That Lass O' Lowrie's Part 11

There was an expression in her upraised eyes the Curate had never seen there.

"He met with an injury," he answered, "but it was not a severe one.

He came to my rooms last night and remained with me. His wrist is fractured."

He was not desirous of discussing the subject very freely, it was evident, even to Mr. Barholm, who was making an effort to draw him out.

He seemed rather to avoid it, after he had made a brief statement of what he knew. In his secret heart, he shrank from it with a dread far more nervous than Anice's. He had doubts of his own concerning Lowrie's action in the future. Thus the Rector's excellent spirits grated on him, and he said but little.

Anice was silent too. After luncheon, however, she went into a small conservatory adjoining the room, and before Grace took his departure, she called him to her.

"It is very strange that you did not tell us last night," she said; "why did you not?"

"It was Derrick's forethought for you," he answered. "He was afraid that the story would alarm you, and as I agreed with him that it might, I remained silent. I might as well have spoken, it appears."

"He thought it would frighten me?" she said.

"Yes."

"Has this accident made him ill?"

"No, not ill, though the fracture is a very painful and inconvenient one."

"I am very sorry; please tell him so. And, Mr. Grace, when he feels able to come here, I have something to say to him."

Derrick marched into the Barholm parlor that very night with his arm in splints and bandages.

It was a specially pleasant and homelike evening to him; Mrs. Barholm's gentle heart went out to the handsome invalid. She had never had a son of her own, though it must be confessed she had yearned for one, strong and deep as was her affection for her girl.

But it was not till Derrick bade Anice good-night, that he heard what she intended to say to him. When he was going, just as he stepped across the threshold of the entrance door, she stopped him.

"Wait a minute, if you will be so good," she said, "I have something to ask of you."

He paused, half smiling.

"I thought you had forgotten," he returned.

"Oh! no, I had not forgotten," she answered. "But it will only seem a very slight thing to you perhaps." Then she began again, after a pause.

"If you please, do not think I am a coward," she said.

"A coward!" he repeated.

"You were afraid to let Mr. Grace tell me about your accident last night and though it was very kind of you, I did not like it. You must not think that because these things are new and shock me, I am not strong enough to trust in. I am stronger than I look."

"My dear Miss Barholm," he protested, "I am sure of that. I ought to have known better. Forgive me if--"

"Oh," she interposed, "you must not blame yourself. But I wanted to ask you to be so kind as to think better of me than that. I want to be sure that if ever I can be of use to anybody, you will not stop to think of the danger or annoyance. Such a time may never come, but if it does--"

"I shall certainly remember what you have said," Fergus ended for her.

CHAPTER X - On the Knoll Road

The moon was s.h.i.+ning brightly when he stepped into the open road--so brightly that he could see every object far before him unless where the trees cast their black shadows, which seemed all the blacker for the light. "What a grave little creature she is!" he was saying to himself.

But he stopped suddenly; under one of the trees by the roadside some one was standing motionless; as he approached, the figure stepped boldly out into the moonlight before him. It was a woman.

"Dunnot be afeard," she said, in a low, hurried voice. "It's me, mester--it's Joan Lowrie."

"Joan Lowrie!" he said with surprise. "What has brought you out at this hour, and whom are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for yo'rsen," she answered.

"For me?"

"Aye; I ha' summat to say to you."

She looked about her hurriedly.

"Yo'd better come into th' shade o' them trees," she said, "I dunnot want to gi' any one a chance to see me nor yo' either."

It was impossible that he should not hesitate a moment. If she had been forced into entrapping him!

She made a sharp gesture.

"I am na goin' to do no harm," she said. "Yo' may trust me. It's th'

other way about."

"I ask pardon," he said, feeling heartily ashamed of himself the next instant, "but you know--"

"Aye," impatiently, as they pa.s.sed into the shadow, "I know, or I should na be here now."

A moonbeam, finding its way through a rift in the boughs and falling on her face, showed him that she was very pale.

"Yo' wonder as I'm here at aw," she said, not meeting his eyes as she spoke, "but yo' did me a good turn onct, an' I ha' na had so many done me i' my loife as I can forget one on 'em. I'm come here--fur I may as well mak' as few words on't as I con--I come here to tell yo' to tak'

heed o' Dan Lowrie."

"What?" said Fergus. "He bears me a grudge, does he?"

"Aye, he bears thee grudge enow," she said. "He bears thee that much grudge that if he could lay his hond on thee, while th' heat's on him, he'd kill thee or dee. He will na be so bitter after a while, happen, but he'd do it now, and that's why I warn thee. Tha has no reet to be goin' out loike this," glancing at his bandaged arm. "How could tha help thysen if he were to set on thee? Tha had better tak' heed, I tell thee."

"I am very much indebted to you," began Fergus.

She stopped him.

"Tha did me a good turn," she said. And then her voice changed. "Dan Lowrie's my feyther, an' I've stuck to him, I dunnot know why--happen cause I never had nowt else to hold to and do for; but feyther or no feyther I know he's a bad un when th' fit's on an' he has a spite agen a mon. So tak' care, I tell thee agen. Theer now, I've done. Will tha walk on first an' let me follow thee?"

Something in her mode of making this suggestion impressed him singularly.

"I do not quite understand--" he said.