Gray Pendleton was coming home. Like Jason, he, too, waited at the
little junction for dawn, and swept along the red edge of it, over the
yellow Kentucky River and through the blue-grass fields. Drawn up at
the station was his father's carriage and in it sat Marjorie, with a
radiant smile of welcome which gave way to sudden tears when they
clasped hands--tears that she did not try to conceal. Uncle Robert was
in bed, she said, and Gray did not perceive any significance in the
tone with which she added, that her mother hardly ever left him. She
did not know what the matter was, but he was very pale, and he seemed
to be growing weaker. The doctor was cheery and hopeful, but her
mother, she emphasized, was most alarmed, and again Gray did not notice
the girl's peculiar tone. Nor did the colonel seem to be worried by the
threats of the night riders. It was Jason Hawn who was worried and had
persuaded the colonel to send for Gray. The girl halted when she spoke
Jason's name, and the boy looked up to find her face scarlet and her
eyes swerve suddenly from his to the passing fields. But as quickly
they swerved back to find Gray's face aflame with the thought of Mavis.
For a moment both looked straight ahead in silence, and in that silence
Marjorie became aware that Gray had not asked about Jason, and Gray
that Marjorie had not mentioned Mavis's name. But now both made the
omission good-and Gray spoke first.
Mavis was well. She was still teaching school. She had lived a life of
pathetic loneliness, but she had developed in an amazing way through
that very fact, and she had grown very beautiful. She had startled him
by her insight into--he halted--into everything--and how was Jason
getting along? The girl had been listening, covertly watching, and had
grown quite calm. Jason, too, was well, but he looked worried and
overworked. His examinations were going on now. He had written his
graduating speech but had not shown it to her, though he had said he
would. Her mother and Uncle Robert had grown very fond of him and
admired him greatly, but lately she had not seen him, he was so busy.
Again there was a long silence between them, but when they reached, the
hill whence both their homes were visible Marjorie began as though she
must get out something' that was on her mind before they reached
Colonel Pendleton's gate.
"Gray," she said hesitantly and so seriously that the boy turned to
her, "did it ever cross your mind that there was ever any secret
between Uncle Robert and mother?"
The boy's startled look was answer enough and she went on telling him
of the question she had asked her mother.
"Sometimes," she finished, "I think that your father and my mother must
have loved each other first and that something kept them from marrying.
I know that they must have talked it over lately, for there seems to be
a curious understanding between them now, and the sweetest peace has
come to both of them."
She paused, and Gray, paralyzed with wonder, still made no answer. They
had passed through the gate now and in a moment more would be at Gray's
home. Around each barn Gray saw an armed guard; there was another at
the yard gate, and there were two more on the steps of the big portico.
"Maybe," the girl went on naively, almost as though she were talking to
herself, "that's why they've both always been so anxious to have us--"
Again she stopped--scarlet.