To usher Everett into her home with the same fond heart as hitherto was
more than Ann could do. Dearly as she loved him, much as she desired to
be his wife, it was hard to pardon him for casting aside her interests
for those of the dark-browed squatter. But, womanlike, she felt that she
could break down her lover's determination, and resolved that she would
not hesitate to open argument with him.
Everett met her with a smile, and her lips trembled as they received his
warm kiss. After they were seated he said:
"Horace has told you, no doubt, Ann, of the children's case." She nodded
her head sorrowfully. "Your brother seems to feel," went on Everett,
"that I should not have taken charge of it."
"Neither should you have done so, Everett, unless you've other motives
than we know of."
She looked up; but lowered her eyes as Brimbecomb glanced at her
furtively. Had Fledra told her of his advances? No, or she would never
have received his kisses. His fears were quieted by this thought, and he
asked gently:
"What motives could I have other than that justice should be done the
father? I took the case, first, because it came to me; then, because I
think the man ought to have his children."
Miss Shellington's face darkened.
"Oh, Everett, you can't be so hard-hearted as to want those poor little
things misused! They have been persecuted by their own people, and you
certainly have more heart than to want that to happen again."
"It's not a case of feeling; it's a case of justice. I know how this man
has struggled all his life to rear this boy and girl. They've had no
mother, and then, as soon as they were old enough and had the chance,
they ran away."
"Because he was cruel to them!"
"I don't believe it. I've had something to do with men, and I'm assured
that he told me the truth. I believe, as he says, that they excused
their leaving home by brazen lies. Have you never caught them lying to
you, Ann?"
"No, no! They've always been truthful to me."
"And to Horace?"
"I haven't asked him. But, if they hadn't been, I am sure he would have
spoken of it. Everett, let me plead with you. They have been with us a
long time, and Horace and I have grown used to them. They need our care
more than I can tell you. The boy is still very ill. Won't you let my
love for you plead for them, and withdraw from the case? Do, Dear, and
let me call Horace. Will you, Everett? He's so sad over it! Oh! may I
call him?" She had risen from her chair; but a negative shake of the
man's head made her resume her place again, and she continued, "It will
be a dreadful thing for them, if they have to go back. Now, listen,
Everett! If you will withdraw and let Horace settle it with that man,
our arrangements," her face was dyed crimson,--"I mean your plans and
mine for our wedding, shall remain as they are. Otherwise--"
"Otherwise, what?" breathed Everett, bending toward her.
"I--I shall have to postpone them." Her voice had strengthened as she
spoke, and the last statement was clear and ringing.
"Oh, you couldn't, Ann! Because I take a perfectly legitimate case,
which comes into our office, you propose to postpone our marriage?"
"But, Everett, think of what you are doing! It is as if you had taken my
brother by the throat. You were the first one to suggest that he might
love the girl. What if he does?"
"We will not talk of Horace, please." Everett turned from her as he
spoke. "You and I are the parties interested. If you will aid me, and
you should, seeing that you love me, your brother need not be
considered."
Ann rose, shuddering.
"You do not mean, Everett, that you wish to gain my consent that Fledra
and Floyd should go back to Ithaca?"
Brimbecomb also rose.
"Fledra and Floyd!" he mimicked smilingly. "What a farce it all is! And
how foolish to give them such names! I should think the governor and his
wife would feel complimented that those kids were called for them! They
are but paupers, after all!"
"Everett," stammered Ann, "am I just beginning to know you? Oh, you
can't mean it! You're but jesting with me, aren't you, Dear?" Her love
for him impelled her forward, and her slender hands fell upon his
shoulders. He slipped them off, and gathered her fingers into his.
"Ann," he said earnestly, "I'm not jesting, and I ask you, by your love
for me, to aid me in this, the first thing of importance I have ever
asked you."
Miss Shellington drew reluctantly away.
"I can't, I can't! My very soul revolts at the idea." Then, gaining
strength of voice, the girl, marble-white, exclaimed, "If you're not
jesting, and are still determined to follow out your plans," she caught
her breath in a sob and whispered, "then, like my brother, I shall have
to ask you to leave, please."
A frown darkened Everett's face, followed by an expression of ridicule.
"Is this your love for me? You would let two strange squatter children
come between us? Am I to understand it so?"
"You may understand this: that, after knowing that their father is
wicked, that he would have sacrificed his daughter to a vile man,
without marriage to lessen her suffering, after knowing that he tried to
make a thief of his noble-hearted boy,--I say, after knowing all this,
if you can still insist upon helping him, then I would not dare--to
trust--my life with you!"
Everett's rage blotted out all remembrance of how he left the house; but
there was a vivid picture in his mind of a woman, pale and lovely,
opening the door and dismissing him coldly. He remembered also that she
had shut the door as if it were never to be opened again to him. His
only consolation was that before long he would be able to face Fledra
Cronk and prove his power to her. With this thought came the
satisfaction of knowing that he would be able to wring Horace
Shellington's heart.
After closing the door upon her lover, Ann stood breathless. The light
had suddenly gone from her sun--the whole living world seemed plunged
into darkness. Everett was gone, gone from her possibly forever. His
face had expressed a determination that proved he would not change his
mind. Why had he reasoned himself into thinking that justice could be
served in the squatter's cause? Everett must have a motive. Her judgment
told her to accuse the man she loved; her heart demanded that she excuse
him. For one instant her generous spirit balanced the squatter
children's welfare and her own future. She had promised to protect
Fledra and Floyd, promised them and Horace. Only a broken prayer escaped
her lips as she turned and walked quickly down the hall. She did not
wait to knock, but twisted the door-handle convulsively, and appeared
before her brother without a plea for pardon for her unannounced
entrance.
"He's gone forever!" she said brokenly. "Oh, oh, I can't--"
She swayed forward, and suddenly a merciful oblivion rested her
turbulent spirit, during which her agonized brother worked, hoping and
praying that she might soon know how he pitied and loved her.
At length, when she opened her eyes and gazed at him, Ann murmured under
her breath, with a world of pleading:
"Don't speak of him--don't! Dear heart, I can't--I can't bear it!"
It was not until long afterward that Horace Shellington heard of the
scene through which she had passed.
* * * * *
Everett Brimbecomb's card admitted him to the governor's home. Mrs.
Vandecar welcomed him with outstretched hands.
"Strange, Everett," said she, "but I was thinking only this afternoon
that I should ask you to dinner. I feel ashamed that I haven't before;
but I've been such an invalid for a long time! You must be lonely, now
that your father and mother are gone."
"I've been busy."
The other laughed understandingly.
"Ah! I had forgotten that a young engaged man has but few free evenings
on his hands."
To this Everett did not reply.
"How is dear Ann?" asked Mrs. Vandecar.
"I left her quite well; but not in the best of spirits. In fact, dear
little lady," and he bent over the white hand he held, "I've come to ask
a favor of you."
"Is it anything about Ann? I can't have matters disarranged between you
two. I've always said you were an ideal couple."
"Thank you," murmured Everett.
Her frank words somewhat shattered his courage; for he knew her to be
kind-hearted. He did not expect to have her make any impression upon the
Shellington brother and sister; but wished her assistance as far as her
husband was concerned.
He kept his gaze so long upon the floor that Mrs. Vandecar spoke:
"I'm glad you came to me, Everett."
"Yes, I'm glad, too, and I need your help just now. The fact is, Ann and
I have had words over a case I have taken charge of in the office."
"How very strange!" exclaimed the woman, mystified.
"It's no more strange to you than to me," went on Everett, after they
were seated. "First, Horace and I quarreled, and then, thinking Ann
would uphold me in my work, I went to her; getting about the same
reception I had received from him."
"I should never have believed it of either of them," faltered Mrs.
Vandecar. "But do tell me about it."
"Horace and Ann, as you know, have a boy and a girl in their charge."
The governor's wife sat up interestedly.
"I have heard of them," said she; "but have never seen them. I asked Ann
over the telephone one day this week, if I sent Katherine for the girl,
would she allow her to come and spend an afternoon with Mildred. But she
said that--"
"Fledra, they call her," interrupted Brimbecomb, with a keen glance at
his companion.
"Yes, so I've heard. Ann said that this Fledra was not going out at
all."
"Do you know why?"
"Why, I supposed that it was because their father had asked for them and
they feared some foul play."
"Foul play!" cried Brimbecomb. "Why, Mrs. Vandecar, don't you think that
a father ought to have his own children?" Everett's eyes pierced her
gaze until it dropped.
"Not if he is bad," murmured she, "and I heard he was brutal to them."
"It is not so; of that I am sure. That is the matter I have come about.
I have accepted the father's case."
"Oh, Everett, was this necessary for you to do, as long as you know
Ann's heart is set upon keeping them?"
Everett twisted nervously.
"She has no right to have her heart set upon them. Now, here is what I
want you to do. Ann is wearing away her health with these scrubs of
humanity, for which she won't even receive gratitude, and Horace looks
like a June shad. The boy has been sick constantly since he's been
there. If there were no hospitals in the town, it might be different. I
must make a move to separate the girl I love from the burden she can't
bear."
Everett averted his face. Until that moment this excuse had not come
into his mind. If Mrs. Vandecar had any affection at all for Ann, the
thought that the girl was making herself ill would tempt her to
interfere.
"Everett, does Ann know why you want to take them away from her?"
"Of course not; I couldn't tell her that, nor Horace, either. They would
have promptly told me to attend to my own affairs; but I could come to
you."
"I'm so glad--I'm so glad you did! And poor Ann, I wish she would allow
her friends to help her! She's such a darling in her charitable work,
though, isn't she?"
"I don't agree with you," dissented Everett.
"But you must admit, boy, that a girl who will make a hospital of her
home, who will wear out her strength for two little strangers, has the
heart of Christ in her."
"I admit her goodness," said Everett slowly, "or I should not want her
for my wife. But you can't blame me when I say that I desire her to be
herself again."
Mrs. Vandecar rose.
"Well, come in to dinner, and we can still talk. Mildred has gone to her
father in Albany with Katherine for a day or two, and I'm alone."
When they were seated, Everett pressed his plea again.
"I don't think Ann would have been so stubborn in the matter, if Horace
had not insisted upon it. And I know that you will be surprised to hear
that he is in love with the girl, a little pauper who uses bad English
and swears like a pirate."
Fledra Vandecar dropped her fork and started back from the table.
"Everett, has Horace lost his mind, or what is it? What can there be in
two children--for they are very young--to have such a hold upon a man
like Horace and a woman like Ann?"
"I have asked myself that a dozen times, and more," commented Everett.
"But now you understand why I want to do something to relieve these
misguided young people--to say nothing of my love for Ann?"
"I do understand," replied Mrs. Vandecar, "and I can't blame you. But,
really, I don't see what I can do, without incurring the enmity of both
of my friends."
"Your husband," breathed Everett.
"Is pledged to Horace in this very matter, and, of course, I couldn't
take a stand against him. Everett, why don't you drop the case and let
time take its course? I fear that you're going the wrong way."
Brimbecomb bit his lip. He might have known that Horace would apply to
the governor; but he had hoped to steal a march upon him and to keep the
state's official from aiding him. But Everett also knew what an
influence Mrs. Vandecar had over her husband, and now rejoined:
"I have gone too far with it; and, what's more, if I have to bear the
brunt of the thing alone, I'll free Ann from a presence that has
completely changed her! Have you seen her lately?"
Mrs. Vandecar shook her head.
"I haven't," she admitted slowly. "I haven't been well enough to go out,
and she hasn't been here. I have heard from her only now and then on the
'phone. Poor child! I must try to get over there tomorrow."
* * * * *
Next day Ann met Mrs. Vandecar with open arms.
"Oh, Fledra," said she, "I've longed for you so many days! I do
appreciate your coming!"
"I knew you would, Ann. You are the first acquaintance I have called on
in weeks. But, honey girl, you don't look well."
Ann's eyes filled with tears. Fledra Vandecar was one of the many bright
rays of sunshine in her past life, when she had been happy and
contented, when Everett had been her lover, and Horace at ease. Now her
life was all chaos. Misery, fright, and a troubled heart were her
constant companions.
Mrs. Vandecar leaned over and gently brushed back a lock of hair from
the girl's brow.
"Ann, dear, can't you tell me what is the matter?"
"There's so very much, it would weary you."
"Indeed, no! Mayn't I stay with you just a little while?"
Ann checked back her emotion and rose.
"Pardon, Dear; I didn't dream that you could."
"Of course I can. Mildred is in Albany. How happy I should be if I could
help you!"
"Time only will do that, Fledra. It will take many weeks before Horace
and I are running in our old home gait. But I love to have you here,
especially as Horace has gone out for a long drive. He will be away all
the afternoon."
"That's too bad," interjected Mrs. Vandecar. "I hoped to see him. And,
Ann, I want also to see those children."
"The girl is riding with Horace today--she gets out so little, and
Brother insisted upon taking her. The boy is still very ill."
"Is he too ill for me to see him?"
Ann hesitated.
"Well, his heart is affected, and anything unusual throws him into a new
spell. We keep all trouble from him."
Mrs. Vandecar touched her friend gently.
"And you've had enough of his to bear, poor Ann!"
"We don't consider it a trouble to do anything for those we love. I
wonder if you would like to peep at him--making no noise, remember! He
is sleeping under a drug. Come, Dear, and I'll look at him first."
The governor's wife followed Ann to Floyd's door, and waited until a
beckoning finger called her in. She entered the darkened chamber, and
paused a moment to get her bearings. Miss Shellington was near the bed,
her eyes calling.
"He's sound asleep," she whispered.
With his head thrown back a little, Floyd's face was turned toward the
wall. His profile and thick black curls were sharply distinct upon the
white pillow-slip. His broad brow was covered with beads of
perspiration, and the lips were muttering incoherent words. Mrs.
Vandecar leaned far over the bed, and peered into his face. Something so
touched her in the thin, sunken cheeks, in the drawn mouth, whispering
in an unnatural sleep, that she drew back weeping. Suddenly words formed
on the sleeper's lips:
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," fell from them, "look upon--look upon--"
Then the whisper trailed once more into incoherence.
Fledra Vandecar clutched at Ann's sleeve.
"He's praying, Ann! He's praying!" Miss Shellington bowed her head in
assent. "Poor baby, poor little dear!" Mrs. Vandecar's voice was louder
than before.
"Hush, hush!" breathed Ann. "Come away. He's so very ill!"
"Pity--pity my simplicity," murmured Floyd again, "and Lord prepare my
soul a--place!"
Mrs. Vandecar straightened and flashed the rigid girl at her side an
appealing glance. Ann touched her again, and the two women passed from
the room, weeping.
"How very beautiful he is!" stammered Mrs. Vandecar. "Oh, Ann, dear,
can't you do something for him? Can't I? Why haven't I tried before? You
won't be offended, will you, Ann, when I say that until this moment I
have never approved of your having him? But I've seldom seen such a
face, and he was--he was praying, poor baby! Poor, little tormented boy!
I wish that he had been awake, or that his sister were here--I want to
see her, too."
"Yes, you should see her. She is very sweet," replied Ann so gravely
that Mrs. Vandecar wept again.
Very soon she made ready for home, with no hint of the conversation she
had had with Everett, and no word of advice to Ann about giving up her
charges.