The Man from Jericho Part 8

He departed with his peculiar gait.

"Come and look at The Prince, and see if he knows you," said Julia.

"Peter hasn't let him get out of sight today."

Together they approached the young animal which stood tethered under the shade of a small peach tree to one side.

"It's wonderful how little he was hurt," resumed Julia, and she could not restrain the emotion in her voice. "See, this is the worst."

She pointed to a spot just above the lean flank, where a long, deep burn marred the satin-like skin.

"A piece of falling timber did that," said Glenning. "I saw it."

He walked slowly around The Prince, and he, who had known horses from his childhood, marveled much at the absolute faultlessness of this young colt. He was modeled for speed, and speed alone, from the tips of his veined ears to his small, polished hoofs. There was not a line at fault, and, unbidden, a great wave of enthusiasm swept the man.

"You will race him this summer?" he queried.

"Yes, if he lives till then," she answered, with some sadness.

"Don't fear but he will live. I pledge you my word he shall be on the track when the day comes."

Julia looked at him with moist eyes.

"You are wondrous kind." Then, with a sudden brightening--"The Prince _is_ fast. Oh, you don't know! He really runs like the wind; so rapidly that it almost frightens you. But this is a secret, you know. Still it has gotten abroad, somehow, and that's why the stable burned, for there are those not far away who also own fast horses, and it would almost kill them to have our Prince victorious."

A scowl darkened the face of the tall, spare man in front of her.

"I can scarcely believe such dastardly cowards are alive. But don't fear them. They shall not harm your horse, and after this night I think their designs upon his life will cease."

"O I fear the night!" she cried. "But remember your promise to father. I wish it was all over, and morning was here again!"

His deep, soft chest laugh rea.s.sured her.

"This will be child's play, Miss Dudley. Do not permit your rest to be disturbed on my account. I love the darkness. Not because I am altogether evil, but because of the solitude and peace which it brings.

We can find ourselves better in the still hours; we can face ourselves and take counsel, and repent of what has been unworthy, and gather strength, perchance, for the next day."

She raised her eyes with the tiniest frown of wonder, but he had bent down and was rubbing the foreleg of The Prince.

Peter arrived at this point with his implements and set vigorously to work, and in the s.p.a.ce of a half-hour the colt was safely domiciled anew, and was munching oats from a soap-box, both of which had been provided by his faithful groom.

The remainder of the day pa.s.sed with remarkable swiftness for John Glenning. He found in Julia a character of unusual charm. She was unsated with the world, unspoiled by men, unworried by the demands of society. Her life had been a trifle monotonous, perhaps, but she possessed the polish which gentle birth and proper environment bestows, and her ready, bright mind had been led along the channels of the pure and good only. Her innate womanliness was ever uppermost, never approaching prudery, but marking unmistakably her speech, gestures and manners. Soon after their return to the house they had been joined by Major Dudley, and ere he realized how time had flown the vigorous ringing of a bell on the side porch made Glenning aware that it was tea time. It was rather a frugal repast to which he sat down a few moments later, but the napery was snowy white, and the service of elegant silver, solid and old. Aunt Frances, in white cap and ap.r.o.n, moved ponderously about the board in prompt and deft manipulation of dishes, and to the poor office- and hotel-worn man it was as though he had accidentally strayed into Paradise. Candles in antique old bra.s.s holders lighted the table, and there was witchery in the misty halo they cast upon the fresh, lovely face and waving hair of Julia Dudley. She was happy and bright at tea, striving alike to entertain their guest and to lift the gloom which had again enveloped the Major. This side of her father's nature she had seldom seen, and it made her afraid. Should he grow morose or brooding at his time of life the result would be disastrous, she knew, and before the meal was finished she made a mental resolve to bring about that very night the talk which the Major had promised her the afternoon before. Then she would be the better able to aid him.

The sun was down when they again came out upon the portico, and twilight was silently clearing the way for darkness.

"You have been most kind to me," said Glenning, standing bareheaded upon the low step between the portico pillars. "Your hospitality has been the best thing I have known for a long time. Let me beg you, Major, not to let this little affair tonight keep you from sleeping. There is not the slightest use of anyone being at the smoke-house until after midnight, and I shall be here not later than twelve. If, however, you would feel easier to know that a friendly eye was on The Prince, let Peter go.

Remember I consented to your terms readily, and now I implore you to listen to me. Will you retire at your usual hour?"

"I will see that father keeps to the house," Julia said, with an unexpected firmness which surprised both her hearers. As she spoke she thrust her arm through the Major's and pressed it gently.

"There is not the slightest necessity for either of you to sit up,"

resumed Glenning. "I shall come and quietly go around to the smoke-house and remain there till morning. And please do not be alarmed unnecessarily. I shall keep my word to you, Major, depend upon that, and above all, go to sleep with the positive a.s.surance that The Prince shall pa.s.s through this night unharmed."

He clasped each one's hand firmly, and turned away.

As the tall, upright form disappeared down the avenue, Julia put one hand upon her father's cheek.

"Daddy," she said, "this night I must hear why Devil Marston hates us."

CHAPTER VI

The day had been very warm, and the old settee on the portico offered a comfortable seat, so it was here Major Dudley and Julia decided to stay.

The master of the house made one more effort at postponement, but the young mistress would have none of it. It must be that night, and at once. Affairs had shaped themselves in such a manner that a complete revelation of all that had been kept hidden from her was imperative. So Peter fetched the long-stemmed meerschaum pipe which his master never smoked except of evenings, and received his instructions regarding the colt. These, by the way, were superfluous, for the negro had already made his arrangements to be a bed-mate of The Prince that night. Then, with the faint odour of the cherished honeysuckle at the corner of the house in their nostrils, and the faraway plaint of a mourning whip-poor-will floating spookily up from the lowlands on their right, they settled themselves, one to the task of telling a story he had rather have kept, and the other listening eagerly, yet with a certain dread. Julia felt that a new existence was opening up for her, and it looked formidable enough in the uncertain atmosphere which now enveloped it. Hitherto her way had been smooth, and her tasks and renunciations had been those of love. But as she thought of that dark-faced, brutish looking man who lived only a half mile further down the road, and knew that in some way both he and she were concerned in the tale she was to hear, for the first time in her happy life a vague terror took hold of her and her body sank closer to the form beside her. Major Dudley had his pipe alight by this time, but he was slow to begin speaking. For perhaps five minutes he said not a word, and Julia discreetly did not urge him. She knew it would come, and they had half the night ahead of them. Presently her father's hand strayed over into her lap and found hers.

"Julia," he said, and his voice was so tender and caressing that the girl caught a sob in her throat, that he might not hear, and be distressed. "Julia, I have hoped all my life that it would never become necessary for you to hear this story. It but ill.u.s.trates man's inhumanity to man, and shows the harm an evil mind can bring about. Now I will tell you all about it, for it is your right.

"You never knew old Brule Marston. He was the father of our neighbour, and at heart was as vile a being as I have ever known. He loved your mother"--there was a catch in his voice here--"or at least pretended that he did, and wanted to marry her. His family's position was good, but only from the great fortune they had always owned. In reality the Marstons have been a bad lot as far back as I have any recollection of them. They have lived in Kentucky a long time, but they have always bought their position in a community, and I have never known one of the name to be a true gentleman, as we of the Bluegra.s.s construe the word.

Brule Marston was hot-headed, rash, impetuous and domineering as a young man. We were near the same age, he being a few years my senior, and we knew each other but slightly, for our families never visited, as you well know. Your mother came from Virginia to visit in the neighbourhood.

It was to the Beckwith home she came--you know Miss Adeline, the old maid who lives with the Rays. She was one of the belles of the period, and I met Margaret at their home. Brule Marston met her about the same time, and then the mischief started. Each of us loved her from the first, and in his own way. Brule tried to force her into a promise of marriage, and for a time I thought I had lost her. He was handsome in a dark, devilish way, and I think it was his das.h.i.+ng manner which captivated Margaret for a time. They were heavy days for me, my daughter, but I played fair, and never said or did an underhand thing to attempt to further my cause. She gave no preference to either suitor so far as being in her company was concerned, and we had an equal chance.

In the end I won, and that was G.o.d's choicest and sweetest gift to me.

My rival took his defeat as might have been expected. He went raving wild when Margaret told him, and had not help been within call I believe he would have struck her in his frenzy. Then followed a prolonged drunken spree, when he scoured the country roads at night like a fiend escaped from h.e.l.l, shouting his curses at the sky, and shooting his revolver recklessly. I had never feared him, and made no especial effort to avoid him in my nightly calls upon my fiancee But I was glad we never met, for mischief most certainly would have ensued.

"Margaret and I were married quietly, and now comes some more news. You know you have often spoken of your uncle Arthur's picture over the mantel in the library, saying how sorry you were never to have known him? He was several years my junior, and had been at college in the East. He came home and met Margaret after she and I had confessed our love. He at once conceived a violent affection for her, and when he discovered he was too late to hope to win her, it went hard with him, indeed. He stayed till after the wedding, and then went West, following the lure of gold. For a few years we heard from him at intervals, then his letters ceased, and today we do not know whether he lives or not. We loved each other dearly, and it has always been a cross to me that I was the innocent cause of his exile. I have made efforts to find him, but they have all been futile.

"Brule Marston disappeared a few days after our wedding. It was told that he took a boat at Louisville and went south, as far as New Orleans.

He was gone a short time only, and when he returned he brought with him a woman. She was a quadroon, or a Creole, and she was exceedingly handsome in a flashy, barbaric way. Marston had loaded her with costly silks and jewels of all kinds, and introduced her as his wife. No one believed this to be true, and doors were closed upon them everywhere. In the course of a year a child was born to them, a son, who from his cradle was christened Devil Marston, for such was the wicked heart of Brule, his father, who wors.h.i.+ped nothing but his own pa.s.sions, and made an open mock of religion. Then came the war, and I went with the South.

Fearing to leave my young wife unprotected, I took her to her old home in Virginia, and there she stayed safely until the bitter strife was over, and there you were born. When we returned home a fearful tale of horror awaited us. In a maniac fit of rage Brule Marston had killed the Creole woman whom he had brought up from New Orleans. No attempts had been made to bring him to justice for the crime. Partly because everything was so unhinged on account of the war and its effects, partly because no officer was brave enough to try to arrest him. From that time on he lived alone in the old home down yonder, leaving the rearing of his son to an old negro woman who was reputed to be coa.r.s.e and profane.

Harrowing stories came to us of the fiendish cruelties Brule Marston practiced upon his servants, and he thought nothing of knocking one down and stamping him with his feet.

"How swiftly the years have chased each other since I came back home with you and your mother! And how I have wished them back again--those short, sweet years which followed your coming, when Margaret, you and I lived in perfect unity, and peace, and love. But change is the order of the universe, and we must take it when it comes, bravely, if so be G.o.d gives us grace, and fit ourselves to meet the new needs.

"Brule Marston died upon a night of awful storm. It seemed as if the cohorts of Satan had a.s.sembled to escort his foul soul to the realms of the lost. I will tell you now what I learned later, and I pray you to be brave, my child, and do not fear. The only training which Brule Marston instilled into his son was hatred of us. He never sought to teach him any good thing, or any worthy precept. His eternal and ceaseless injunction was hate, hate, hate. He never forgot the fact that I had robbed him of the pure being he had set his black heart on possessing, and revenge was the only feeling he harbored. Had he lived long enough I believe that in the end he would have wrought us some great harm, for I am a.s.sured that was his sole aim and desire. But death found him in the midst of his machinations, and stilled his hand. Devil Marston was an apt pupil, and he readily imbibed his father's teachings. By birth he was well fitted for any scurrilous task or duty, and he has always found joy in causing pain. On that night of storm when old Brule died he called his son to his bedside, and laid upon him his dying wish. It was that Devil Marston should make it his life's work to hara.s.s and oppress us, and at last to ruin us utterly, using his entire fortune for that purpose should it become necessary. It is needless for me to tell you the son was not slow to make the promise. It was a task entirely congenial to his nature. You have never been aware of it, my child, but he has had designs upon your happiness, knowing well that through you he could inflict the deepest pain upon me. You of course remember when he was at our home frequently, when we accorded him the courtesy due any one under our roof, while never extending him a welcome, or making him feel that his presence was desired. He always endeavored to be pleasant, but it transpired later that this was acting only; a mask for his true feelings. He often sought to be alone with you, but I could not trust the blood, worse mixed than ever in this man, and I always managed the situation so that I should be present also. This annoyed him, and he could not always hide his resentment--it would flame through the veil of decency he tried to wear with us. I did all in my power to discourage him from coming here, without asking him in so many words to stay away, but he had set his soul upon accomplis.h.i.+ng a certain thing, and he would lose his soul rather than lose his project. Then came the night, not long ago, after which his visits ceased."

The low, regular, even tones stopped, and father and daughter sat close to each other in silence, each feeling the other's sympathy through their clasped hands. As they sat thus in the sweet summer night a clatter of hoofs jangled through the star-lit dark. They came from off to the right--from the direction in which the man lived of whom they were talking. The sound gathered rapidly in volume, and a moment or two later they heard a horse running furiously by on the highroad in front of them, going towards town. As the noise died away in the distance Julia pressed the Major's hand, but said nothing.

"It is he," spoke the father, in a voice of p.r.o.nounced melancholy. "So his sire rode before him, killing on an average two horses every year.

It seems the devil not only dwells in them, but is continually chasing them."

"What happened that night, daddy, when Mr. Marston came the last time? I saw him only in pa.s.sing, and he looked nervous and angry."

"He was angry, little one. We ended it all in the library, but not until he had voluntarily torn away his mask. I would spare you this if I could--if you did not demand it."

Though it was dark Julia knew that he had turned to look at her.

"But I demand it--everything. You will not find me weak, for I am stronger than you know, daddy dear."