now you know what I am. I am thirty-eight years old,
twenty years older than you, and a divorced man into the bargain. Even
if you were willing to excuse those things, Holly, I fear your aunt
could not.”
“If I were willing,” answered Holly, evenly, “nothing else would
matter. But――you will tell me one thing? Do you――are you quite, quite
sure that you do not still love her――a little?”
“Quite, Holly. The heart I offer, dear, is absolutely free.”
“I think God did mean me to love you, then, after all,” said Holly,
thoughtfully.
Winthrop arose and stood before her, and held out his hand. She placed
hers in it and with her eyes on his allowed him to raise her gently
toward him.
“Then, Holly,” he said, “I ask you to be my wife, for I love you more
than I can ever tell you. Will you, Holly, will you?”
“Yes,” sighed Holly.
Very gently he strove to draw her to him but, with her hands against
his breast, she held herself at the length of his arms.
“Wait,” she said. “Don’t kiss me until you are sure that you mean what
you’ve said, Robert――quite, quite sure. Because”――her eyes darkened,
and her voice held a fierceness that thrilled him――“because, dear,
after you have kissed me it will be too late to repent. I’ll never let
you go then, never while I live! I’ll fight for you until――until――――!”
Her voice broke, and the lashes fell tremblingly over her eyes.
Winthrop, awed and stirred, raised the bowed head until her eyes, grown
soft and timid, glanced up at him once more.
“Dear,” he said, very low and very humbly, “such as I am I am yours as
long as God will let me live for you.”
He bent his head until his lips were on hers.
The next instant she had buried her face against his shoulder, and he
felt her body shaking in his arms.
“Holly!” he cried. “Holly! You’re crying! What is it, dear? What have I
done, Sweetheart?”
For an instant she ceased to quiver, and from against his coat came a
smothered voice.
“What’s the good of be-being happy,” sobbed Holly, “if you can’t
cr-cr-cry?”
A breath of wind from the south swept through the wood, stirring the
tender leaves to rustling murmurs. And the sound was like that of a
little stream which, obstructed in its course, finds a new channel and
leaps suddenly on its way again, laughing joyously.
[Illustration: THE END]
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.