Janet of the Dunes Part 18

"Maud Grace!"

The crouching girl gave a m.u.f.fled cry and then sat upright, clasping her hands closely.

"What are you looking for?" It seemed an odd way to put the question. It sounded as if Maud were in her own room and had only misplaced some article of clothing.

"Her money!" The words were clear and hard. "Susan Jane's box! I know what you think, Janet, you think I'm a thief! But I've got--to--have money, an' I'll pay it back!"

"Come out in the sitting room, Maud. I'll light the lamp and then we can talk."

The calmness of tone and words gave the girl upon the floor courage to rise and go into the next room. There she sat down in Susan's old rocker and waited until Janet made a light. Then they faced each other, Janet taking her place upon the horsehair sofa.

"You're just as bad as me!" cried Maud suddenly. The steady look Janet bent upon her angered and repelled her. "You ought t' understand how 't is."

"I don't know what you mean," Janet replied, "but I'm not bad enough to steal a dead woman's money."

Maud turned a bluish white and her misery-filled eyes fell.

"I had t' have money. I darn't ask Pa or Ma; I can't tell anybody, but I've got t' have money to go away. I could have sent it back, somehow, once I got away!"

"Where are you going?" Janet's voice had the ring of scorn in it, though she tried to think kindly.

"Ah! you needn't put on them airs!" Maud was trying to keep the tears back. "You ain't any too good with your modillin', an' you--you--a figger!"

This did not have the desired or antic.i.p.ated effect upon Janet. She looked puzzled.

"Somehow you sound as if you were talking in your sleep, Maud Grace,"

she said, "you don't seem to have any sense. But you've got to explain about the money!"

At this Maud sprang from the chair and flung herself beside Janet. She must have help; and this girl, doubted by all the moral village folks, was her one hope in a desolate hour.

"I've got t' go after him!" she sobbed.

"After him?" Janet could not free herself from the clinging arms.

"Yes, Mr. Fitch. Ah! Janet, if you was good like all the rest, you couldn't understand, but all day I've been thinkin' how you would stand up fur me if you knowed! He made love t' me, Mr. Fitch did, an' now he's gone, an' he don't write, an' I know he's never comin' back. Somethin'

tells me. An' oh! Janet, I've got t' have him! I have, I have! I only meant t' take the money till I got to him. I found his card in his bedroom after he went. He didn't tell me true where he lived, but the card's all right. An' I've got t' go!" The girl's thin voice was hoa.r.s.e with emotion. She clung closer, and her breath came hard and quick.

A loathing filled Janet as she listened, a loathing made bitter by the insinuation of her similarity to this poor, cringing creature beside her.

"You don't want him if he doesn't want you, do you?" she asked slowly.

"I do that!" Maud's tone was doggedly miserable.

"Even if he is trying to get away from you?" The memory of the weak, boyish boarder at Mrs. Jo G.'s added force to this question.

"Yes!"

"Then, shame to you, Maud Grace! I wouldn't say such a thing as that if I were to die!"

"Maybe"--the wretched girl groaned--"maybe you ain't just like me.

Somehow I can't think you are; but, Janet, it's worse than dyin', this is. I've got t' go!"

The poor, pleading face was raised to Janet, but its dumb agony met no understanding emotion. A stir outside caused both girls to tremble with fright.

"I've heard every word you've said!" Mark Tapkins stood in the doorway opening upon the porch. "I was a settin' out there, sort a-watchin' an'

thinkin' o' other things an' not noticin' what was pa.s.sin', till all of a suddint it come t' me, that I had been a listenin' an' takin' in what wasn't intended fur me. I'm glad I did!" His slow face lifted proudly.

"I'm glad I was used, so t' speak, fur this end. Maud Grace, you ain't got any call t' bother Janet no more. I understand you!" His eyes rested upon the forlorn girl and she shrank as before fire. "I understand, an'

this is man's work. You come along home, an' t'-morrer you give me that card of his'n, an' I'll travel up t' town, an' fetch him back!"

"Mark!" Janet was on her feet, her eyes blazing, "you mustn't help her in this foolish business. You have no right to interfere. You have no right here! She shall not make herself so ridiculous as to send for a man who is trying to get away!"

Mark looked at her gently, patiently.

"Sho! Janet," he soothed, "you leave things you don't understand t' them as does. I'm goin' t' fetch that feller back. I know his kind, the city breeds 'em! Maybe the bracin' air down here will help him. Come along, Maud Grace, it's nateral enough fur me t' take you home frum Janet's."

Janet made no further effort to change Mark's intention; and he and Maud went away together.

When Janet heard them close the garden gate, she went into the bedroom, took the money box, that poor Maud had so diligently sought, from the top shelf of the closet, and put it in a bureau drawer; then she turned the key in the drawer for the first time in all the years.

CHAPTER IX

"Well, it's a relief to me, d.i.c.k, to know that you do know!" Mr. Devant shrugged his shoulders, and laughed lightly. "Katharine and I have had a sneaking desire to ask you if you'd found us out, but we waited for you to make the first move."

"I'm slow to move in any game," Thornly replied. "I rather think it comes from my chess training. When a child begins that pastime, as you might say, in his cradle, with such a teacher as father, it's apt to influence his character."

"Exactly. Have a cigar, d.i.c.k; it's beastly lonely to puff alone."

"Thanks, no. I've smoked too much in my hut on the Hills. Being alone always drives me to a cigar."

The two men sat in the library at Bluff Head. A fire of driftwood crackled on the hearth and a stiff wind roared around the house.

"Of course we had no right to enter your studio,"--Mr. Devant spoke slowly between the puffs of smoke,--"except the right that says all is fair in love and war. I admit that I was shaking in my boots that day for fear you might come in upon us. Katharine was braver than I. You must own, d.i.c.k, that you hadn't treated the girl quite fair."

"I do not grant that, Mr. Devant. I think Katharine had no cause for complaint. Good Lord! a doctor's wife might quite as well feel herself aggrieved because her husband's dissecting room is closed to her."

"Come, now, d.i.c.k!" Devant threw his head back and laughed; "it's carrying the thing too far when you liken the Pimpernel to a disagreeably defunct subject."

"It all goes to the making of one's art; that is what I mean. It belongs to the art and need not be dragged into public to satisfy a woman's morbid curiosity."

"Or a man's?" The laugh was gone from the face of the older man.

"Or a man's, since you insist." Thornly looked into the depths of the rich glow upon the grate and took small heed of his companion's changed expression.

"And your model gave us away?"

"I beg pardon?" Thornly drew himself together; "what did you say?"