Quill's Window Part 34

She had sprung to her feet and was glaring at him with the eyes of an animal at bay. He fell back in astonishment.

"You--you had no right to follow me here," she was crying. "You had no right! This place is sacred. It is sanctuary." Her voice broke.

"My mother was born in this room. She died in this room. And I was born here. Go! Please go!"

He controlled himself. He held back those words that were on his tongue, ready to be flung out at her: "Yes, and in this room you behaved like h.e.l.l with David Strong!" But he checked them in time.

He lowered his head.

"Forgive me, Alix," he said abjectly. "I--I did not know. I was wrong to follow you here. I could not help myself. I was mad to see you. Nothing could have stopped me." He looked up, struck by a sudden thought. "You call this sanctuary. It is a sacred place to you. Will you make it sacred to me? Promise here and now, in this sanctuary of yours, to be my wife, and all my life it shall be the most sacred spot on earth."

She turned her head quickly to look at David Strong. A startled, incredulous expression leaped into her eyes. He was not there.

By what magic had he vanished? She had felt his presence. He was sitting there a moment ago, his tousled head bent down over the pad of paper,--she was sure of it! Then she realized. A wave of relief surged over her. He was not there to hear this man making love to her in the room where he had poured out his soul to her. She experienced a curious thrill of exultation. David could never take back those unspoken words of love. She had them safely stored away in that blessed drawer!

A flush of shame leaped to her cheeks. She could not banish the notion that he,--honest, devoted David,--had seen her in this man's arms, clinging to him, giving back his pa.s.sionate kisses with all the horrid rapture of a--She stiffened. Her head went up. She faced the man who had robbed David.

"I cannot marry you," she said quietly. The spell was gone. She was herself again. "I do not love you."

He stared, speechless, uncomprehending.

"You--you do not love me?" he gasped.

"I do not love you," she repeated deliberately.

"But, good G.o.d, you--you couldn't have kissed me as you--"

"Please!"

"--as you did just now," he went on, honestly bewildered. "You put your arms around my neck,--you kissed me--"

"Stop! Yes, I know I did,--I know I did. But it was not love,--it was not love! I don't know what it was. You have some dreadful, appalling power to--Oh, you need not look at me like that! I don't care THAT for your scorn. Call me a fool, if you like,--call me ANYTHING you like. It is all one to me now. What's done, is done.

But it can never happen again. I will not even say that I am ashamed, for in saying so I would be confessing that I was responsible for my actions. I was not responsible. That is all, Mr. Thane. No doubt you are sincere in asking me to be your wife. No doubt your love for me is sincere. I should like to think so--always. It would help me to forget my own weakness. I am going. I want you to leave this house before I go, Mr. Thane."

She spoke calmly, evenly, with the utmost self-possession.

"I can't let you go like this, Alix! I can't take this as final.

You--you MUST care for me. How can I think otherwise? In G.o.d's name, what has happened to turn you against me? You owe me more of an explanation than--"

"You are right," she interrupted. "I do owe you an explanation.

This is not the time or the place to give it. If you will come to see me tomorrow, I will tell you everything. It is only fair that you should know. But not now."

"Has some one been lying about me?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

She waited an instant before replying.

"No, Mr. Thane," she said; "no one has been lying about you."

He took up his hat from the table.

"I will come tomorrow," he said. At the door he paused to say: "But I am not going to give you up, Alix. You mean too much to me.

I think I understand. You are frightened. I--I should not have come here."

"Yes, I WAS frightened," she cried out shrilly. "I was frightened,--but I am not afraid now."

She had moved to Thane's side of the table, and there she stood until she heard his footsteps on the little porch outside.

She was in an exalted frame of mind as she hurried from the house.

The short October day had turned to night. For a moment she paused, peering ahead. A queer little thrill of alarm ran through her. She had never been afraid of the dark before. But now she s.h.i.+vered.

A great uneasiness a.s.sailed her. She listened intently. Far up the hard gravel road she heard the sound of footsteps, gradually diminis.h.i.+ng. He was far ahead of her and walking rapidly.

At the gate she stopped again. Then she struck out resolutely for home,--the Phantom Singer was beside her. She was not afraid.

A farm-hand, leaning on the fence at the lower corner of the yard, scratched his head in perplexity.

"Well, here's a new angle to the case," he mused sourly. "I'm up a tree for sure. Why the devil should Miss Crown be meeting him out there in this old deserted house. My word, it begins to look a trifle spicy. It also begins to look like a case that ought to be dropped before it gets too hot. I guess it's up to me to see my dear old Uncle Charlie What's-His-Name."

Whereupon Mr. Gilfillan set off in the wake of the girl who had employed him to catch the masked invader.

CHAPTER XIX

BRINGING UP THE PAST

Charlie Webster wore a troubled expression when he appeared for dinner that same evening. He was late. If such a thing were believable, his kindly blue eyes glittered malevolently as they rested upon the face of Courtney Thane, who had taken his place at table a few minutes earlier. The fat little man was strangely preoccupied. He was even gruff in his response to Mr. Pollock's bland inquiry as to the state of his health.

"How's your liver, Charlie?" inquired the genial editor. This amiable question was habitual with Mr. Pollock. He varied it a little when the object of his polite concern happened to be of the opposite s.e.x; then he gallantly subst.i.tuted the word "appet.i.te." It was never necessary to reply to Mr. Pollock's question. In fact, he always seemed a little surprised when any one did reply, quite as if he had missed a portion of the conversation and was trying in a bewildered sort of way to get the hang of it again.

"Same as it was yesterday," said Charlie. "I don't want any soup, Maggie. Yes, I know it's bean soup, but I don't want it, just the same."

"Going on a hunger strike, Charlie?" inquired Doc Simpson.

"s.h.!.+ He's reducing," scolded Flora Grady.

"What's on your mind, Charlie?" asked Courtney.

Charlie swallowed hard. He made a determined effort and succeeded in recovering some of his old-time sprightliness.

"Nothing, now that I've got my hat off."

"Have you heard the latest news, Charlie?" inquired Mrs. Pollock, a thrill of excitement in her voice.

He started, and looked up quickly. "There's been so blamed much news lately," he muttered, "I can't keep track of it."

"Well, this is the greatest piece of news we've had in ages," said the poetess. "Wedding bells are to ring in our midst. Somebody you know very well is going to be married."

Mr. Webster's heart went to his boots. He stared open-mouthed at the speaker.