Northrup had cast himself upon Twombley's hospitality with the plea of
business. He outlined a programme and demanded silence.
"I'm going to buy this Point," he confided, "and I'm going to go away,
Twombley. I'm going to leave things exactly as they are until--well,
perhaps always. Just consider yourself my superintendent."
Twombley blinked.
"Snatching hot cakes?" he asked. "Spoiling Maclin's meal?"
"Something like that, yes. I don't know what all this means, Twombley,
but I'm going to take no chances. I want to be in a position to hit
square if anything needs hitting. If no one knows that I'm in on this
deal, I'll be better pleased--but I want you to keep me informed."
Twombley nodded.
About noon Northrup departed, but he did not reach the inn until
nearly dark.
Heathcote and Polly had been tremendously agitated by the appearance
of the Morris car and the Japanese. They were in a sad state of
excitement. The vicious circle of unbelievable happenings seemed to be
drawing close.
"I guess I'll put the Chinese"--Peter was not careful as to
particulars--"out in the barn to sleep," he said, but Polly shook her
head.
"No, keep him where you can watch 'im," she cautioned. "There'll be no
sleeping for me while this unchristian business is afoot. Peter, what
do you suppose the creature eats?"
"I ain't studying about that"--Peter shook with nervous laughter--"but
I'm going to chain Ginger up. I've heard these Chinese-ers lean to
animals."
"Nonsense, brother! But do you suppose the young woman what's on her
way here is a female Chinese?"
"The Lord knows!" Peter bristled. "I wish Northrup would fetch up and
handle these items of his. My God! Polly, we have been real soft
toward this young feller. Appearances and our dumb feelings about
folks may have let us all in for some terrible results. Maclin's
keener than us, perhaps."
"Now, brother"--Polly was bustling around--"this is no time to set my
nerves on edge. Here we be; here all this mess is. We best hold
tight."
So Peter and Polly "held tight" while inwardly they feared that King's
Forest was in deadly peril and that they had let the unsuspecting
people in for who could tell--what?
About five o'clock Kathryn came upon the scene. Her late encounter had
left her careless as to her physical appearance; she was a bit
bedraggled and her low shoes and silk hose--a great deal of the latter
showing--were evidences against her respectability.
"I'm Mr. Northrup's fiancée," she explained, and sank into a chair by
the hearth.
Aunt Polly did not know what she meant, but in that she belonged to
Northrup, she must be recognized, and plainly she was not Chinese!
Peter fixed his little, sparkling eyes on his guest and his hair rose
an inch while his face reddened.
"Perhaps you better go to your room," he suggested as he might to a
naughty child. He wanted to get the girl out of his sight and he hated
to see Polly waiting upon her. Kathryn detected the tone and it roused
her. No man ever made an escape from Kathryn when he used that note!
Her eyes filled with tears; her lips quivered.
"Mr. Northrup's mother is dying," she faltered; a shade more or less
did not count now--"help me to be brave and calm for his sake. Please
be my friend as you have been his!"
This was a wild guess but it served its purpose. Peter felt like a
brute and Aunt Polly was all a-tremble.
"Dear me!" she said, hovering over the girl, "somehow we never thought
about Brace's folks and all that. Just you come upstairs and rest and
wash. I'll fetch you some nice hot tea. It's terrible--his mother
dying--and you having to break it to him." Polly led Kathryn away and
Peter sat wretchedly alone.
When Polly returned he was properly contrite and set to work assisting
with the evening meal. Polly was silent for the most part, but she was
deeply concerned.
"She says she's going to marry Brace," she confided.
"Well, I reckon if she says she is, she is!" Peter grunted. "She looks
capable of doing it."
"Peter, you mustn't be hard."
"I hope to the Lord I can be hard." Peter looked grim. "It's being
soft and easy as has laid us open to--what?"
"Peter, you give me the creeps."
Peter and Polly were in the kitchen when Kathryn came downstairs. She
had had a bath and a nap. She had resorted to her toilet aids and she
looked pathetically lovely as she crouched by the hearth in the empty
room and waited for Northrup's return. Every gesture she made bespoke
the sweet clinging woman bent on mercy's task.
She again saw herself in a dramatic scene. Northrup would open the
door--that one! Kathryn fixed her eyes on the middle door--he would
look at her--reel back; call her name, and she would rush to him, fall
in his arms; then control herself, lead him to the fire and break the
sad news to him gently, sweetly. He would kneel at her feet, bury his
face in her lap----
But while Kathryn was mentally rehearsing this and thrilling at the
success of her wonderful intuitions, Northrup was striding along the
road toward the inn, his head bent forward, his hands in his pockets.
He was feeling rather the worse for wear; the consequences of his
deeds and promises were hurtling about him like tangible, bruising
things.
He was never to see Mary-Clare again! That had sounded fine and noble
when it meant her freedom from Larry Rivers, but what a beastly thing
it seemed, viewed from Mary-Clare's side. What would she think of
him? After those hours of understanding--those hours weighted with
happiness and delight that neither of them dared to call by their true
names, so beautiful and fragile were they! Those hours had been like
bubbles in which all that was _real_ was reflected. They had breathed
upon them, watched them, but had not touched them frankly. And
now----
How ugly and ordinary it would all seem if he left without one last
word!
The past few weeks might become a memory that would enrich and ennoble
all the years on ahead or they might, through wrong interpretation,
embitter and corrode.
Northrup was prepared to make any sacrifice for Mary-Clare; he had
achieved that much, but he chafed at the injustice to his best motives
if he carried out, literally, what he had promised. He was face to
face with one of those critical crises where simple right seemed
inadequate to deal with complex wrong.
To leave Mary-Clare free to live whatever life held for her, without
bitterness or regret, was all he asked. As for himself, Northrup had
agreed to go back--he thought, as he plunged along, in Manly's
terms--to his slit in the wall and keep valiantly to it in the future.
But he, no matter what occurred, would always have a wider, purer
vision; while Mary-Clare, the one who had made this possible,
would----Oh! it was an unbearable thought.
And just then a rustling in the bushes by the road brought him to a
standstill.
"Who's that?" he asked roughly.
Jan-an came from behind a clump of sumach. A black shawl over her head
and falling to her feet made her seem part of the darkness. Northrup
turned his flashlight upon her and only her vague white face was
visible.
"What's up?" he asked, as Jan-an came nearer. The girl no longer
repelled him--he had seen behind her mask, had known her faithfulness
and devotion to them he must leave forever. Northrup was still young
enough to believe in that word--forever.
Jan-an came close.
"Say, there's a queer lot to the inn. They're after you!"
Northrup started.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"A toot cart with an image setting up the front--and a dressy piece in
the glass cage behind."
So vivid was the picture that Jan-an portrayed that Northrup did not
need to question.
"Lord! but she was togged out," Jan-an went on, "but seemed like I
felt she had black wings hid underneath." Poor Jan-an's flights of
fancy always left her muddled. "If you want that I should tell her
anything while you light out----"
Northrup laughed.
"There, there, Jan-an," he comforted. "Why, this is all right. You
wanted me to know, in case--oh! but you're a good sort! But see
here, everything is safe and sound and"--Northrup paused, then
suddenly--"to-morrow, Jan-an, I want you to go to--to Mary-Clare and
tell her I left--good-bye for her and Noreen."
"Yer--yer going away?" Jan-an writhed under the flashlight.
"Yes, Jan-an."
"Why----" The girl burst into tears. Northrup tried to comfort her.
"I've been so stirred," the girl sobbed. "I had feelin's----"
"So have I, Jan-an. So have I."
They stood in the dark for a moment and then, because there was
nothing more to say--Northrup went to meet Kathryn Morris.
He went in at one of the end doors, not the middle one, and so
disturbed Kathryn's stage setting. He opened and closed the door so
quietly, walked over to the fire so rapidly, that to rise and carry
out her programme was out of the question, so Kathryn remained on the
hearth and Northrup dropped into the chair beside her.
"Well, little girl," he said--people always lowered their voices when
speaking to Kathryn--"what is it?"
Northrup was braced for bad news. Of course Manly had given his
address to Kathryn--it was something beyond the realm of letters and
telegrams that had occurred; Kathryn had been sent! That Manly was not
prime mover in this matter could not occur to Northrup.
"Is it Mother?" he whispered.
Kathryn nodded and her easy tears fell.
"Dead?" The word cut like a knife and Kathryn shivered. For the first
she doubted herself; felt like a bungler.
"Oh! no, Brace; Brace, do not look like that--really--really--listen
to me."
Northrup breathed heavily.
"An accident?" he demanded. A hard note rang in his words. This turn
of affairs was rather more than Kathryn had arranged for. It was like
finding herself on the professional stage when she had bargained for
an amateur performance.
She ran to cover, abandoning all her well-laid plans. She knew the
advantage of being the first in a new situation, so she hurried
there.
"Brace dear, I--you know I have been bearing it all alone and I dared
_not_ take any further responsibility even to--to shield you, dearest,
and your work."
By some dark magic Northrup felt himself a selfish brute; a deserter
of duty.
"Kathryn," he said, and his eyes fell, "please tell me. I suppose I
have been unforgivable, but--well, there's nothing to say!" Northrup
bowed his head to take whatever blow might fall.
"I may be all wrong, dear. You know, when one is alone, is the
confidante of another, one as precious as your mother is to you and
me, it unnerves one--I did not know what to do. It may not be
anything--but how could I know?"
"You went to Manly?" Northrup asked this with a sense of relief while
at the same time Kathryn had risen to a plane so high that he felt
humbled before her. He was still dazed and in the dark, but all was
not lost!
While he had been following his selfish ends, Kathryn had stood guard
over all that was sacred to him. He had never before realized the
strength and purpose of the pretty child near him. He reached out and
laid his hand on the bowed head.
"No, dear, that was it. Your mother would not let me--she thought only
of you; you must not be worried, just now--oh! you know how she is!
But, dearest, she has had, for years, a strange and dreadful pain. It
does not come often, but when it does, it is very, very bad--it comes
mostly at night--so she has been able to hide it from you; the day
following she always spoke of it as a headache--you know how we have
sympathized with her--but never were alarmed?"
Northrup nodded. He recalled those headaches.
"Well, a week ago she called me to come to her--she really looked
quite terrible, Brace. I was so frightened, but of course I had to
hide my feelings. She says--oh! Brace, she says there is--way back in
the family----"
"Nonsense!" Northrup got up and paced the floor. "Manly has told me
that was sheer nonsense. Go on, Kathryn."
"Well, dear, she was weak and _so_ pitiful and she--she confided
things to me that I am sure she would not have, had she been her
brave, dear self."
"What kind of things?"
It was horrible, but Northrup was conscious of being in a net where
the meshes were wide enough to permit of his seeing freedom but
utterly cutting him off from it.
What he had subconsciously hoped the night before, what his underlying
strength had been founded upon, he would never be able to know, for
now he felt every line of escape from, heaven knew what, closing upon
him; permitting no choice, wiping out all the security of happiness;
leaving--chaff. For a moment, he forgot the question he had just
asked, but Kathryn was struggling to answer it.
"About you and me, Brace. Oh! help me. It is so hard; so hard, dear,
to tell you, but you must realize that because of the things she said,
I estimated the seriousness of her condition and I cannot spare
myself! Brace, she knows that you and I--have been putting off our
marriage because of her!"
There was one mad moment when Northrup felt he was going to laugh; but
instantly the desire fled and ended in something approaching a groan.
"Go on!" he said quietly, and resumed his seat by the fire.
"I think we have been careless rather than thoughtful, dear. Older
people can be hurt by such kindness--if they are wonderful and proud
like your mother. She cannot bear to--to be an obstacle."
"An obstacle? Good Lord!" Northrup jammed a log to its place and so
relieved his feelings.
"Well, my dearest, you must see the position I was placed in?"
"Yes, Kathryn, I do. You're a brick, my dear, but--how did you know
where I was, if you did not go to Manly?"
Kathryn looked up, and all the childlike confidence and sweetness she
could summon lay in her lovely eyes.
"Dearest, I remembered the address on the letter you sent to your
mother. Because I wanted to keep this secret about our fear from
her--I came alone and I knew that people here could direct me if you
had gone away. I was prepared to follow you--anywhere!"--Kathryn
suddenly recalled her small hand-bag upstairs--"Brace, I was
frightened, bearing it alone. I _had_ to have you. Oh! Brace."
Northrup found the girl in his arms. His face was against hers--her
tears were falling and she was sobbing helplessly. The net, it was a
purse net now, drew close.
"Brace, Brace, we must make her happy, together. I will share
everything with you--I have been so heedless; so selfish--but my life
is now yours and--hers!"
Guilt filled the aroused soul of Northrup. As far as in him lay
he--surrendered! With characteristic swiftness and thoroughness he
closed his eyes and made his dash!
"Kathryn, you mean you will marry me; you will--do this for me and
her?"
"Yes."
Just then Aunt Polly came into the room. Her quick, keen eye took in
the scene and her gentle heart throbbed in sympathy. She came over to
the two and hovered near them, patting Northrup's shoulder and
Kathryn's head indiscriminately. She crooned over them and finally got
them to the dining-room and the evening meal.
An early start for the morrow was planned, and by nine o'clock Kathryn
went to her room.
Northrup was restless and nervous. There was much to be done before he
left. He must see Rivers and finish that business--it might have to be
hurried, but he felt confident that by raising Larry's price he could
secure his ends. And then, because of the finality in the turn of
events, Northrup desperately decided upon a compromise with his
conscience. Strange as it now seemed he had, before his talk with
Kathryn, believed that he was done forever with his experience, but he
realized, as he reconsidered the matter, that hope, a strange, blind
hope, had fluttered earlier but that now it was dead; dead!
Since that was the case, he would do for a dead man--Northrup
gruesomely termed himself that--what the dead man could not do for
himself. Surely no one, not even Rivers, would deny him that poor
comfort, if all were known. He would write a note to Mary-Clare, go
early in the morning to that cabin on the hill and leave it--where her
eye would fall upon it when she entered.
That the cabin was sacred to Mary-Clare he very well knew; that she
shared it with no one, he also knew; but she would forgive his
trespassing, since it was his only way in honour out--out of her
life.
Very well, then! At nine-thirty he decided to go over to the Point
again and, if he found Larry, finish that business. If Larry were not
there, he would lie in wait for him and gain his ends. So he prepared
for another night away from the inn, if necessary.
Aunt Polly, hovering on the outskirts of all that was going on,
materialized, as he was about leaving the house like a thief of the
night.
"Now, son, must you go out?" she pleaded, her spectacles awry on the
top of her head, her eyes unnaturally bright.
"Yes, Aunt Polly." Northrup paused, the knob of the door in hand, and
looked down at the little creature.
"Is it fair, son?" Aunt Polly was savagely thinking of the gossip of
the Forest--she wildly believed that Northrup might be going to the
yellow house. The hurry of departure might blind him to folly.
"Fair--fair to whom, Aunt Polly?" Northrup's brows drew together.
"To yourself, son. Bad news and the sudden going away----" the old
voice choked. It was hard to use an enemy's weapon against one's own,
even to save him.
"Aunt Polly, look at me." This was spoken sternly.
"I _am_ looking, son, I am looking." And so she was.
"I'm going out, because I must, if I am to do my duty by others. You
must trust me. And I want you to know that all my future life will be
the stronger, the safer, because of my weeks here with you all! I came
to you with no purpose--just a tired, half-sick man, but things were
taken out of my hands. I've been used, and I don't know myself just
yet for what. I'm going to have faith and you must have it--I'm with
you, not against you. Will you kiss me, Aunt Polly?"
From his height Northrup bent to Polly's littleness, but she reached
up to him with her frail tender arms and seemed to gather him into her
denied motherhood. Without a word she kissed him and--let him go!
Northrup found Rivers in his shack. He looked as if he had been
sitting where Northrup left him the night before. He was unkempt and
haggard and there were broken bits of food on the untidy table, and
stains of coffee.
"I'm going away, Rivers," Northrup explained, sitting opposite Larry.
"I couldn't wait to get word from you--my mother is ill. I must put
this business through in a sloppy way. It may need a lot of legal
patching after, but I'll take my chances. Heathcote has straightened
out your wife's part--the Point is yours. I've made sure of that. Now
I'm going to write out something that I think will hold--anyway, I
want your signature to it and to a receipt for money I will give you.
What we both know will after all be the real deed, for if you don't
keep your bargain, I'll come back."
Larry stared dully, insolently at Northrup but did not speak. He
watched Northrup writing at the table where the food lay scattered.
Then, when the clumsy document was finished, Northrup pushed it toward
Rivers.
"Sign there!" he said.
"I'll sign where I damn please." Larry showed his teeth. "How much you
going to give me for my woman?"
For a moment the sordid room seemed to be swirling in a flood of red
and yellow. Northrup got on his feet.
"I don't want to kill you," he muttered, "but you deserve it."
"Ah, have it your own way," Larry cringed. The memory of the night
before steadied him. He'd been drinking heavily and was stronger--and
weaker, in consequence.
"How much is--is the price for the Point?" he mumbled.
Northrup mastered his rage and sat down. Feeling sure that Rivers
would dicker he said quietly:
"A thousand dollars."
"Double that!" Rivers's eyes gleamed. A thousand dollars would take
him out of Maclin's reach, but all that he could get beyond would keep
him there longer.
"Rivers, I expected this, so I'll name my final price. Fifteen
hundred! Hurry up and sign that paper."
Larry signed it unsteadily but clearly.
"Have you seen your wife, Rivers?" Northrup passed a cheque across the
table.
"I'm going to see her to-morrow--I have up to Friday, you know."
"Yes, that's true. I must go to-morrow morning, but I'll make sure you
keep to your bargain."
"And--you?" Rivers's lips curled.
"I have kept my bargain."
"And you'll get away without talking to my wife?"
Northrup's eyes grew dark.
"Yes. But, Rivers, if I find that you play loose in any way, by God,
I'll settle with you if I have to scour the earth for you. Remember,
she is to know everything--everything, and after that--you're to get
out--quick."
"I'll get out all right."
"I hope, just because of your wife and child, Rivers, that you'll
straighten up; that something will get a grip on you that will pull
you up--not down further. No man has a right to put the burden of his
right living or his going to hell on a woman's conscience, but women
like your wife often have to carry that load. You've got that in you
which, put to good purpose, might----"
"Oh! cut it out." Rivers could bear no more. "I'm going to get out of
your way--what more in hell do you want?"
"Nothing." Northrup rose, white-lipped and stern. "Nothing. We are
both of us, Rivers, paying a big price for a woman's freedom. It's
only just--we ought not to want anything more."
With that Northrup left the shack and retraced his lonely way to the
inn.