REVELATIONS
That sepulchral groan had issued not from a mortal in the agony of
impending death but from the smiling red lips of Viola Gwyn. The
grewsome "death-rattle" was the result of the means she took to
suppress a shriek of laughter by frantically clapping both hands
to her convulsed mouth.
For some time she had been standing at the fence, her elbows on
the top rail, gazing pensively at the light in Kenny's window. A
clump of honeysuckle bushes was between her and the unsuspecting
servants. At first she had paid little or no attention to the
gabble of the darkies, her thoughts being centred on her own serious
affairs. She had been considerably shaken and distressed by the
unpleasant experience of the early afternoon. Somehow she longed to
take her troubles to Kenneth, to rid herself of them in the comfort
of his approbation, to be reassured by his brotherly counsel. She
knew he was sitting beside the table in the cosy sitting-room,
poring over one of his incomprehensible law books. How jolly, how
consoling to her own agitated mind, if she could only be there in
the same room with him, quiet as a mouse so as not to disturb his
profound studies, and reposing in that comfortable new rocker on
the opposite side of the table where she could watch the studious
frown on his brow while she waited patiently for him to lay aside
the book.
Indeed, she had come out of the house animated by a sudden impulse
to pay him a brief, surreptitious visit; then to run back home
before she was missed by her mother. This impulse was attended by
a singularly delightful sensation of guilt. She had never been over
to see him at night. In fact, it had never occurred to her to do
such a thing before. But even as she started forth from the house,
a strange timidity assailed her. It halted her impetuous footsteps,
turned them irresolutely aside, and led her not to the gate but to
the barrier fence. She could not explain, even to herself, the queer,
half-frightened thumping of her heart, nor the amazing shyness,
nor the ridiculous feeling that it would be improper for her to be
alone with him at night.
But why, she argued,--why should it be improper? What could be
wrong in going to see her own brother? What difference did it make
whether it was night or day? Still the doubt persisted,--a nagging
yet agreeable doubt that made her all the more eager to defy
its feeble authority. First she sought to justify her inclination
by reminding herself that her mother had never by word or look
signified the slightest opposition to her intimacy with Kenneth.
This attitude of resignation on her mother's part, however, was a
constant thorn in her side, a prick to her conscience. It caused
her many a pang.
Then she called to mind certain of her girl friends who had
brothers,--one in particular who declared that she had slept in the
same bed with her brother up to the time she was fourteen years old.
She felt herself turn scarlet. That was really quite dreadful, even
though the cabin in which her friend dwelt was very tiny and there
were six children in the family. She had bitterly envied certain
others, those who told of the jolly good times they had had with
their brothers, the fun they had in quarrelling and the way they
teased the boys when they first began "going out" with the girls.
What fun to have had a brother when she was little,--a brother to
play with! Kenny was so unreal. He was not like a brother at all.
He was no different from other men,--she did not believe she could
ever get used to thinking of him as a brother,--even a half-brother.
This very thought was in her mind,--perhaps it was an ever-present
thought,--as she stood gazing shyly at his window.
She wanted to tell him about her break with Barry. Somehow,--although
she was not quite conscious of it,--she longed to have him pat her
on the shoulder, or clasp her hands in his, and tell her she had
done the right thing and he was glad. The corners of her mouth were
drooping a little.
But the pensive droop slowly disappeared as she harkened to the
valiant words of Zachariah. It was not until Kenny's servant lifted
his voice in praise of his own deeds at Phineas Striker's that
she became acutely aware of the close proximity of the speakers.
Gradually she surrendered to the spirits of mirth and mischief.
The result of her awesome moan,--even though it narrowly escaped
ending in a shriek of laughter,--has already been revealed. The
manner of Zachariah's flight sobered her instantly. Too late she
regretted the experiment.
"Oh, goodness!" she murmured, blanching. "The poor fellow has hurt
himself--"
The slamming of the door behind Zachariah was reassuring. At any
rate he was alive and far too sprightly to have suffered a broken
leg or a cracked skull. A few seconds later she saw Kenny's shadow
flit hurriedly past the window as he dashed toward the kitchen.
For some time she stood perfectly still, listening to the confused
jumble of voices in the house across the way, debating whether she
should hurry over to explain,--and perhaps to assist in dressing
poor Zachariah's cuts and bruises. Suddenly she decided; and, without
thought of her garments, she scrambled hastily over the fence. Just
as her feet touched the ground, the front door of Kenneth's house
flew open and a figure, briefly revealed by the light from within,
rushed out into the yard and was swallowed up by the darkness. She
whirled and started to climb back over into her own yard, giggling
hysterically. She heard the rush of feet through the weeds and
shrubbery. They halted abruptly, and then:
"Stop where you are, damn you! I've got you covered and, so help
me God, I'll put a bullet through--"
"Kenny! Kenny!" she cried out. "It's I--Viola!"
There was a moment's silence.
"My God! You? Viola?" came in suppressed, horrified tones from the
darkness. "Drop down,--drop to the ground! They may begin firing
at me. You--"
"Firing at you?" she cried, shakily. "What on earth are you talking
about? There's--there's no one here. I am all alone. I did it. I'm
the ghost. It was all in fun. I didn't dream--"
"Do as I tell you!" he called out sharply. "There is a pack of
ruffians--"
"Pack your granny!" she cried, with a shrill laugh. "I tell you I
am all alone. My goodness, what on earth did Zachariah think was
after him? A regiment of soldiers?"
As he came quickly toward her she shrank back, seized by a strange,
inexplicable panic. He loomed above her in the darkness as she
half-crouched against the fence. For a few seconds he stood looking
down at her, breathing sharply. She heard something drop at his
feet, and then both his hands gripped her shoulders, drawing her
roughly up to him.
"Oh-h! Wh-what are you doing?" she gasped as his arm went around
her. That arm of steel drew her so close and held her so tightly
to his breast that she could feel the tremendous thumping of his
heart. She felt herself trembling--trembling all over; the light
in the window up beyond seemed to draw nearer, swelling to vast
proportions as it bore down upon her. She closed her eyes. What
was happening to her,--what was causing this strange languor, this
queer sensation as of falling?
As abruptly as he had clasped her to him, he released her,
springing back with a muttered execration. She tottered dizzily,
and involuntarily reached out to clutch his arm for support. He
shook her hand off.
"What is the matter, Kenny?" she murmured, hazily.
He did not answer. He leaned heavily against the fence, his head
on his arm. She did not move for many seconds. Then he heard her
gasp,--a gasp of actual terror.
"Who are you?" she whispered tensely. "You are not my brother. You
are not the real Kenneth Gwynne! Who are you?" She waited for the
answer that did not come. Then as she drew farther away from him:
"You are an impostor. You have deceived us. You have come here
representing yourself to be--to be my brother,--and you are not--you
are not! I know it--oh, I know it now. You are--"
This aroused him. "What is that you are saying?" he cried out,
fighting to pull his disordered wits together. "Not your brother?
Impostor? What are you saying, Viola?"
"I want the truth," she cried. "Are you what you claim to be?"
"Of course I am," he answered, stridently. "I am Kenneth Gwynne.
Your brother. Have you lost your senses?"
"Then, why--" she began huskily. "Why did you--Oh, Kenny, I don't
know what I am saying," she murmured piteously. "I--I don't know
what has come over me. Something--something--Oh, I don't know what
made me feel--I mean, what made me say that to you. You are Kenneth
Gwynne. You are my half-brother. You are not--" "There, there!"
he interrupted, his voice shaking a little. "You were frightened.
I came so near to shooting--Yes, that is it. And I was so happy,
so relieved that I--I almost ate you alive,--my little sister.
God, what a horrible thing it would have been if I had--fired
and the bullet had--"
She interrupted him, speaking rapidly, breathlessly in her effort
to regain command of herself. "But you didn't--you didn't, you
see,--so what is the use of worrying about it now?" She laughed
jerkily. "But, my goodness, it is a good lesson for me! I'll never
try to scare anybody else again as I did poor Zachariah."
He stooped and, feeling among the weeds, recovered not one but both
of the long duelling pistols.
"I was after bigger game than you," he muttered. "Here are my
pistols,--all primed and ready for business."
She stretched out her hand and touched one of the weapons. "Ready
for what business?" she inquired. "What did you mean by a pack of
ruffians?" As he did not answer at once, she went on to explain
what had actually occurred, ending with, "I suppose Zachariah ran
in and told you that old Black Hawk and his warriors were attacking
the town."
"I couldn't get much out of him, he was so excited. But I was
mortally afraid they had stolen a march on us, and you were already
in their hands. You see, Isaac Stain was to have kept me informed
and we were to have laid a trap for them. Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed
in sudden consternation. "I am letting the cat out of the bag."
"Will you please tell me what you are talking about, Kenneth Gwynne?"
she said impatiently.
He came to a quick decision. "Yes, I will tell you everything.
I guess I was a fool not to have told you before,--you and your
mother. There is a plot afoot, Viola, to abduct you. Stain got wind
of it, through--well, he got wind of it. He came to me with the
story. I don't suppose you will believe me,--and you will probably
despise me for what I am about to say,--but the man you love and
expect to marry is behind the scheme. I mean Barry Lapelle. He--"
"When did you hear of this?" she interrupted quickly. "After the
Revere came in?"
"More than a week ago. He came home on the Revere to-day. His plan
is to--"
"I know. I saw him. We quarrelled. It is all over between us, Kenny.
He was furious. I thought he may have--but you say you knew of
this a week ago? I don't--I can't understand it. A week ago there
was no heed of--of carrying me off against my will."
"It is all over between you?" he cried, and he could not disguise
the joy in his voice. "You have ended it, Viola?"
"Yes,--it is all over," she said stiffly. "I am not going to
marry him. I was coming over to tell you. But--go on. What is this
cock-and-bull story about abducting me? Goodness, I am beginning
to feel like a girl in a story-book."
"It is no laughing matter," he said, a little gruffly. "Does it
look like it when I come rushing out here with two loaded pistols
and come near to shooting you? Come up to the house. We will talk
it all over, and then,--" he hesitated for a moment,--"then I'll
go over and see your mother."
He took her arm and led her up to the house. As they entered the
front door, Zachariah's groans fell upon their ears. She looked at
Kenny in alarm, and for the first time realized that he was without
coat or waistcoat. His hair was tousled in evidence of his studious
application to the open law books that lay on the floor.
"He must be quite badly hurt," she cried miserably. "Oh, I'm SO
sorry."
Kenny went to the kitchen door. "Zachariah! Stop that groaning.
You're not hurt. Here! What are you doing with that rifle?"
"Ah was jes' co-comin' out, Marse Kenny, fo' to he'p yo' kill--yas,
suh! Ah was--" The remainder was lost as Kenneth deliberately
closed the door behind him and walked over to the negro, who was
squatting in a corner with a rifle in his hands. Viola, left alone,
crossed to the window and looked out. She was pale and anxious. Her
wide, alarmed eyes tried to pierce the darkness outside. Suddenly
she started back, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
"Oh, my soul!" she murmured. "They could have shot him dead.
He could not have seen them." She felt herself turn faint. Then a
thrill of exaltation swept over her and she turned quickly toward
the kitchen door, her eyes glowing. "And he was not afraid! He ran
out to face them alone. He thought they were out there,--he risked
being shot to save me from--"
The door opened and Kenneth came swiftly into the room. He stopped
short, staring at her radiant face.
"Oh, Kenny, you--you really believed they were out there,--a crowd
of them,--trying to carry me off? Why,--why, that was the bravest
thing a man--"
"Shucks!" he scoffed. "My tragedy turns out to be the most uproarious
farce. I've never seen a funnier one in the theatre. But there is a
serious side to it, Viola. Sit down for a minute or two, and I'll
tell you. Zachariah is all right. Barked his shins a little, that's
all."
At the conclusion of his short, unembellished recital, he said:
"There is nothing for you to be worried about. They cannot carry
out the plot. We are all forewarned now. I should have told you
all this before, but I was afraid you would think I was trying to
blacken Lapelle. I wanted to catch him red-handed, as the saying
is. Isaac Stain is coming in to sleep here to-morrow night, and
Zachariah, for all his fear of ghosts and lightning, is not afraid of
men. We will be ready for them if they come,--so don't you worry."
There was a puzzled frown in her eyes. "I don't see why he should
have planned this a week ago, Kenny. I had told him I would marry
him. There must be something back of all this."
"Do you know anything about a friend of his who is going to be
married soon? He spoke to me about it the other day, and asked if
a parent could legally deprive a daughter of a share in
her deceased father's--"
"Why,--that's me, Kenny," she cried excitedly. "I told him that
mother would disinherit me entirely if I married him without her
consent."
A light broke over him. "By jingo!" he cried. "I am beginning to
see. Why, it's as plain as day to me now. The beastly scoundrel!"
"What do you mean?"
"Could your mother very well carry out her threat if he made off
with you by force and compelled you to marry him, whether or no?"
She stiffened. "I would never,--never consent, Kenny. I would die
first."
"I suppose you imagine there could be no worse fate than that?" he
said, pity in his eyes.
She looked puzzled for a moment and then grasped his meaning. Her
face blanched.
"I said I would die first," she repeated in a low, steady voice.
"Well," he cried, starting up briskly from his chair, "I guess
we'd better hurry if we want to catch your mother before she goes
to bed. And that reminds me, Viola,--I would like to speak with
her alone. You see," he went on lamely, "you see, we're not friends
and I don't know how she will receive me."
She nodded her head without speaking and together they left the
house.