The Open Question Part 76

"I have asked her," he said, with a motion of the head towards the long room, "to let me attend to the roof, and a few little things like that."

He paused, and looked sharply at the shrouded windows.

"She says you take a great deal upon yourself," Val smiled.

"Oh, she does! Well, I shall take more. I am going to take the liberty of giving you five hundred dollars, to do what you can here without her knowing; and when's it's gone I shall give you as much again, and you're not to tell anybody. Promise."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Simply, I couldn't. I know so well what she'd say--'It's against all our traditions.' And the money you are offering--"

"Well?"

"You see, _it's Tallmadge money_!" Val resented a little his whimsical look. She drew herself up. "You can't expect us Ganos--" She broke off as he took a letter out of his pocket and unfolded it. "Oh!" She turned a sudden scarlet and grasped at the incriminating doc.u.ment.

"No, no," he said. "I was defrauded of this letter a long time by an imbecile postal system. But I'll take good care of it now I have got it."

"I--I was very young when I wrote it."

"--a little over a year ago," he completed her sentence, laughing.

"Please don't think I'm wanting you to help me now."

"Well, that's a good thing," he said, with an unexpected hardness, "for I haven't the smallest intention of doing so."

Val's eyes were angry and bright with drops of humiliation.

"I wouldn't take it if you begged me to," she said.

"Don't you see, dear Val"--he leaned nearer, but she averted her face from him--"don't you see that, at all events until Emmie is older, you can't desert the Fort?" No answer. "Don't be angry with me, little cousin. Don't you feel how much your own people need you?" Still no answer. "Seventy-five!" he went on; "you mayn't have long to wait."

She turned on him sharply.

"As if I grudged--as if I wanted to shorten the time!"

She swallowed a little sob.

"No, no; of course you don't. I understand you quite well."

"The last thing father said to me was, 'Take care of her, she's growing old.'"

He nodded.

"That's all I mean by putting this money into your hands."

"Oh, but I _can't_ take five hund-- I understand better than I did when I wrote that stupid letter; she'd half kill me!"

"She's not to know, and I"--he glowered down at her with a laugh--"_I'll_ half kill you if you don't do what I tell you."

She looked in her lap. Her eyelids fluttered.

"You must write me regularly, and tell me all that's happening."

She lifted her head as if she had been stung.

"You--you aren't going away!"

"Yes."

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know."

The dull rain poured, the defective spouts at the eaves played gray fountains, the great tulipifera rhododendron waved answering arms to the signals of the storm.

In the momentary lull, An' Jerusha in the kitchen could be heard quavering out wild notes, among which Ethan recognized the words:

"No mo' peace on de earf."

"I don't _believe_ you'll go," said Val.

He couldn't see her face so well now in the gray light.

"What makes you believe I won't go?"

She clasped her hands and wrung them unconsciously.

"Val--"

"Or, if you go, you'll come back?"

"Don't you know that's what I must not do?"

"No," she said, in a m.u.f.fled but resolute voice.

They sat silent, motionless, for some time. She turned at last with wide, s.h.i.+ning eyes, putting her face close to his in the uncertain light, and saying, with a quick-drawn breath:

"Why, cousin Ethan!"

"What is it?"

"Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"