"How do you get that?" I ventured.
"Why didn't you ask to share the hammock with me?"
Now though I knew something of woman's ways and woman's wiles, I felt a
blush rising, and to hide it I dropped the match I held and bent over to
pick it up. Clearly his reverence's niece was bent on a flirtation
wherewith to while away the days of her exile. It is needless to say
that in my present state of mind I had no heart for dalliance of this
sort, but I realized that I must not offend her, so I struck the match
on the sole of my shoe and slowly lighted my pipe, thinking hard all the
time of what I should say.
"You looked so very comfortable," I replied jocularly, between puffs,
"that I could not bring myself to make the request. And--you lay down,
you know, as though you wanted it all to yourself."
With a quick, lithe movement she turned on her side, rested her cheek on
her hand, and retorted:
"Was that idea really in your mind before I spoke? The truth, mind you!"
I was thoroughly uncomfortable. Just what Beryl Drane was driving at I
could not guess, but I knew the simple talk which I had come to have
with her had suddenly assumed the proportions of a task. It would be
silly and egotistic to think this little body was in love with me, and
yet as she lay curled kitten-like within arm's length there was a
seriousness in her face and manner which troubled me far more than what
my answer to her last question would be.
"No, it was not," I replied, meeting her eyes steadily.
"All men don't tell the truth," was her unexpected rejoinder; "but you
do.... Don't you think I am worth sitting by?"
Heavens! Why did she persevere in this strain? Why? God pity her, I
knew. I knew her birthright of womanliness and unsullied purity had been
bartered long ago for the pottage of faithlessness and sham pleasures,
and that now the exceeding bitter cry rang in her soul day in and day
out. She had made sacrifice of the substantial, the real, the true, and
the good, on the shadowy altar of indulgence. She had flung aside the
fruit to devour the husk, and the penalty was an insatiable gnawing of
the evil teeth which she had first guided with her own hand to her
being's core. I shivered inwardly as these thoughts darted
lightning-like through my mind, and my face shaped itself into lines of
gravity.
"Little girl," I said, gently; "I should be glad to sit by you, but
what's the use in this instance? We are as two birds passing in mid-air.
Soon you will go; soon I will go. Let's be good, honest friends while we
stay."
I leaned toward her and spoke earnestly, trying to keep any note of
rebuke from my tones. She did not reply, but colored slightly, turned
her head partly away, and lowered her lashes. I smoked in silence for a
few moments to give her a chance to speak, but she remained silent, and
directly I said, throwing my voice into a cheerier key:
"If you're to help me with my secret we must hurry. Our few minutes on
the river did not last long enough for us to get very well acquainted,
but probably Father John has told you that I am roughing it for a few
months on a certain big knob back in the woods. I've met a few people,
and--"
Poor, hopelessly stupid mind of man! In my agitation caused by the
attitude Beryl Drane had seen fit to adopt toward me, I had forgotten
that the confidence I had purposed bestowing involved another girl--a
beautiful girl! Now it was too late to hold back. Two slits of eyes were
viewing me cynically, and a low laugh bubbled up from her throat.
"Who is she?" mocked Beryl Drane, who lived in the world.
"I don't know!" I answered, boldly. "That's what I want you to help me
find out."
"What's her name?"
How cold the words were; like little sharp icicles. Ah! Womankind!
Velvet soft, iron hard; dove merciful, tiger cruel; heaven breasted,
hell armed; honey lipped, gall tongued!
"They call her Lessie."
Her sweetly bowed mouth had turned to a straight line of scarlet as she
shook her head.
"I don't mix with the rabble here."
She spoke to cut, and she succeeded. The insolent words bit sharply, and
a flame-like resentment set a hot reply on my tongue, but I withheld it.
I waited a while, that my speech might not betray my agitation.
"She lives with her granny and gran'fer on Lizard Point. Surely you have
seen her at church? Granny is very conscientious, I'm sure, in the
performance of her church du----"
"I never go to church!" interrupted Father John's niece. "But I think I
know the people to whom you refer," she added, at once. "I cannot recall
the name of the family, however.... You must be extraordinarily stupid
not to have learned her surname, being in love with her."
Evidently Miss Drane was ignorant of the circumstances surrounding the
Dryad's birth, and a great wave of relief rolled up in my breast when I
was assured of this.
"A man doesn't love a girl's name," I thought. Then I said:
"It would seem so, indeed."
I can't imagine what there was in that innocent sentence to cause
affront, but instantly the girl in the hammock swung her feet to the
ground, arose, and picked up her bonnet and basket.
"I don't think you are at all nice!" she said. "Go on and love your
little cabin minx if you want to! She'll be sadly wiser when your love
is over and you have gone back where you came from. I know you men--all
alike!... If you want to see uncle you'll find him in the library at
this hour."
Then out she switched with never so much as a "Good-day," leaving me
staring amazedly at the clustering viney mass which swayed behind her
vanished form. I had known many kinds of women: petulant, spoiled, mean;
gracious, charming, good. I knew the majority of them were not amenable
to logic, and would sometimes take offense at a smile or a wrong
inflection. But when Beryl Drane flung this low insinuation in my face,
I was nettled. It was utterly without foundation or reason. It bore out
strikingly the opinion I had previously formed of her, and as I sat and
turned the matter over in my mind, I knew presently that I was pitying
her. For there is no sadder sight on the world's broad breast than a
woman with a spotted soul. This poor child's perceptions were all awry,
her affections wrenched and twisted, and in that moment I almost cursed
the fate which would permit such a sacrilege. My resentment was gone, or
was directed against the nonunderstandable forces, powers--call them
what you will--which so often, in their workings, flung the spotless
lily under the filthy snout of a hog, and dashed the white soul of a
girl into a pit of smut and slime! Give me the reasons, ye gray-bearded
savants! You are children fumbling in the dark. You do not know.
I got up and passed without the leafy curtain. Miss Drane had
disappeared. I walked to the porch, found the front door open, and
entered the hall without knocking. I judged the library to be on the
right, and at that door I tapped. The old priest's voice bade me "Come!"
I went in, and when he saw me cross the threshold, Father John leaped up
with a nervous agility which was incongruous when associated with his
many years, and hastened forward.
"Ah-h-h! Ze pleasure! W'ere have you bene, m'sieu?"
He smiled cordially, and led me to an easy chair by the table, holding
my hand until I was fairly seated.
"Roaming the woods, principally," I replied, easily, noting the
extremely comfortable furnishings of the apartment. "I have been here a
half-hour, I should say. I found Miss Drane cutting roses, and stopped
for a chat with her. She seems perfectly well?"
Father John made a grimace, and spread his hands.
"Zat chil'! I love 'er m'sieu, but she try me. She plague me wiz 'er
pranks, zen she come wiz 'er arms aroun' my neck--so--an' fix eversing."
He obligingly essayed to hug himself by way of illustration, and I
nodded my comprehension.
"You will doubtless miss her when she leaves you?"
He twisted his features as from a sudden pain.
"I can't sink of zat, m'sieu. She have bene wiz me t'ree--four--five
weeks; she is one--headstron' chil', but she make me vair happy--_oui_."
He sank a little deeper in his soft chair, and pulled contentedly at his
long-stemmed pipe.
It was hard for me to broach the subject uppermost in my mind. Twice my
lips parted to open the discussion, but each time the sentence which
followed related to an entirely different matter. So for quite a while
we talked of the weather, the crops, the parish, and it was while we
were discussing the neighborhood that I knew my opportunity had arrived.
"I have become very much interested in the family at Lizard Point. You
know them well?"
"Vair well. Madame is vair releegious; a good woman. M'sieu
is--is--indeef'rent; ma'm'selle--ah, ze young ma'm'selle!"
Again his spread hands went out expressively, and he shook his head with
wrinkled forehead.
Inwardly I smiled, but outwardly my face was set to decorous lines.
"Does not the granddaughter belong to your fold?" I asked.
"Ah! m'sieu; we try. We try all her life lon' to make her ze Christian.
But she wil'--she wil' as ze bird in ze wood. She an' ze half crazy
Jeff--ze fiddle player--zey heazen, m'sieu. Zey never dark ze door of ze
church. Zey run in ze fores', fiddlin' an' dancin', an' ze devil he
laugh an' skip by zey side!"
He put his hands between his knees, palm to palm, and rocked to and fro
in genuine distress. I could think of no suitable reply on the moment,
so remained silent.
"I have ze pity for ze chil', poor sing!" he resumed, presently. "Ze
chance she has not had, like ozzer ones. Meybe ze curse of ze broke' law
follow her; I don' know--I don' know!"
He sighed, and let his narrow shoulders droop forward in an attitude
both sad and pensive.
"Tell me about that if you can, Father John," I said, placing my elbows
on the table's edge and leaning toward him. "I will say to you in
strictest confidence that I am deeply interested in Lessie; it is not
idle curiosity which prompts me to ask this. I know her father betrayed
and deserted her mother; Gran'fer has practically admitted this to me,
but he will go no further. You must know the man's name--what was it?"
Father John lifted his head and looked at me.
"Zat, m'sieu, I cannot tell you."
"Why?"