Several of the young men rose; the wretched Flitcroft, however, evading
Mamie's eye--in which there was a distinct hint,--sat where he was
until all of them, except Eugene, had taken a reluctant departure, one
group after another, leaving in the order of their arrival.
The rosy pigment which had colored the trees faded; the gold-dust of
the western distance danced itself pale and departed; dusk stalked into
the town from the east; and still the watcher upon the steps and the
warden of the gate (he of the lilac-bushes and the Bible) held their
places and waited--waited, alas! in vain.... Ah! Joe, is THIS the
mettle of your daring? Did you not say you would "try"? Was your
courage so frail a vessel that it could not carry you even to the gate
yonder? Surely you knew that if you had striven so far, there you would
have been met! Perhaps you foresaw that not one, but two, would meet
you at the gate, both the warden and the watcher. What of that? What
of that, O faint heart? What was there to fear? Listen! The gate
clicks. Ah, have you come at last?
Ariel started to her feet, but the bent figure, coming up the walk in
the darkness, was that of Eskew Arp. He bowed gloomily to Mamie, and
in response to her inquiry if he wished to see her father, answered no;
he had come to talk with the granddaughter of his old friend Roger
Tabor.
"Mr. Arp!" called Ariel. "I am so very glad!" She ran down to him and
gave him her hand. "We'll sit here on the bench, sha'n't we?"
Mamie had risen, and skirting Norbert frostily, touched Eugene upon the
shoulder as she went up the steps. He understood that he was to follow
her in-doors, and, after a deep look at the bench where Ariel had
seated herself beside Mr. Arp, he obeyed. Norbert was left a lonely
ruin between the cold, twin dogs. He had wrought desolation this
afternoon, and that sweet verdure, his good name, so long in the
planting, so carefully tended, was now a dreary waste; yet he
contemplated this not so much as his present aspect of splendid
isolation. Frozen by the daughter of the house, forgotten by the
visitor, whose conversation with Mr. Arp was carried on in tones so low
that he could not understand it, the fat one, though heart-breakingly
loath to take himself away, began to comprehend that his hour had
struck. He rose, descended the steps to the bench, and seated himself
unexpectedly upon the cement walk at Ariel's feet. "Leg's gone to
sleep," he explained, in response to her startled exclamation; but,
like a great soul, ignoring the accident of his position as well as the
presence of Mr. Arp, he immediately proceeded: "Will you go riding with
me to-morrow afternoon?"
"Aren't you very good-natured, Mr. Flitcroft?" she asked, with an odd
intonation.
"I'm imposed on, often enough," he replied, rubbing his leg, "by people
who think I am! Why?"
"It is only that your sitting so abruptly upon the ground reminded me
of something that happened long ago, before I left Canaan, the last
time I met you."
"I don't think I knew you before you went away. You haven't said if
you'll go riding with me to-morrow. Please--"
"Get up," interrupted Mr. Arp, acidly. "Somebody 'll fall over you if
you stay there."
Such a catastrophe in truth loomed imminent. Judge Pike was rapidly
approaching on his way to the house, Bible in hand--far better in hand
than was his temper, for it is an enraging thing to wait five hours in
ambush for a man who does not come. In the darkness a desecration
occurred, and Norbert perfected to the last detail whatever had been
left incomplete of his own destruction. He began lumberingly to rise,
talking at the same time, urging upon Ariel the charms of the roadside;
wild flowers were in blossom, he said, recounting the benefits she
might derive through acceptance of his invitation; and having, thus
busily, risen to his knees, became aware that some one was passing near
him. This some one Mr. Flitcroft, absorbed in artful persuasions, may
have been betrayed by the darkness to mistake for Eugene. Reaching out
for assistance, he mechanically seized upon the skirts of a coat, which
he put to the uses of a rope, coming up hand-over-hand with such noble
weight and energy that he brought himself to his feet and the owner of
the coat to the ground simultaneously. The latter, hideously
astonished, went down with an objurgation so outrageous in venom that
Mr. Arp jumped with the shock. Judge Pike got to his feet quickly, but
not so quickly as the piteous Flitcroft betook himself into the deep
shadows of the street. Only a word, hoarse and horror-stricken, was
left quivering on the night breeze by this accursed, whom the gods,
intent upon his ruin, had early in the day, at his first sight of
Ariel, in good truth, made mad: "MURDER!"
"Can I help you brush off, Judge?" asked Eskew, rising painfully.
Either Martin Pike was beyond words, or the courtesy proposed by the
feeble old fellow (for Eskew was now very far along in years, and
looked his age) emphasized too bitterly the indignity which had been
put upon him: whatever the case, he went his way in-doors, leaving the
cynic's offer unacknowledged. Eskew sank back upon the bench, with the
little rusty sounds, suggestions of creaks and sighs, which accompany
the movement of antiques. "I've always thought," he said, "that the
Judge had spells when he was hard of hearing."
Oblongs of light abruptly dropped from the windows confronting them,
one, falling across the bench, appropriately touching with lemon the
acrid, withered face and trembling hands of the veteran. "You are
younger than you were nine years ago, Mr. Arp," said Ariel, gayly. "I
caught a glimpse of you upon the street, to-day, and I thought so then.
Now I see that I was right."
"Me--YOUNGER!" he groaned. "No, ma'am! I'm mighty near through with
this fool world--and I'd be glad of it, if I didn't expect that if
there IS another one afterwards, it would be jest as ornery!"
She laughed, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knee, and her
chin in her hand, so that the shadow of her hat shielded her eyes from
the light. "I thought you looked surprised when you saw me to day."
"I reckon I did!" he exclaimed. "Who wouldn't of been?"
"Why?"
"Why?" he repeated, confounded by her simplicity. "Why?"
"Yes," she laughed. "That's what I'm anxious to know."
"Wasn't the whole town the same way?" he demanded. "Did you meet
anybody that didn't look surprised?"
"But why should they?"
"Good Lord Admighty!" he broke out. "Ain't you got any
lookin'-glasses?"
"I think almost all I have are still in the customs warehouse."
"Then use Mamie Pike's," responded the old man. "The town never
dreamed you were goin' to turn out pretty at all, let alone the WAY
you've turned out pretty! The Tocsin had a good deal about your looks
and so forth in it once, in a letter from Paris, but the folks that
remembered you kind of set that down to the way papers talk about
anybody with money, and nobody was prepared for it when they saw you.
You don't need to drop no curtseys to ME." He set his mouth grimly, in
response to the bow she made him. "_I_ think female beauty is like all
other human furbelows, and as holler as heaven will be if only the good
people are let in! But yet I did stop to look at you when you went
past me to-day, and I kept on lookin', long as you were in sight. I
reckon I always will, when I git the chance, too--only shows what human
nature IS! But that wasn't all that folks were starin' at to-day. It
was your walkin' with Joe Louden that really finished 'em, and I can
say it upset me more than anything I've seen for a good many years."
"Upset you, Mr. Arp?" she cried. "I don't quite see."
The old man shook his head deploringly. "After what I'd written you
about that boy--"
"Ah," she said, softly, touching his sleeve with her fingers, "I
haven't thanked you for that."
"You needn't," he returned, sharply. "It was a pleasure. Do you
remember how easy and quick I promised you?"
"I remember that you were very kind."
"Kind!" He gave forth an acid and chilling laugh. "It was about two
months after Louden ran away, and before you and Roger left Canaan, and
you asked me to promise to write to you whenever word of that outcast
came--"
"I didn't put it so, Mr. Arp."
"No, but you'd ought of! You asked me to write you whatever news of
him should come, and if he came back to tell you how and when and all
about it. And I did it, and kept you sharp on his record ever since he
landed here again. Do you know why I've done it? Do you know why I
promised so quick and easy I WOULD do it?"
"Out of the kindness of your heart, I think."
The acid laugh was repeated. "NO, ma 'am! You couldn't of guessed
colder. I promised, and I kept my promise, because I knew there would
never be anything good to tell! AND THERE NEVER WAS!"
"Nothing at all?" she insisted, gravely.
"Never! I leave it to you if I've written one good word of him."
"You've written of the treatment he has received here," she began, "and
I've been able to see what he has borne--and bears!"
"But have I written one word to show that he didn't deserve it all?
Haven't I told you everything, of his associates, his--"
"Indeed you have!"
"Then do you wonder that I was more surprised than most when I saw you
walking with him to-day? Because I knew you did it in cold blood and
knowledge aforethought! Other folks thought it was because you hadn't
been here long enough to hear his reputation, but I KNEW!"
"Tell me," she said, "if you were disappointed when you saw me with
him."
"Yes," he snapped. "I was!"
"I thought so. I saw the consternation in your face! You APPROVED,
didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Yes, you do! I know it bothers you to have me read you between the
lines, but for this once you must let me. You are so consistent that
you are never disappointed when things turn out badly, or people are
wicked or foolish, are you?"
"No, certainly not. I expect it."
"And you were disappointed in me to-day. Therefore, it must be that I
was doing something you knew was right and good. You see?" She leaned
a little closer to him, smiling angelically. "Ah, Mr. Arp," she cried,
"I know your secret: you ADMIRE me!"
He rose, confused and incoherent, as full of denial as a detected
pickpocket. "I DON'T! Me ADMIRE? WHAT? It's an ornery world," he
protested. "I don't admire any human that ever lived!"
"Yes, you do," she persisted. "I've just proved it! But that is the
least of your secret; the great thing is this: YOU ADMIRE MR. LOUDEN!"
"I never heard such nonsense," he continued to protest, at the same
time moving down the walk toward the gate, leaning heavily on his
stick. "Nothin' of the kind. There ain't any LOGIC to that kind of an
argument, nor no REASON!"
"You see, I understand you," she called after him. "I'm sorry you go
away in the bitterness of being found out."
"Found out!" His stick ceased for a moment to tap the cement. "Pooh!"
he ejaculated, uneasily. There was a pause, followed by a malevolent
chuckle. "At any rate," he said, with joy in the afterthought, "you'll
never go walkin' with him AGAIN!"
He waited for the answer, which came, after a time, sadly. "Perhaps
you are right. Perhaps I shall not."
"Ha, I thought so! Good-night."
"Good-night, Mr. Arp."
She turned toward the lighted house. Through the windows nearest her
she could see Mamie, seated in the familiar chair, following with happy
and tender eyes the figure of Eugene, who was pacing up and down the
room. The town was deadly quiet: Ariel could hear the sound of
footsteps perhaps a block away. She went to the gate and gazed a long
time into the empty street, watching the yellow grains of light, sieved
through the maples from the arc lights on the corner, moving to and fro
in the deep shadow as the lamp swung slightly in the night air.
Somewhere, not far away, the peace was broken by the screams of a
"parlor organ," which honked and wailed in pious agonies (the intention
was hymnal), interminably protracting each spasm. Presently a woman's
voice outdid the organ, a voice which made vivid the picture of the
woman who owned it, and the ploughed forehead of her, above the
nose-glasses, when the "grace-notes" were proudly given birth. "Rescue
the Perishing" was the startlingly appropriate selection, rendered with
inconceivable lingering upon each syllable: "Roos-cyoo the
Poor-oosh-oong!" At unexpected intervals two male voices, evidently
belonging to men who had contracted the habit of holding tin in their
mouths, joined the lady in a thorough search for the Lost Chord.
That was the last of silence in Canaan for an hour or so. The organ
was merely inaugural: across the street a piano sounded; firm,
emphatic, determined, vocal competition with the instrument here also;
"Rock of Ages" the incentive. Another piano presently followed suit,
in a neighboring house: "Precious Jewels." More distant, a second
organ was heard; other pianos, other organs, took up other themes; and
as a wakeful puppy's barking will go over a village at night, stirring
first the nearer dogs to give voice, these in turn stimulating those
farther away to join, one passing the excitement on to another, until
hounds in farm-yards far beyond the town contribute to the
long-distance conversation, even so did "Rescue the Perishing" enliven
the greater part of Canaan.
It was this that made Ariel realize a thing of which hitherto she had
not been able to convince herself: that she was actually once more in
the town where she had spent her long-ago girlhood; now grown to seem
the girlhood of some other person. It was true: her foot was on her
native heath and her name was Ariel Tabor--the very name of the girl
who had shared the town's disapproval with Joe Louden! "Rescue the
Perishing" brought it all back to her; and she listened to these
sharply familiar rites of the Canaanite Sabbath evening with a shiver
of pain.
She turned from the gate to go into the house, heard Eugene's voice at
the door, and paused. He was saying good-night to Mamie.
"And please say 'au revoir' to Miss Tabor for me," he added, peering
out under his hand. "I don't know where she can have gone."
"Probably she came in and went to her room," said Mamie.
"Don't forget to tell her 'au revoir.'"
"I won't, dear. Good-night."
"Good-night." She lifted her face and he kissed her perfunctorily.
Then he came down the steps and went slowly toward the gate, looking
about him into the darkness as if searching for something; but Ariel
had fled away from the path of light that led from the open door.
She skimmed noiselessly across the lawn and paused at the side of the
house, leaning against the veranda, where, on a night long past, a boy
had hid and a girl had wept. A small creaking sound fell upon her ear,
and she made out an ungainly figure approaching, wheeling something of
curious shape.
"Is that you, Sam?" she said.
Mr. Warden stopped, close by. "Yes'm," he replied. "I'm a-gittin' out
de hose to lay de dus' yonnah." He stretched an arm along the
cross-bar of the reel, relaxing himself, apparently, for conversation.
"Y'all done change consid'able, Miss Airil," he continued, with the
directness of one sure of privilege.
"You think so, Sam?"
"Yes'm. Ev'ybody think so, _I_ reckon. Be'n a tai'ble lot o' talkum
'bout you to-day. Dun'no' how all dem oth' young ladies goin' take
it!" He laughed with immoderate delight, yet, as to the volume of mere
sound, discreetly, with an eye to open windows. "You got 'em all beat,
Miss Airil! Dey ain' be'n no one 'roun' dis town evah got in a thousum
mile o' you! Fer looks, an' de way you walk an' ca'y yo'self; an' as
fer de clo'es--name o' de good lan', honey, dey ain' nevah SEE style
befo'! My ole woman say you got mo' fixin's in a minute dan de whole
res' of 'em got in a yeah. She say when she helpin' you onpack she
must 'a' see mo'n a hunerd paihs o' slippahs alone! An' de good Man
knows I 'membuh w'en you runnin' roun' back-yods an' up de alley
rompin' 'ith Joe Louden, same you's a boy!"
"Do you ever see Mr. Louden, nowadays?" she asked.
His laugh was repeated with the same discreet violence. "Ain' I seen
him dis ve'y day, fur up de street at de gate yonnah, stan'in' 'ith
you, w'en I drivin' de Judge?"
"You--you didn't happen to see him anywhere this--this afternoon?"
"No'm, I ain' SEE him." Sam's laughter vanished and his lowered voice
became serious. "I ain' SEE him, but I hearn about him."
"What did you hear?"
"Dey be'n consid'able stir on de aidge o' town, I reckon," he answered,
gravely, "an' dey be'n havin' some trouble out at de Beach--"
"Beaver Beach, do you mean?"
"Yes'm. Dey be'n some shootin' goin' on out dat way."
She sprang forward and caught at his arm without speaking.
"Joe Louden all right," he said, reassuringly. "Ain' nuffum happen to
him! Nigh as I kin mek out f'm de TALK, dat Happy Fear gone on de
ramPAGE ag'in, an' dey hatta sent fer Mist' Louden to come in a hurry."