When they had disappeared in the barn, Charles, for precautionary
reasons, skirted the stable lot, plunged into the thicket at the side of
the house, and entered the yard at the front gate. The parlor was
lighted, and he knew that Mary was there, entertaining her visitor. He
tried to walk noiselessly, but his tread made a low grinding sound on
the gravel, and the broken steps creaked as he ascended them. To his
consternation he heard Mary coming. She stood in the front doorway,
staring in agitation.
"Oh!" she cried out, in relief, when her glance fell on him. "I
thought--thought that you might be a messenger from town. Mrs. Quinby
said she would send word if a dangerous change came."
"I must see you about your brothers--" he was beginning, when they heard
Frazier's heavy tread in their direction.
In a flash of comprehension she acted. Stepping close to him, she
whispered, softly, "After he goes up to bed--meet me under the
apple-trees out there!"
She stepped back to the doorway just as Frazier was emerging from the
parlor. "Yes, I thought it was a messenger from town," she said, aloud.
"Good night, Mr. Brown."
"Good night," Charles answered, and he passed on to the stairway and
went up to his room. He heard the voices of Mary and Frazier on the
veranda. They were walking to and fro, for he could hear their steps
side by side.
Charles did not undress. He did not light his lamp, but sat waiting.
There was a certain undefinable comfort in the knowledge that he was
serving Mary, that she had made the appointment to meet him later. At
all events, her uncouth suitor did not have her full confidence. But how
slowly the time dragged along, how irritating the thought that the girl
was tortured by suspense over his interrupted disclosure!
It was eleven o'clock when he heard Mary saying good night and Frazier
went clattering up the stairs. He carried a lighted candle in his hand,
and Charles, peering from his darkened coign of vantage through the
half-opened door, beheld the sensual visage in a circle of light. How he
detested it! Frazier turned into the guest-room at the head of the
stairs, the windows of which overlooked the lawn in front of the house.
The door was closed after him. Charles heard the key turned and the bolt
rattle into its socket. Frazier was evidently a cautious man even in the
house of friends, and it was known that he had enemies who would not
hesitate to take advantage of him. He always carried a revolver. He was
permitted to do so by the law as an occasional deputy under his brother.
Frazier continued his noise. He made a clatter as he doffed his heavy
boots. A rickety old chair creaked under him as he sat in it. Charles
heard even his dull tread as he thumped about in his bare feet, removing
his outer clothing. A window-sash was thrown up with a jarring bang.
Then the groaning of the mahogany bedstead announced that he had retired
for the night.
Charles went to a window and looked out. He could see the apple-trees
Mary had indicated, and he was glad that they were not in view of the
windows of Frazier's room. He waited, wondering if the visitor were a
quick and sound sleeper. He took off his shoes that he might as
noiselessly as possible descend the stairs. He decided that he must go
at once; it would be discourteous to let Mary reach the rendezvous
first. So, with his shoes in his hand, he started down. In the great,
empty hall the creaking of the worn, well-seasoned steps seemed to ring
out sharply as exploding gun-caps. After each sound he paused, waited,
and listened to see if Frazier had been aroused. All was still, and he
moved on. Reaching the outer door, he found that Mary had left it
unlocked. He was soon outside and under the trees at the side of the
house. He could see the window of Mary's room. It was dark. She had not
retired, of that he was sure; like himself, she must be waiting
somewhere in the dark. The moon was higher now, and its pale, star-aided
light fell over the fields and mountains and the long, winding road to
the village.
Presently he saw Mary coming. She wore slippers and was very swift of
foot. As lightly as a wind-blown wisp of smoke she flitted across the
grass toward him.
"Are you here, Mr. Brown?" she asked, her voice trilling like the
suppressed warbling of a bird.
"Yes, Miss Rowland," he answered, softly, and he advanced toward her.
"Thank God!" she ejaculated, fervently. "I was afraid you would not be
able to get down past Albert's room. What is it you have to say? Oh, I'm
crazy--crazy to hear!"
He told her, watching her face closely. She started, narrowed her eyes
in perplexity, and then, unconsciously, put both of her hands on his arm
and held it as she might have that of a long-tried and trusted friend.
"Oh, what do you think? What do you think?" she all but moaned. "Will it
be safe?"
She had lifted her sweet face close to his. Her touch on his arm was a
thing never to be forgotten. It seemed to rivet his very soul to hers.
He weighed his decision deliberately. "I cannot really see that they are
in much more danger," he finally got out. "It is a fact, as Kenneth
says, that, with us to keep watch on the road, we could warn them of any
approach that had a suspicious look. After all, perhaps the very last
place the officers would think of searching would be one so close at
home. At any rate, the boys want to be near you--Martin especially."
"My poor baby!" Mary suddenly broke down and began to weep.
"Don't, don't! Please don't!" Charles put his arm around her; he drew
her to him. He wiped her eyes with his own handkerchief; his
toil-hardened fingers touched the velvety skin of her cheeks. She did
not resent his action.
"He is just a baby!" she sobbed; "he is as gentle and timid at times as
a little girl. I must see him to-night."
"To-night!" Charles exclaimed, in surprise.
"Yes," and she drew herself from his embrace as if unconscious of having
yielded to it, though her tear-wet face was still raised to his, the
tremulous, grief-twisted lips never before so maddeningly exquisite.
"Yes, I must see him to-night. I'll go alone. I can whistle and they
will know who it is. Kensy may be asleep--he no doubt is--but Martin
will be awake, poor boy!"
"May I not go with you to--" he began, hesitatingly.
"No, I'd better go alone. You see, if I happened to be discovered I
could make some excuse, but it would be different if we were seen
together. Don't wait for me. Please go back to your room. You are tired.
We are making you do both night and day work, but, oh, I am so grateful!
Good night."
"Good night," he echoed, as she flitted away from him like a vanishing
sprite produced by the moon and starlight.
At the steps he took off his shoes again. No experienced house-breaker
could have turned the bolt of the great door more softly than he did,
and yet an accident happened. The large brass key, which was loose in
the worn keyhole, fell to the floor just as he was opening the door. In
the empty hall it sounded to him as loud as a clap of thunder. He stood
still, holding the door ajar for a moment, and then softly closed it.
Cautiously he crept up the steps, and was half-way to the floor above
when a harsh command from Frazier's door rang out, followed by the sharp
click of the hammer of a revolver.
"Halt!" cried Frazier. "Stand where you are, and hold up your hands. If
you value your life, don't move."
Charles stood still, but did not raise his hands. "I'm going up to my
room," he said, calmly. He now saw Frazier in his white underclothing,
leaning over the balustrade, the revolver aimed at him.
"To your room, with your shoes in your hand?" was the incredulous
retort. The revolver was lowered reluctantly and Frazier swore in his
throat. "Is that the way you come and go in the house of decent people?"
he went on, insultingly.
Beside himself with rage, Charles silently pursued his way up the
stairs. Frazier seemed surprised at receiving no answer, and, with the
weapon swinging at his side, he muttered something under his breath and
retreated to his room door.
"I'll look into this," he called out. "I'm sure Mr. Rowland doesn't know
this sort of a thing is going on under his roof."
In a flash of far-reaching insight Charles saw the disastrous
consequences of a nocturnal row with the bully. Mary was then outside
the house, and if Frazier were to catch her returning no sort of
explanation except the truth would satisfy him. What was to be done? In
an instant Charles took the only available course, crushing his pride to
accomplish it.
"I am sorry I disturbed you, Mr. Frazier," he said to the white figure
in the doorway. "I took off my shoes to make as little noise as
possible. I am sorry, too, that I have forgotten something and must go
back after it. I'll try not to disturb you when I return."
With a low growl, Frazier vanished in his room. Charles heard him drop
the revolver on a table and the creaking of the bed as he sank on it.
Down the stairs Charles went. Slipping on his shoes outside, he crept
around the house toward the barn, over-joyed by the discovery that Mary
was not yet in sight. At the barn-yard fence he paused. He could hear
low voices from the dark loft; now it was Mary speaking, now Martin, now
Kenneth. Charles crept to the main door and softly whistled. Immediately
there was silence within the building. Then a whistle sounded. It was
Mary's, he was sure, and he heard her descending the narrow steps from
the loft.
Frightened she must have been, for when she reached him she was all
aquiver and her voice hung dead in her throat.
"Don't worry," he said, promptly, to allay her fears. "All is safe, but
I had to warn you."
Kenneth and Martin were now at her side, and he explained the situation
to them all. "I was afraid you might come in at the front door and be
seen by him," Charles said. "You see, he may not go to sleep easily,
and--"
"I was going in that way," Mary broke in. "He would have caught me, and
I would have had to tell the truth. He mustn't know the boys are here.
The truth is, I am a little bit more afraid of him than I was. He--he
holds everything over me that he finds out. He talks about our marrying
more than he did. I can get in by the back stairs, and I'll go up very
soon. Don't wait, Mr. Brown. He is sure to lie awake till you return.
Lock the door after you. Don't remove your shoes this time. Show him
that you don't care what he thinks."
Charles found the way clear for him on his return, and as he passed
Frazier's room he noticed that the door was closed; he heard no sounds
within.
"_Show him that you don't care what he thinks!_" Mary's last words were
ringing in his ears. Somehow they were the sweetest words he had ever
heard. They warmed, thrilled, encouraged him. He took them to sleep with
him. They followed him through strange turbulent dreams that night. They
were back of his first waking thoughts the next morning. "_Show him that
you don't care what he thinks!_" He could have sung the words to the
accompaniment of the rising sunlight as it bathed the fields in yellow.
With them she had thanked him for the service he had rendered, and the
service had been her protection against that particular individual.
Marry him? Could she marry a man she feared? And yet she had said she
would under certain conditions, and the conditions were on the way to
fulfilment. Great God! how could it be? His short-lived hope was gone;
the music of her magic words had ceased. He heard the clatter of
Frazier's boots in his bed-chamber. As he passed down the steps, he
heard the burly guest emptying soiled water from his wash-bowl out of a
window upon the shrubbery below. How he hated the man!