At the Crossroads Part 41

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 j.a.panese. 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 G.o.d! 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 fiancee," 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 a.s.sisting 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 n.o.ble 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 enn.o.ble 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 gla.s.s 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."