The Scarecrow and Other Stories Part 29

"Nannie's darling--; Nannie's pet."

From somewhere in the house came the silvery, tinkling sound of a clock striking seven times.

"I've got to go, Miss Genevieve, dear."

"All right, Nannie."

The woman drew a chair up and pushed her gently into it.

"You'll not be telling him, Miss?"

"No, Nannie--; no--"

The woman started for the door.

"Thank you, Miss Genevieve."

"Nannie--; you said he was taking her--; the black-haired one--; away for a--a rest? Away into the country?"

With her hand on the door-k.n.o.b the woman turned.

"Yes. Why--lamb!"

"Into the country." Genevieve Evans' voice was lifeless. "Into the country where everything is quiet and big--; and clean. You said that, Nannie?"

"I said the country, Miss Genevieve, dearie."

"Nannie--Nannie--;" her eyes were staring straight before her.

"I--want--to--go!"

"Lamb--darling."

The woman stood undecided.

"But he wouldn't let me. He laughed at me. Nannie, he laughed."

The woman made up her mind.

"Will Nannie stop with you a bit, Miss Genevieve, dearie?"

"You said;" Genevieve Evans' lifeless, monotonous voice went on; "you said you wouldn't blame me for being angry. I get very angry, Nannie.

Very angry. It brings all kinds of things to me when I get angry. His kind of things. Rotten things. And he's going to take her into the country; where everything's clean; and he won't let me--go. G.o.d!"

"Will I stay, Miss Genevieve?"

"No, Nannie--go! Go quickly! Go--now!"

"Yes, Miss Genevieve. He'll be wanting to know where I am."

"Go, Nannie!" She half rose from her chair. The door closed quietly behind the woman. "Go!" Genevieve Evans whispered. "He's going--into the country--; he's taking that woman. He wouldn't let me. He wants to keep me here. Just to feel his power--; his filthy power. He's not the only one." She was muttering now. "He's not the only one who can do things.

Rotten--dirty things! His kind of things!"

She swayed to her feet. Her steps were short and uncertain. Her whole body reeled. Her face was blanched; drained of all color. Her fingers trembled wide spread at her sides. She was quivering from head to foot.

Only her eyes were steady; her eyes wide and dilated that were riveted on the portrait hanging there above the wood carved mantel.

She backed toward the door, her eyes glued to the picture.

Her shaking fingers, fumbling behind her, found the key and turned it.

Feeling her way with her hands, her distended eyes still fixed on that one thing, she got to the center table.

It took her a while to pull open the drawer.

Her breath came raspingly; as if she had been running.

The old Venetian dagger with the cracked jeweled handle was between her fingers.

Very slowly now she went toward the fireplace.

The electric light flared over the colored gems that studded the handle of the dagger, giving out small quick rays of blue and red and green.

"I'm angry;" she whispered hoa.r.s.ely. "I--I'm very angry--with--you.

You've no right--; no right--to--ruin--my--life--and laugh! You did--laugh--at--me!"

Her eyes stared up at the full, red face with the hard lines in it. Up at the thick, sensual lips. Up at the cunning eyes. At the ponderous, heavy-set figure. The powerful hands.

"Why--don't--you--laugh--now? You aren't afraid--are--you?

You--aren't--afraid of--anything? Not of--me--are--you--Daniel Drare--?

You've--done--your--best--to--keep--me--under--your--power--; you--stood--behind--Ernest--to keep--me under--your--power.

You're--not--afraid--of--me? Why--don't--you--laugh--Daniel--Drare?"

Her right hand that held the dagger raised itself.

"Laugh, Daniel Drare! Laugh!"

She stood there under the portrait. Her left hand went stiffly out feeling over the long cut in the painted arm.

"Angry--last--night." She whispered. "And--it--hurt--you. Daniel Drare--I--could-hurt--you!"

For a second her eyes went up to the dagger held there above her head; the dagger with the thousand colored gleams pointing from it.

She gave a quick choking laugh.

"I laugh--at--you--Daniel--Drare."

With all her strength she drove the dagger into the heart of the canvas.