Miss Carr had ignored what he said, and talked of something else. But that girl’s name had been Elnora. It was she who was collecting moths! No doubt she was the competent judge who was responsible for the yellow costume Philip had devised. Had Edith Carr been in her room, she would have torn off the dress at the thought.
Being in a circle of her best friends, which to her meant her keenest rivals and harshest critics, she grew rigid with anger. Her breath hurt her paining chest. No one thought to speak to the musicians, and seeing the floor filled, they began the waltz. Only part of the guests could see what had happened, and at once the others formed and commenced to dance. Gay couples came whirling past her.
Edith Carr grew very white as she stood alone. Her lips turned pale, while her dark eyes flamed with anger. She stood perfectly still where Philip had left her, and the approaching men guided their partners around her, while the girls, looking back, could be seen making exclamations of surprise.
The idolized only daughter of the Carr family hoped that she would drop dead from mortification, but nothing happened. She was too perverse to step aside and say that she was waiting for Philip. Then came Tom Levering dancing with Polly Ammon. Being in the scales with the Ammon family, Tom scented trouble from afar, so he whispered to Polly: “Edith is standing in the middle of the floor, and she’s awful mad about something.”
“That won’t hurt her,” laughed Polly. “It’s an old pose of hers. She knows she looks superb when she is angry, so she keeps herself furious half the time on purpose.”
“She looks like the mischief!” answered Tom. “Hadn’t we better steer over and wait with her? She’s the ugliest sight I ever saw!”
“Why, Tom!” cried Polly. “Stop, quickly!”
They hurried to Edith.
“Come dear,” said Polly. “We are going to wait with you until Phil returns. Let’s go after a drink. I am so thirsty!”
“Yes, do!” begged Tom, offering his arm. “Let’s get out of here until Phil comes.”
There was the opportunity to laugh and walk away, but Edith Carr would not accept it.
“My betrothed left me here,” she said. “Here I shall remain until he returns for me, and then–he will be my betrothed no longer!”
Polly grasped Edith’s arm.
“Oh, Edith!” she implored. “Don’t make a scene here, and to-night. Edith, this has been the loveliest dance ever given at the club house. Every one is saying so. Edith! Darling, do come! Phil will be back in a second. He can explain! It’s only a breath since I saw him go out. I thought he had returned.”
As Polly panted these disjointed ejaculations, Tom Levering began to grow angry on her account.
“He has been gone just long enough to show every one of his guests that he will leave me standing alone, like a neglected fool, for any passing whim of his. Explain! His explanation would sound well! Do you know for whom he caught that moth? It is being sent to a girl he flirted with all last summer. It has just occurred to me that the dress I am wearing is her suggestion. Let him try to explain!”
Speech unloosed the fountain. She stripped off her gloves to free her hands. At that instant the dancers parted to admit Philip. Instinctively they stopped as they approached and with wondering faces walled in Edith and Philip, Polly and Tom.
“Mighty good of you to wait!” cried Philip, his face showing his delight over his success in capturing the Yellow Emperor. “I thought when I heard the music you were going on.”
“How did you think I was going on?” demanded Edith Carr in frigid tones.
“I thought you would step aside and wait a few seconds for me, or dance with Henderson. It was most important to have that moth. It completes a valuable collection for a person who needs the money. Come!”
He held out his arms.
“I `step aside’ for no one!” stormed Edith Carr. “I await no other girl’s pleasure! You may `complete the collection’ with that!”
She drew her engagement ring from her finger and reached to place it on one of Philip’s outstretched hands. He saw and drew back. Instantly Edith dropped the ring. As it fell, almost instinctively Philip caught it in air. With amazed face he looked closely at Edith Carr. Her distorted features were scarcely recognizable. He held the ring toward her.
“Edith, for the love of mercy, wait until I can explain,” he begged. “Put on your ring and let me tell you how it is.”
“I know perfectly `how it is,'” she answered. “I never shall wear that ring again.”
“You won’t even hear what I have to say? You won’t take back your ring?” he cried.
“Never! Your conduct is infamous!”
“Come to think of it,” said Philip deliberately, “it is `infamous’ to cut a girl, who has danced all her life, out of a few measures of a waltz. As for asking forgiveness for so black a sin as picking up a moth, and starting it to a friend who lives by collecting them, I don’t see how I could! I have not been gone three minutes by the clock, Edith. Put on your ring and finish the dance like a dear girl.”
He thrust the glittering ruby into her fingers and again held out his arms. She dropped the ring, and it rolled some distance from them. Hart Henderson followed its shining course, and caught it before it was lost.
“You really mean it?” demanded Philip in a voice as cold as hers ever had been.
“You know I mean it!” cried Edith Carr.
“I accept your decision in the presence of these witnesses,” said Philip Ammon. “Where is my father?” The elder Ammon with a distressed face hurried to him. “Father, take my place,” said Philip. “Excuse me to my guests. Ask all my friends to forgive me. I am going away for awhile.”
He turned and walked from the pavilion. As he went Hart Henderson rushed to Edith Carr and forced the ring into her fingers. “Edith, quick. Come, quick!” he implored. “There’s just time to catch him. If you let him go that way, he never will return in this world. Remember what I told you.”
“Great prophet! aren’t you, Hart?” she sneered. “Who wants him to return? If that ring is thrust upon me again I shall fling it into the lake. Signal the musicians to begin, and dance with me.”
Henderson put the ring into his pocket, and began the dance. He could feel the muscular spasms of the girl in his arms, her face was cold and hard, but her breath burned with the scorch of fever. She finished the dance and all others, taking Phil’s numbers with Henderson, who had arrived too late to arrange a programme. She left with the others, merely inclining her head as she passed Ammon’s father taking his place, and entered the big touring car for which Henderson had telephoned. She sank limply into a seat and moaned softly.
“Shall I drive awhile in the night air?” asked Henderson.
She nodded. He instructed the chauffeur.
She raised her head in a few seconds. “Hart, I’m going to pieces,” she said. “Won’t you put your arm around me a little while?”
Henderson gathered her into his arms and her head fell on his shoulder. “Closer!” she cried.
Henderson held her until his arms were numb, but he did not know it. The tricks of fate are cruel enough, but there scarcely could have been a worse one than that: To care for a woman as he loved Edith Carr and have her given into his arms because she was so numb with misery over her trouble with another man that she did not know or care what she did. Dawn was streaking the east when he spoke to her.
“Edith, it is growing light.”
“Take me home,” she said.
Henderson helped her up the steps and rang the bell.
“Miss Carr is ill,” he said to the footman. “Arouse her maid instantly, and have her prepare something hot as quickly as possible.”
“Edith,” he cried, “just a word. I have been thinking. It isn’t too late yet. Take your ring and put it on. I will go find Phil at once and tell him you have, that you are expecting him, and he will come.”
“Think what he said!” she cried. “He accepted my decision as final, `in the presence of witnesses,’ as if it were court. He can return it to me, if I ever wear it again.”
“You think that now, but in a few days you will find that you feel very differently. Living a life of heartache is no joke, and no job for a woman. Put on your ring and send me to tell him to come.”
“No.”
“Edith, there was not a soul who saw that, but sympathized with Phil. It was ridiculous for you to get so angry over a thing which was never intended for the slightest offence, and by no logical reasoning could have been so considered.”
“Do you think that?” she demanded.
“I do!” said Henderson. “If you had laughed and stepped aside an instant, or laughed and stayed where you were, Phil would have been back; or, if he needed punishment in your eyes, to have found me having one of his dances would have been enough. I was waiting. You could have called me with one look. But to publicly do and say what you did, my lady–I know Phil, and I know you went too far. Put on that ring, and send him word you are sorry, before it is too late.”
“I will not! He shall come to me.”
“Then God help you!” said Henderson, “for you are plunging into misery whose depth you do not dream. Edith, I beg of you—-“
She swayed where she stood. Her maid opened the door and caught her. Henderson went down the hall and out to his car.
CHAPTER XX
WHEREIN THE ELDER AMMON OFFERS ADVICE, AND EDITH CARR EXPERIENCES REGRETS
Philip Ammon walked from among his friends a humiliated and a wounded man. Never before had Edith Carr appeared quite so beautiful. All evening she had treated him with unusual consideration. Never had he loved her so deeply. Then in a few seconds everything was different. Seeing the change in her face, and hearing her meaningless accusations, killed something in his heart. Warmth went out and a cold weight took its place. But even after that, he had offered the ring to her again, and asked her before others to reconsider. The answer had been further insult.
He walked, paying no heed to where he went. He had traversed many miles when he became aware that his feet had chosen familiar streets. He was passing his home. Dawn was near, but the first floor was lighted. He staggered up the steps and was instantly admitted. The library door stood open, while his father sat with a book pretending to read. At Philip’s entrance the father scarcely glanced up.
“Come on!” he called. “I have just told Banks to bring me a cup of coffee before I turn in. Have one with me!”
Philip sat beside the table and leaned his head on his hands, but he drank a cup of steaming coffee and felt better.
“Father,” he said, “father, may I talk with you a little while?”
“Of course,” answered Mr. Ammon. “I am not at all tired. I think I must have been waiting in the hope that you would come. I want no one’s version of this but yours. Tell me the straight of the thing, Phil.”
Philip told all he knew, while his father sat in deep thought.
“On my life I can’t see any occasion for such a display of temper, Phil. It passed all bounds of reason and breeding. Can’t you think of anything more?”
“I cannot!”
“Polly says every one expected you to carry the moth you caught to Edith. Why didn’t you?”
“She screams if a thing of that kind comes near her. She never has taken the slightest interest in them. I was in a big hurry. I didn’t want to miss one minute of my dance with her. The moth was not so uncommon, but by a combination of bad luck it had become the rarest in America for a friend of mine, who is making a collection to pay college expenses. For an instant last June the series was completed; when a woman’s uncontrolled temper ruined this specimen and the search for it began over. A few days later a pair was secured, and again the money was in sight for several hours. Then an accident wrecked one-fourth of the collection. I helped replace those last June, all but this Yellow Emperor which we could not secure, and we haven’t been able to find, buy or trade for one since. So my friend was compelled to teach this past winter instead of going to college. When that moth came flying in there to-night, it seemed to me like fate. All I thought of was, that to secure it would complete the collection and secure the money. So I caught the Emperor and started it to Elnora. I declare to you that I was not out of the pavilion over three minutes at a liberal estimate. If I only had thought to speak to the orchestra! I was sure I would be back before enough couples gathered and formed for the dance.”
The eyes of the father were very bright.
“The friend for whom you wanted the moth is a girl?” he asked indifferently, as he ran the book leaves through his fingers.
“The girl of whom I wrote you last summer, and told you about in the fall. I helped her all the time I was away.”
“Did Edith know of her?”
“I tried many times to tell her, to interest her, but she was so indifferent that it was insulting. She would not hear me.”
“We are neither one in any condition to sleep. Why don’t you begin at the first and tell me about this girl? To think of other matters for a time may clear our vision for a sane solution of this. Who is she, just what is she doing, and what is she like? You know I was reared among those Limberlost people, I can understand readily. What is her name and where does she live?”
Philip gave a man’s version of the previous summer, while his father played with the book industriously.
“You are very sure as to her refinement and education?”
“In almost two months’ daily association, could a man be mistaken? She can far and away surpass Polly, Edith, or any girl of our set on any common, high school, or supplementary branch, and you know high schools have French, German, and physics now. Besides, she is a graduate of two other institutions. All her life she has been in the school of Hard Knocks. She has the biggest, tenderest, most human heart I ever knew in a girl. She has known life in its most cruel phases, and instead of hardening her, it has set her trying to save other people suffering. Then this nature position of which I told you; she graduated in the School of the Woods, before she secured that. The Bird Woman, whose work you know, helped her there. Elnora knows more interesting things in a minute than any other girl I ever met knew in an hour, provided you are a person who cares to understand plant and animal life.”
The book leaves slid rapidly through his fingers as the father drawled: “What sort of looking girl is she?”
“Tall as Edith, a little heavier, pink, even complexion, wide open blue-gray eyes with heavy black brows, and lashes so long they touch her cheeks. She has a rope of waving, shining hair that makes a real crown on her head, and it appears almost red in the light. She is as handsome as any fair woman I ever saw, but she doesn’t know it. Every time any one pays her a compliment, her mother, who is a caution, discovers that, for some reason, the girl is a fright, so she has no appreciation of her looks.”
“And you were in daily association two months with a girl like that! How about it, Phil?”
“If you mean, did I trifle with her, no!” cried Philip hotly. “I told her the second time I met her all about Edith. Almost every day I wrote to Edith in her presence. Elnora gathered violets and made a fancy basket to put them in for Edith’s birthday. I started to err in too open admiration for Elnora, but her mother brought me up with a whirl I never forgot. Fifty times a day in the swamps and forests Elnora made a perfect picture, but I neither looked nor said anything. I never met any girl so downright noble in bearing and actions. I never hated anything as I hated leaving her, for we were dear friends, like two wholly congenial men. Her mother was almost always with us. She knew how much I admired Elnora, but so long as I concealed it from the girl, the mother did not care.”
“Yet you left such a girl and came back whole-hearted to Edith Carr!”
“Surely! You know how it has been with me about Edith all my life.”
“Yet the girl you picture is far her superior to an unprejudiced person, when thinking what a man would require in a wife to be happy.”
“I never have thought what I would `require’ to be happy! I only thought whether I could make Edith happy. I have been an idiot! What I’ve borne you’ll never know! To-night is only one of many outbursts like that, in varying and lesser degrees.”
“Phil, I love you, when you say you have thought only of Edith! I happen to know that it is true. You are my only son, and I have had a right to watch you closely. I believe you utterly. Any one who cares for you as I do, and has had my years of experience in this world over yours, knows that in some ways, to-night would be a blessed release, if you could take it; but you cannot! Go to bed now, and rest. To-morrow, go back to her and fix it up.”
“You heard what I said when I left her! I said it because something in my heart died a minute before that, and I realized that it was my love for Edith Carr. Never again will I voluntarily face such a scene. If she can act like that at a ball, before hundreds, over a thing of which I thought nothing at all, she would go into actual physical fits and spasms, over some of the household crises I’ve seen the mater meet with a smile. Sir, it is truth that I have thought only of her up to the present. Now, I will admit I am thinking about myself. Father, did you see her? Life is too short, and it can be too sweet, to throw it away in a battle with an unrestrained woman. I am no fighter–where a girl is concerned, anyway. I respect and love her or I do nothing. Never again is either respect or love possible between me and Edith Carr. Whenever I think of her in the future, I will see her as she was to-night. But I can’t face the crowd just yet. Could you spare me a few days?”
“It is only ten days until you were to go north for the summer, go now.”
“I don’t want to go north. I don’t want to meet people I know. There, the story would precede me. I do not need pitying glances or rough condolences. I wonder if I could not hide at Uncle Ed’s in Wisconsin for awhile?”
The book closed suddenly. The father leaned across the table and looked into the son’s eyes.
“Phil, are you sure of what you just have said?”
“Perfectly sure!”
“Do you think you are in any condition to decide to-night?”
“Death cannot return to life, father. My love for Edith Carr is dead. I hope never to see her again.”
“If I thought you could be certain so soon! But, come to think of it, you are very like me in many ways. I am with you in this. Public scenes and disgraces I would not endure. It would be over with me, were I in your position, that I know.”
“It is done for all time,” said Philip Ammon. “Let us not speak of it further.”
“Then, Phil,” the father leaned closer and looked at the son tenderly, “Phil, why don’t you go to the Limberlost?”
“Father!”
“Why not? No one can comfort a hurt heart like a tender woman; and, Phil, have you ever stopped to think that you may have a duty in the Limberlost, if you are free? I don’t know! I only suggest it. But, for a country schoolgirl, unaccustomed to men, two months with a man like you might well awaken feelings of which you do not think. Because you were safe-guarded is no sign the girl was. She might care to see you. You can soon tell. With you, she comes next to Edith, and you have made it clear to me that you appreciate her in many ways above. So I repeat it, why not go to the Limberlost?”
A long time Philip Ammon sat in deep thought. At last he raised his head.
“Well, why not!” he said. “Years could make me no surer than I am now, and life is short. Please ask Banks to get me some coffee and toast, and I will bathe and dress so I can take the early train.”
“Go to your bath. I will attend to your packing and everything. And Phil, if I were you, I would leave no addresses.”
“Not an address!” said Philip. “Not even Polly.”
When the train pulled out, the elder Ammon went home to find Hart Henderson waiting.
“Where is Phil?” he demanded.
“He did not feel like facing his friends at present, and I am just back from driving him to the station. He said he might go to Siam, or Patagonia. He would leave no address.”
Henderson almost staggered. “He’s not gone? And left no address? You don’t mean it! He’ll never forgive her!”
“Never is a long time, Hart,” said Mr. Ammon. “And it seems even longer to those of us who are well acquainted with Phil. Last night was not the last straw. It was the whole straw-stack. It crushed Phil so far as she is concerned. He will not see her again voluntarily, and he will not forget if he does. You can take it from him, and from me, we have accepted the lady’s decision. Will you have a cup of coffee?”
Twice Henderson opened his lips to speak of Edith Carr’s despair. Twice he looked into the stern, inflexible face of Mr. Ammon and could not betray her. He held out the ring.
“I have no instructions as to that,” said the elder Ammon, drawing back. “Possibly Miss Carr would have it as a keepsake.”
“I am sure not,” said Henderson curtly.
“Then suppose you return it to Peacock. I will phone him. He will give you the price of it, and you might add it to the children’s Fresh Air Fund. We would be obliged if you would do that. No one here cares to handle the object.”
“As you choose,” said Henderson. “Good morning!”
Then he went to his home, but he could not think of sleep. He ordered breakfast, but he could not eat. He paced the library for a time, but it was too small. Going on the streets he walked until exhausted, then he called a hansom and was driven to his club. He had thought himself familiar with every depth of suffering; that night had taught him that what he felt for himself was not to be compared with the anguish which wrung his heart over the agony of Edith Carr. He tried to blame Philip Ammon, but being an honest man, Henderson knew that was unjust. The fault lay wholly with her, but that only made it harder for him, as he realized it would in time for her.
As he sauntered into the room an attendant hurried to him.
“You are wanted most urgently at the ‘phone, Mr. Henderson,” he said. “You have had three calls from Main 5770.”
Henderson shivered as he picked down the receiver and gave the call.
“Is that you, Hart?” came Edith’s voice.
“Yes.”
“Did you find Phil?”
“No.”
“Did you try?”
“Yes. As soon as I left you I went straight there.”
“Wasn’t he home yet?”
“He has been home and gone again.”
“Gone!”
The cry tore Henderson’s heart.
“Shall I come and tell you, Edith?”
“No! Tell me now.”
“When I reached the house Banks said Mr. Ammon and Phil were out in the motor, so I waited. Mr. Ammon came back soon. Edith, are you alone?”
“Yes. Go on!”
“Call your maid. I can’t tell you until some one is with you.”
“Tell me instantly!”
“Edith, he said he had been to the station. He said Phil had started to Siam or Patagonia, he didn’t know which, and left no address. He said—-“
Distinctly Henderson heard her fall. He set the buzzer ringing, and in a few seconds heard voices, so he knew she had been found. Then he crept into a private den and shook with a hard, nervous chill.
The next day Edith Carr started on her trip to Europe. Henderson felt certain she hoped to meet Philip there. He was sure she would be disappointed, though he had no idea where Ammon could have gone. But after much thought he decided he would see Edith soonest by remaining at home, so he spent the summer in Chicago.
CHAPTER XXI
WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON RETURNS TO THE LIMBERLOST, AND ELNORA STUDIES THE SITUATION
We must be thinking about supper, mother,” said Elnora, while she set the wings of a Cecropia with much care. “It seems as if I can’t get enough to eat, or enough of being at home. I enjoyed that city house. I don’t believe I could have done my work if I had been compelled to walk back and forth. I thought at first I never wanted to come here again. Now, I feel as if I could not live anywhere else.”
“Elnora,” said Mrs. Comstock, “there’s some one coming down the road.”
“Coming here, do you think?”
“Yes, coming here, I suspect.”
Elnora glanced quickly at her mother and then turned to the road as Philip Ammon reached the gate.
“Careful, mother!” the girl instantly warned. “If you change your treatment of him a hair’s breadth, he will suspect. Come with me to meet him.”
She dropped her work and sprang up.
“Well, of all the delightful surprises!” she cried.
She was a trifle thinner than during the previous summer. On her face there was a more mature, patient look, but the sun struck her bare head with the same ray of red gold. She wore one of the old blue gingham dresses, open at the throat and rolled to the elbows. Mrs. Comstock did not appear at all the same woman, but Philip saw only Elnora; heard only her greeting. He caught both hands where she offered but one.
“Elnora,” he cried, “if you were engaged to me, and we were at a ball, among hundreds, where I offended you very much, and didn’t even know I had done anything, and if I asked you before all of them to allow me to explain, to forgive me, to wait, would your face grow distorted and unfamiliar with anger? Would you drop my ring on the floor and insult me repeatedly? Oh Elnora, would you?”
Elnora’s big eyes seemed to leap, while her face grew very white. She drew away her hands.
“Hush, Phil! Hush!” she protested. “That fever has you again! You are dreadfully ill. You don’t know what you are saying.”
“I am sleepless and exhausted; I’m heartsick; but I am well as I ever was. Answer me, Elnora, would you?”
“Answer nothing!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “Answer nothing! Hang your coat there on your nail, Phil, and come split some kindling. Elnora, clean away that stuff, and set the table. Can’t you see the boy is starved and tired? He’s come home to rest and eat a decent meal. Come on, Phil!”
Mrs. Comstock marched away, and Philip hung his coat in its old place and followed. Out of sight and hearing she turned on him.
“Do you call yourself a man or a hound?” she flared.
“I beg your pardon—-” stammered Philip Ammon.
“I should think you would!” she ejaculated. “I’ll admit you did the square thing and was a man last summer, though I’d liked it better if you’d faced up and told me you were promised; but to come back here babying, and take hold of Elnora like that, and talk that way because you have had a fuss with your girl, I don’t tolerate. Split that kindling and I’ll get your supper, and then you better go. I won’t have you working on Elnora’s big heart, because you have quarrelled with some one else. You’ll have it patched up in a week and be gone again, so you can go right away.”
“Mrs. Comstock, I came to ask Elnora to marry me.”
“The more fool you, then!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “This time yesterday you were engaged to another woman, no doubt. Now, for some little flare-up you come racing here to use Elnora as a tool to spite the other girl. A week of sane living, and you will be sorry and ready to go back to Chicago, or, if you really are man enough to be sure of yourself, she will come to claim you. She has her rights. An engagement of years is a serious matter, and not broken for a whim. If you don’t go, she’ll come. Then, when you patch up your affairs and go sailing away together, where does my girl come in?”
“I am a lawyer, Mrs. Comstock,” said Philip. “It appeals to me as beneath your ordinary sense of justice to decide a case without hearing the evidence. It is due me that you hear me first.”
“Hear your side!” flashed Mrs. Comstock. “I’d a heap sight rather hear the girl!”
“I wish to my soul that you had heard and seen her last night, Mrs. Comstock,” said Ammon. “Then, my way would be clear. I never even thought of coming here to-day. I’ll admit I would have come in time, but not for many months. My father sent me.”
“Your father sent you! Why?”
“Father, mother, and Polly were present last night. They, and all my friends, saw me insulted and disgraced in the worst exhibition of uncontrolled temper any of us ever witnessed. All of them knew it was the end. Father liked what I had told him of Elnora, and he advised me to come here, so I came. If she does not want me, I can leave instantly, but, oh I hoped she would understand!”
“You people are not splitting wood,” called Elnora.
“Oh yes we are!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “You set out the things for biscuit, and lay the table.” She turned again to Philip. “I know considerable about your father,” she said. “I have met your Uncle’s family frequently this winter. I’ve heard your Aunt Anna say that she didn’t at all like Miss Carr, and that she and all your family secretly hoped that something would happen to prevent your marrying her. That chimes right in with your saying that your father sent you here. I guess you better speak your piece.”
Philip gave his version of the previous night.
“Do you believe me?” he finished.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Comstock.
“May I stay?”
“Oh, it looks all right for you, but what about her?”
“Nothing, so far as I am concerned. Her plans were all made to start to Europe to-day. I suspect she is on the way by this time. Elnora is very sensible, Mrs. Comstock. Hadn’t you better let her decide this?”
“The final decision rests with her, of course,” admitted Mrs. Comstock. “But look you one thing! She’s all I have. As Solomon says, `she is the one child, the only child of her mother.’ I’ve suffered enough in this world that I fight against any suffering which threatens her. So far as I know you’ve always been a man, and you may stay. But if you bring tears and heartache to her, don’t have the assurance to think I’ll bear it tamely. I’ll get right up and fight like a catamount, if things go wrong for Elnora!”
“I have no doubt but you will,” replied Philip, “and I don’t blame you in the least if you do. I have the utmost devotion to offer Elnora, a good home, fair social position, and my family will love her dearly. Think it over. I know it is sudden, but my father advised it.”
“Yes, I reckon he did!” said Mrs. Comstock dryly. “I guess instead of me being the catamount, you had the genuine article up in Chicago, masquerading in peacock feathers, and posing as a fine lady, until her time came to scratch. Human nature seems to be the same the world over. But I’d give a pretty to know that secret thing you say you don’t, that set her raving over your just catching a moth for Elnora. You might get that crock of strawberries in the spring house.”
They prepared and ate supper. Afterward they sat in the arbour and talked, or Elnora played until time for Philip to go.
“Will you walk to the gate with me?” he asked Elnora as he arose.
“Not to-night,” she answered lightly. “Come early in the morning if you like, and we will go over to Sleepy Snake Creek and hunt moths and gather dandelions for dinner.”
Philip leaned toward her. “May I tell you to-morrow why I came?” he asked.
“I think not,” replied Elnora. “The fact is, I don’t care why you came. It is enough for me that we are your very good friends, and that in trouble, you have found us a refuge. I fancy we had better live a week or two before you say anything. There is a possibility that what you have to say may change in that length of time.
“It will not change one iota!” cried Philip.
“Then it will have the grace of that much age to give it some small touch of flavour,” said the girl. “Come early in the morning.”
She lifted the violin and began to play.
“Well bless my soul!” ejaculated the astounded Mrs. Comstock. “To think I was worrying for fear you couldn’t take care of yourself!”
Elnora laughed while she played.
“Shall I tell you what he said?”
“Nope! I don’t want to hear it!” said Elnora. “He is only six hours from Chicago. I’ll give her a week to find him and fix it up, if he stays that long. If she doesn’t put in an appearance then, he can tell me what he wants to say, and I’ll take my time to think it over. Time in plenty, too! There are three of us in this, and one must be left with a sore heart for life. If the decision rests with me I propose to be very sure that it is the one who deserves such hard luck.”
The next morning Philip came early, dressed in the outing clothing he had worn the previous summer, and aside from a slight paleness seemed very much the same as when he left. Elnora met him on the old footing, and for a week life went on exactly as it had the previous summer. Mrs. Comstock made mental notes and watched in silence. She could see that Elnora was on a strain, though she hoped Philip would not. The girl grew restless as the week drew to a close. Once when the gate clicked she suddenly lost colour and moved nervously. Billy came down the walk.
Philip leaned toward Mrs. Comstock and said: “I am expressly forbidden to speak to Elnora as I would like. Would you mind telling her for me that I had a letter from my father this morning saying that Miss Carr is on her way to Europe for the summer?”
“Elnora,” said Mrs. Comstock promptly, “I have just heard that Carr woman is on her way to Europe, and I wish to my gracious stars she’d stay there!”
Philip Ammon shouted, but Elnora arose hastily and went to meet Billy. They came into the arbour together and after speaking to Mrs. Comstock and Philip, Billy said: “Uncle Wesley and I found something funny, and we thought you’d like to see.”
“I don’t know what I should do without you and Uncle Wesley to help me,” said Elnora. “What have you found now?”
“Something I couldn’t bring. You have to come to it. I tried to get one and I killed it. They are a kind of insecty things, and they got a long tail that is three fine hairs. They stick those hairs right into the hard bark of trees, and if you pull, the hairs stay fast and it kills the bug.”
“We will come at once,” laughed Elnora. “I know what they are, and I can use some in my work.”
“Billy, have you been crying?” inquired Mrs. Comstock.
Billy lifted a chastened face. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “This has been the worst day.”
“What’s the matter with the day?”
“The day is all right,” admitted Billy. “I mean every single thing has gone wrong with me.”
“Now that is too bad!” sympathized Mrs. Comstock.
“Began early this morning,” said Billy. “All Snap’s fault, too.”
“What has poor Snap been doing?” demanded Mrs. Comstock, her eyes beginning to twinkle.
“Digging for woodchucks, like he always does. He gets up at two o’clock to dig for them. He was coming in from the woods all tired and covered thick with dirt. I was going to the barn with the pail of water for Uncle Wesley to use in milking. I had to set down the pail to shut the gate so the chickens wouldn’t get into the flower beds, and old Snap stuck his dirty nose into the water and began to lap it down. I knew Uncle Wesley wouldn’t use that, so I had to go ‘way back to the cistern for more, and it pumps awful hard. Made me mad, so I threw the water on Snap.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Nothing, if he’d stood still. But it scared him awful, and when he’s afraid he goes a-humping for Aunt Margaret. When he got right up against her he stiffened out and gave a big shake. You oughter seen the nice blue dress she had put on to go to Onabasha!”
Mrs. Comstock and Philip laughed, but Elnora put her arms around the boy. “Oh Billy!” she cried. “That was too bad!”
“She got up early and ironed that dress to wear because it was cool. Then, when it was all dirty, she wouldn’t go, and she wanted to real bad.” Billy wiped his eyes. “That ain’t all, either,” he added.
“We’d like to know about it, Billy,” suggested Mrs. Comstock, struggling with her face.
“Cos she couldn’t go to the city, she’s most worked herself to death. She’s done all the dirty, hard jobs she could find. She’s fixing her grape juice now.”
“Sure!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “When a woman is disappointed she always works like a dog to gain sympathy!”
“Well, Uncle Wesley and I are sympathizing all we know how, without her working so. I’ve squeezed until I almost busted to get the juice out from the seeds and skins. That’s the hard part. Now, she has to strain it through white flannel and seal it in bottles, and it’s good for sick folks. Most wish I’d get sick myself, so I could have a glass. It’s so good!”
Elnora glanced swiftly at her mother.
“I worked so hard,” continued Billy, “that she said if I would throw the leavings in the woods, then I could come after you to see about the bugs. Do you want to go?”
“We will all go,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I am mightily interested in those bugs myself.”
From afar commotion could be seen at the Sinton home. Wesley and Margaret were running around wildly and peculiar sounds filled the air.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Philip, hurrying to Wesley.
“Cholera!” groaned Sinton. “My hogs are dying like flies.”
Margaret was softly crying. “Wesley, can’t I fix something hot? Can’t we do anything? It means several hundred dollars and our winter meat.”
“I never saw stock taken so suddenly and so hard,” said Wesley. “I have ‘phoned for the veterinary to come as soon as he can get here.”
All of them hurried to the feeding pen into which the pigs seemed to be gathering from the woods. Among the common stock were big white beasts of pedigree which were Wesley’s pride at county fairs. Several of these rolled on their backs, pawing the air feebly and emitting little squeaks. A huge Berkshire sat on his haunches, slowly shaking his head, the water dropping from his eyes, until he, too, rolled over with faint grunts. A pair crossing the yard on wavering legs collided, and attacked each other in anger, only to fall, so weak they scarcely could squeal. A fine snowy Plymouth Rock rooster, after several attempts, flew to the fence, balanced with great effort, wildly flapped his wings and started a guttural crow, but fell sprawling among the pigs, too helpless to stand.
“Did you ever see such a dreadful sight?” sobbed Margaret.
Billy climbed on the fence, took one long look and turned an astounded face to Wesley.
“Why them pigs is drunk!” he cried. “They act just like my pa!”
Wesley turned to Margaret.
“Where did you put the leavings from that grape juice?” he demanded.
“I sent Billy to throw it in the woods.”
“Billy—-” began Wesley.
“Threw it just where she told me to,” cried Billy. But some of the pigs came by there coming into the pen, and some were close in the fence corners.”
“Did they eat it?” demanded Wesley.
“They just chanked into it,” replied Billy graphically. “They pushed, and squealed, and fought over it. You couldn’t blame ’em! It was the best stuff I ever tasted!”
“Margaret,” said Wesley, “run ‘phone that doctor he won’t be needed. Billy, take Elnora and Mr. Ammon to see the bugs. Katharine, suppose you help me a minute.”
Wesley took the clothes basket from the back porch and started in the direction of the cellar. Margaret returned from the telephone.
“I just caught him,” she said. “There’s that much saved. Why Wesley, what are you going to do?”
“You go sit on the front porch a little while,” said Wesley. “You will feel better if you don’t see this.”
“Wesley,” cried Margaret aghast. “Some of that wine is ten years old. There are days and days of hard work in it, and I couldn’t say how much sugar. Dr. Ammon keeps people alive with it when nothing else will stay on their stomachs.”
“Let ’em die, then!” said Wesley. “You heard the boy, didn’t you?”
“It’s a cold process. There’s not a particle of fermentation about it.”
“Not a particle of fermentation! Great day, Margaret! Look at those pigs!”
Margaret took a long look. “Leave me a few bottles for mince-meat,” she wavered.
“Not a smell for any use on this earth! You heard the boy! He shan’t say, when he grows to manhood, that he learned to like it here!”
Wesley threw away the wine, Mrs. Comstock cheerfully assisting. Then they walked to the woods to see and learn about the wonderful insects. The day ended with a big supper at Sintons’, and then they went to the Comstock cabin for a concert. Elnora played beautifully that night. When the Sintons left she kissed Billy with particular tenderness. She was so moved that she was kinder to Philip than she had intended to be, and Elnora as an antidote to a disappointed lover was a decided success in any mood.
However strong the attractions of Edith Carr had been, once the bond was finally broken, Philip Ammon could not help realizing that Elnora was the superior woman, and that he was fortunate to have escaped, when he regarded his ties strongest. Every day, while working with Elnora, he saw more to admire. He grew very thankful that he was free to try to win her, and impatient to justify himself to her.
Elnora did not evince the slightest haste to hear what he had to say, but waited the week she had set, in spite of Philip’s hourly manifest impatience. When she did consent to listen, Philip felt before he had talked five minutes, that she was putting herself in Edith Carr’s place, and judging him from what the other girl’s standpoint would be. That was so disconcerting, he did not plead his cause nearly so well as he had hoped, for when he ceased Elnora sat in silence.
“You are my judge,” he said at last. “What is your verdict?”
“If I could hear her speak from her heart as I just have heard you, then I could decide,” answered Elnora.
“She is on the ocean,” said Philip. “She went because she knew she was wholly in the wrong. She had nothing to say, or she would have remained.”
“That sounds plausible,” reasoned Elnora, “but it is pretty difficult to find a woman in an affair that involves her heart with nothing at all to say. I fancy if I could meet her, she would say several things. I should love to hear them. If I could talk with her three minutes, I could tell what answer to make you.”
“Don’t you believe me, Elnora?”
“Unquestioningly,” answered Elnora. “But I would believe her also. If only I could meet her I soon would know.”
“I don’t see how that is to be accomplished,” said Philip, “but I am perfectly willing. There is no reason why you should not meet her, except that she probably would lose her temper and insult you.”
“Not to any extent,” said Elnora calmly. “I have a tongue of my own, while I am not without some small sense of personal values.”
Philip glanced at her and began to laugh. Very different of facial formation and colouring, Elnora at times closely resembled her mother. She joined in his laugh ruefully.
“The point is this,” she said. “Some one is going to be hurt, most dreadfully. If the decision as to whom it shall be rests with me, I must know it is the right one. Of course, no one ever hinted it to you, but you are a very attractive man, Philip. You are mighty good to look at, and you have a trained, refined mind, that makes you most interesting. For years Edith Carr has felt that you were hers. Now, how is she going to change? I have been thinking–thinking deep and long, Phil. If I were in her place, I simply could not give you up, unless you had made yourself unworthy of love. Undoubtedly, you never seemed so desirable to her as just now, when she is told she can’t have you. What I think is that she will come to claim you yet.”
“You overlook the fact that it is not in a woman’s power to throw away a man and pick him up at pleasure,” said Philip with some warmth. “She publicly and repeatedly cast me off. I accepted her decision as publicly as it was made. You have done all your thinking from a wrong viewpoint. You seem to have an idea that it lies with you to decide what I shall do, that if you say the word, I shall return to Edith. Put that thought out of your head! Now, and for all time to come, she is a matter of indifference to me. She killed all feeling in my heart for her so completely that I do not even dread meeting her.
“If I hated her, or was angry with her, I could not be sure the feeling would not die. As it is, she has deadened me into a creature of indifference. So you just revise your viewpoint a little, Elnora. Cease thinking it is for you to decide what I shall do, and that I will obey you. I make my own decisions in reference to any woman, save you. The question you are to decide is whether I may remain here, associating with you as I did last summer; but with the difference that it is understood that I am free; that it is my intention to care for you all I please, to make you return my feeling for you if I can. There is just one question for you to decide, and it is not triangular. It is between us. May I remain? May I love you? Will you give me the chance to prove what I think of you?”
“You speak very plainly,” said Elnora.
“This is the time to speak plainly,” said Philip Ammon. “There is no use in allowing you to go on threshing out a problem which does not exist. If you do not want me here, say so and I will go. Of course, I warn you before I start, that I will come back. I won’t yield without the stiffest fight it is in me to make. But drop thinking it lies in your power to send me back to Edith Carr. If she were the last woman in the world, and I the last man, I’d jump off the planet before I would give her further opportunity to exercise her temper on me. Narrow this to us, Elnora. Will you take the place she vacated? Will you take the heart she threw away? I’d give my right hand and not flinch, if I could offer you my life, free from any contact with hers, but that is not possible. I can’t undo things which are done. I can only profit by experience and build better in the future.”
“I don’t see how you can be sure of yourself,” said Elnora. “I don’t see how I could be sure of you. You loved her first, you never can care for me anything like that. Always I’d have to be afraid you were thinking of her and regretting.”
“Folly!” cried Philip. “Regretting what? That I was not married to a woman who was liable to rave at me any time or place, without my being conscious of having given offence? A man does relish that! I am likely to pine for more!”
“You’d be thinking she’d learned a lesson. You would think it wouldn’t happen again.”
“No, I wouldn’t be `thinking,'” said, Philip. “I’d be everlastingly sure! I wouldn’t risk what I went through that night again, not to save my life! Just you and me, Elnora. Decide for us.”
“I can’t!” cried Elnora. “I am afraid!”
“Very well,” said Philip. “We will wait until you feel that you can. Wait until fear vanishes. Just decide now whether you would rather have me go for a few months, or remain with you. Which shall it be, Elnora?”
“You can never love me as you did her,” wailed Elnora.
“I am happy to say I cannot,” replied he. “I’ve cut my matrimonial teeth. I’m cured of wanting to swell in society. I’m over being proud of a woman for her looks alone. I have no further use for lavishing myself on a beautiful, elegantly dressed creature, who thinks only of self. I have learned that I am a common man. I admire beauty and beautiful clothing quite as much as I ever did; but, first, I want an understanding, deep as the lowest recess of my soul, with the woman I marry. I want to work for you, to plan for you, to build you a home with every comfort, to give you all good things I can, to shield you from every evil. I want to interpose my body between yours and fire, flood, or famine. I want to give you everything; but I hate the idea of getting nothing at all on which I can depend in return. Edith Carr had only good looks to offer, and when anger overtook her, beauty went out like a snuffed candle.
“I want you to love me. I want some consideration. I even crave respect. I’ve kept myself clean. So far as I know how to be, I am honest and scrupulous. It wouldn’t hurt me to feel that you took some interest in these things. Rather fierce temptations strike a man, every few days, in this world. I can keep decent, for a woman who cares for decency, but when I do, I’d like to have the fact recognized, by just enough of a show of appreciation that I could see it. I am tired of this one- sided business. After this, I want to get a little in return for what I give. Elnora, you have love, tenderness, and honest appreciation of the finest in life. Take what I offer, and give what I ask.”
“You do not ask much,” said Elnora.
“As for not loving you as I did Edith,” continued Philip, “as I said before, I hope not! I have a newer and a better idea of loving. The feeling I offer you was inspired by you. It is a Limberlost product. It is as much bigger, cleaner, and more wholesome than any feeling I ever had for Edith Carr, as you are bigger than she, when you stand before your classes and in calm dignity explain the marvels of the Almighty, while she stands on a ballroom floor, and gives way to uncontrolled temper. Ye gods, Elnora, if you could look into my soul, you would see it leap and rejoice over my escape! Perhaps it isn’t decent, but it’s human; and I’m only a common human being. I’m the gladdest man alive that I’m free! I would turn somersaults and yell if I dared. What an escape! Stop straining after Edith Carr’s viewpoint and take a look from mine. Put yourself in my place and try to study out how I feel.
“I am so happy I grow religious over it. Fifty times a day I catch myself whispering, `My soul is escaped!’ As for you, take all the time you want. If you prefer to be alone, I’ll take the next train and stay away as long as I can bear it, but I’ll come back. You can be most sure of that. Straight as your pigeons to their loft, I’ll come back to you, Elnora. Shall I go?”
“Oh, what’s the use to be extravagant?” murmured Elnora.
CHAPTER XXII
WHEREIN PHILIP AMMON KNEELS TO ELNORA, AND STRANGERS COME TO THE LIMBERLOST
The month which followed was a reproduction of the previous June. There were long moth hunts, days of specimen gathering, wonderful hours with great books, big dinners all of them helped to prepare, and perfect nights filled with music. Everything was as it had been, with the difference that Philip was now an avowed suitor. He missed no opportunity to advance himself in Elnora’s graces. At the end of the month he was no nearer any sort of understanding with her than he had been at the beginning. He revelled in the privilege of loving her, but he got no response. Elnora believed in his love, yet she hesitated to accept him, because she could not forget Edith Carr.
One afternoon early in July, Philip came across the fields, through the Comstock woods, and entered the garden. He inquired for Elnora at the back door and was told that she was reading under the willow. He went around the west end of the cabin to her. She sat on a rustic bench they had made and placed beneath a drooping branch. He had not seen her before in the dress she was wearing. It was clinging mull of pale green, trimmed with narrow ruffles and touched with knots of black velvet; a simple dress, but vastly becoming. Every tint of her bright hair, her luminous eyes, her red lips, and her rose-flushed face, neck, and arms grew a little more vivid with the delicate green setting.
He stopped short. She was so near, so temptingly sweet, he lost control. He went to her with a half- smothered cry after that first long look, dropped on one knee beside her and reached an arm behind her to the bench back, so that he was very near. He caught her hands.
“Elnora!” he cried tensely, “end it now! Say this strain is over. I pledge you that you will be happy. You don’t know! If you only would say the word, you would awake to new life and great joy! Won’t you promise me now, Elnora?”
The girl sat staring into the west woods, while strong in her eyes was her father’s look of seeing something invisible to others. Philip’s arm slipped from the bench around her. His fingers closed firmly over hers. Elnora,” he pleaded, “you know me well enough. You have had time in plenty. End it now. Say you will be mine!” He gathered her closer, pressing his face against hers, his breath on her cheek. “Can’t you quite promise yet, my girl of the Limberlost?”
Elnora shook her head. Instantly he released her.
“Forgive me,” he begged. “I had no intention of thrusting myself upon you, but, Elnora, you are the veriest Queen of Love this afternoon. From the tips of your toes to your shining crown, I worship you. I want no woman save you. You are so wonderful this afternoon, I couldn’t help urging. Forgive me. Perhaps it was something that came this morning for you. I wrote Polly to send it. May we try if it fits? Will you tell me if you like it?”
He drew a little white velvet box from his pocket and showed her a splendid emerald ring.
“It may not be right,” he said. “The inside of a glove finger is not very accurate for a measure, but it was the best I could do. I wrote Polly to get it, because she and mother are home from the East this week, but next they will go on to our cottage in the north, and no one knows what is right quite so well as Polly.” He laid the ring in Elnora’s hand. “Dearest,” he said, “don’t slip that on your finger; put your arms around my neck and promise me, all at once and abruptly, or I’ll keel over and die of sheer joy.”
Elnora smiled.
“I won’t! Not all those venturesome things at once; but, Phil, I’m ashamed to confess that ring simply fascinates me. It is the most beautiful one I ever saw, and do you know that I never owned a ring of any kind in my life? Would you think me unwomanly if I slip it on for a second, before I can say for sure? Phil, you know I care! I care very much! You know I will tell you the instant I feel right about it.”
“Certainly you will,” agreed Philip promptly. “It is your right to take all the time you choose. I can’t put that ring on you until it means a bond between us. I’ll shut my eyes and you try it on, so we can see if it fits.” Philip turned his face toward the west woods and tightly closed his eyes. It was a boyish thing to do, and it caught the hesitating girl in the depths of her heart as the boy element in a man ever appeals to a motherly woman. Before she quite realized what she was doing, the ring slid on her finger. With both arms she caught Philip and drew him to her breast, holding him closely. Her head drooped over his, her lips were on his hair. So an instant, then her arms dropped. He lifted a convulsed, white face.
“Dear Lord!” he whispered. “You–you didn’t mean that, Elnora! You—- What made you do it?”
“You–you looked so boyish!” panted Elnora. “I didn’t mean it! I–I forgot that you were older than Billy. Look–look at the ring!”
“`The Queen can do no wrong,'” quoted Philip between his set teeth. “But don’t you do that again, Elnora, unless you do mean it. Kings are not so good as queens, and there is a limit with all men. As you say, we will look at your ring. It seems very lovely to me. Suppose you leave it on until time for me to go. Please do! I have heard of mute appeals; perhaps it will plead for me. I am wild for your lips this afternoon. I am going to take your hands.”
He caught both of them and covered them with kisses.
“Elnora,” he said, “Will you be my wife?”
“I must have a little more time,” she whispered. “I must be absolutely certain, for when I say yes, and give myself to you, only death shall part us. I would not give you up. So I want a little more time–but, I think I will.”
“Thank you,” said Philip. “If at any time you feel that you have reached a decision, will you tell me? Will you promise me to tell me instantly, or shall I keep asking you until the time comes?”
“You make it difficult,” said Elnora. “But I will promise you that. Whenever the last doubt vanishes, I will let you know instantly–if I can.”
“Would it be difficult for you?” whispered Ammon.
“I–I don’t know,” faltered Elnora.
“It seems as if I can’t be man enough to put this thought aside and give up this afternoon,” said Philip. “I am ashamed of myself, but I can’t help it. I am going to ask God to make that last doubt vanish before I go this night. I am going to believe that ring will plead for me. I am going to hope that doubt will disappear suddenly. I will be watching. Every second I will be watching. If it happens and you can’t speak, give me your hand. Just the least movement toward me, I will understand. Would it help you to talk this over with your mother? Shall I call her? Shall I—-?”
Honk! Honk! Honk! Hart Henderson set the horn of the big automobile going as it shot from behind the trees lining the Brushwood road. The picture of a vine- covered cabin, a large drooping tree, a green-clad girl and a man bending over her very closely flashed into view. Edith Carr caught her breath with a snap. Polly Ammon gave Tom Levering a quick touch and wickedly winked at him.
Several days before, Edith had returned from Europe suddenly. She and Henderson had called at the Ammon residence saying that they were going to motor down to the Limberlost to see Philip a few hours, and urged that Polly and Tom accompany them. Mrs. Ammon knew that her husband would disapprove of the trip, but it was easy to see that Edith Carr had determined on going. So the mother thought it better to have Polly along to support Philip than to allow him to confront Edith unexpectedly and alone. Polly was full of spirit. She did not relish the thought of Edith as a sister. Always they had been in the same set, always Edith, because of greater beauty and wealth, had patronized Polly. Although it had rankled, she had borne it sweetly. But two days before, her father had extracted a promise of secrecy, given her Philip’s address and told her to send him the finest emerald ring she could select. Polly knew how that ring would be used. What she did not know was that the girl who accompanied her went back to the store afterward, made an excuse to the clerk that she had been sent to be absolutely sure that the address was right, and so secured it for Edith Carr.
Two days later Edith had induced Hart Henderson to take her to Onabasha. By the aid of maps they located the Comstock land and passed it, merely to see the place. Henderson hated that trip, and implored Edith not to take it, but she made no effort to conceal from him what she suffered, and it was more than he could endure. He pointed out that Philip had gone away without leaving an address, because he did not wish to see her, or any of them. But Edith was so sure of her power, she felt certain Philip needed only to see her to succumb to her beauty as he always had done, while now she was ready to plead for forgiveness. So they came down the Brushwood road, and Henderson had just said to Edith beside him: “This should be the Comstock land on our left.”
A minute later the wood ended, while the sunlight, as always pitiless, etched with distinctness the scene at the west end of the cabin. Instinctively, to save Edith, Henderson set the horn blowing. He had thought to drive to the city, but Polly Ammon arose crying: “Phil! Phil!” Tom Levering was on his feet shouting and waving, while Edith in her most imperial manner ordered him to turn into the lane leading through the woods beside the cabin.
“Find some way for me to have a minute alone with her,” she commanded as he stopped the car.
“That is my sister Polly, her fiance Tom Levering, a friend of mine named Henderson, and—-” began Philip,
“–and Edith Carr,” volunteered Elnora.
“And Edith Carr,” repeated Philip Ammon. “Elnora, be brave, for my sake. Their coming can make no difference in any way. I won’t let them stay but a few minutes. Come with me!”
“Do I seem scared?” inquired Elnora serenely. “This is why you haven’t had your answer. I have been waiting just six weeks for that motor. You may bring them to me at the arbour.”
Philip glanced at her and broke into a laugh. She had not lost colour. Her self-possession was perfect. She deliberately turned and walked toward the grape arbour, while he sprang over the west fence and ran to the car.
Elnora standing in the arbour entrance made a perfect picture, framed in green leaves and tendrils. No matter how her heart ached, it was good to her, for it pumped steadily, and kept her cheeks and lips suffused with colour. She saw Philip reach the car and gather his sister into his arms. Past her he reached a hand to Levering, then to Edith Carr and Henderson. He lifted his sister to the ground, and assisted Edith to alight. Instantly, she stepped beside him, and Elnora’s heart played its first trick.
She could see that Miss Carr was splendidly beautiful, while she moved with the hauteur and grace supposed to be the prerogatives of royalty. And she had instantly taken possession of Philip. But he also had a brain which was working with rapidity. He knew Elnora was watching, so he turned to the others.
“Give her up, Tom!” he cried. “I didn’t know I wanted to see the little nuisance so badly, but I do. How are father and mother? Polly, didn’t the mater send me something?”
“She did!” said Polly Ammon, stopping on the path and lifting her chin as a little child, while she drew away her veil.
Philip caught her in his arms and stooped for his mother’s kiss.
“Be good to Elnora!” he whispered.
“Umhu!” assented Polly. And aloud–“Look at that ripping green and gold symphony! I never saw such a beauty! Thomas Asquith Levering, you come straight here and take my hand!”
Edith’s move to compel Philip to approach Elnora beside her had been easy to see; also its failure. Henderson stepped into Philip’s place as he turned to his sister. Instead of taking Polly’s hand Levering ran to open the gate. Edith passed through first, but Polly darted in front of her on the run, with Phil holding her arm, and swept up to Elnora. Polly looked for the ring and saw it. That settled matters with her.
“You lovely, lovely, darling girl!” she cried, throwing her arms around Elnora and kissing her. With her lips close Elnora’s ear, Polly whispered, “Sister! Dear, dear sister!”
Elnora drew back, staring at Polly in confused amazement. She was a beautiful girl, her eyes were sparkling and dancing, and as she turned to make way for the others, she kept one of Elnora’s hands in hers. Polly would have dropped dead in that instant if Edith Carr could have killed with a look, for not until then did she realize that Polly would even many a slight, and that it had been a great mistake to bring her.
Edith bowed low, muttered something and touched Elnora’s fingers. Tom took his cue from Polly.
“I always follow a good example,” he said, and before any one could divine his intention he kissed Elnora as he gripped her hand and cried: “Mighty glad to meet you! Like to meet you a dozen times a day, you know!”
Elnora laughed and her heart pumped smoothly. They had accomplished their purpose. They had let her know they were there through compulsion, but on her side. In that instant only pity was in Elnora’s breast for the flashing dark beauty, standing with smiling face while her heart must have been filled with exceeding bitterness. Elnora stepped back from the entrance.
“Come into the shade,” she urged. “You must have found it warm on these country roads. Won’t you lay aside your dust-coats and have a cool drink? Philip, would you ask mother to come, and bring that pitcher from the spring house?”
They entered the arbour exclaiming at the dim, green coolness. There was plenty of room and wide seats around the sides, a table in the centre, on which lay a piece of embroidery, magazines, books, the moth apparatus, and the cyanide jar containing several specimens. Polly rejoiced in the cooling shade, slipped off her duster, removed her hat, rumpled her pretty hair and seated herself to indulge in the delightful occupation of paying off old scores. Tom Levering followed her example. Edith took a seat but refused to remove her hat and coat, while Henderson stood in the entrance.
“There goes something with wings! Should you have that?” cried Levering.
He seized a net from the table and raced across the garden after a butterfly. He caught it and came back mightily pleased with himself. As the creature struggled in the net, Elnora noted a repulsed look on Edith Carr’s face. Levering helped the situation beautifully.
“Now what have I got?” he demanded. “Is it just a common one that every one knows and you don’t keep, or is it the rarest bird off the perch?”
“You must have had practice, you took that so perfectly,” said Elnora. “I am sorry, but it is quite common and not of a kind I keep. Suppose all of you see how beautiful it is and then it may go nectar hunting again.”
She held the butterfly where all of them could see, showed its upper and under wing colours, answered Polly’s questions as to what it ate, how long it lived, and how it died. Then she put it into Polly’s hand saying: “Stand there in the light and loosen your hold slowly and easily.”
Elnora caught a brush from the table and began softly stroking the creature’s sides and wings. Delighted with the sensation the butterfly opened and closed its wings, clinging to Polly’s soft little fingers, while every one cried out in surprise. Elnora laid aside the brush, and the butterfly sailed away.
“Why, you are a wizard! You charm them!” marvelled Levering.
“I learned that from the Bird Woman,” said Elnora. “She takes soft brushes and coaxes butterflies and moths into the positions she wants for the illustrations of a book she is writing. I have helped her often. Most of the rare ones I find go to her.”
“Then you don’t keep all you take?” questioned Levering.
“Oh, dear, no!” cried Elnora. “Not a tenth! For myself, a pair of each kind to use in illustrating the lectures I give in the city schools in the winter, and one pair for each collection I make. One might as well keep the big night moths of June, for they only live four or five days anyway. For the Bird Woman, I only save rare ones she has not yet secured. Sometimes I think it is cruel to take such creatures from freedom, even for an hour, but it is the only way to teach the masses of people how to distinguish the pests they should destroy, from the harmless ones of great beauty. Here comes mother with something cool to drink.”
Mrs. Comstock came deliberately, talking to Philip as she approached. Elnora gave her one searching look, but could discover only an extreme brightness of eye to denote any unusual feeling. She wore one of her lavender dresses, while her snowy hair was high piled. She had taken care of her complexion, and her face had grown fuller during the winter. She might have been any one’s mother with pride, and she was perfectly at ease.
Polly instantly went to her and held up her face to be kissed. Mrs. Comstock’s eyes twinkled and she made the greeting hearty.
The drink was compounded of the juices of oranges and berries from the garden. It was cool enough to frost glasses and pitcher and delicious to dusty tired travellers. Soon the pitcher was empty, and Elnora picked it up and went to refill it. While she was gone Henderson asked Philip about some trouble he was having with his car. They went to the woods and began a minute examination to find a defect which did not exist. Polly and Levering were having an animated conversation with Mrs. Comstock. Henderson saw Edith arise, follow the garden path next the woods and stand waiting under the willow which Elnora would pass on her return. It was for that meeting he had made the trip. He got down on the ground, tore up the car, worked, asked for help, and kept Philip busy screwing bolts and applying the oil can. All the time Henderson kept an eye on Edith and Elnora under the willow. But he took pains to lay the work he asked Philip to do where that scene would be out of his sight. When Elnora came around the corner with the pitcher, she found herself facing Edith Carr.
“I want a minute with you,” said Miss Carr.
“Very well,” replied Elnora, walking on.
“Set the pitcher on the bench there,” commanded Edith Carr, as if speaking to a servant.
“I prefer not to offer my visitors a warm drink,” said Elnora. “I’ll come back if you really wish to speak with me.”
“I came solely for that,” said Edith Carr.
“It would be a pity to travel so far in this dust and heat for nothing. I’ll only be gone a second.”
Elnora placed the pitcher before her mother. “Please serve this,” she said. “Miss Carr wishes to speak with me.”
“Don’t you pay the least attention to anything she says,” cried Polly. “Tom and I didn’t come here because we wanted to. We only came to checkmate her. I hoped I’d get the opportunity to say a word to you, and now she has given it to me. I just want to tell you that she threw Phil over in perfectly horrid way. She hasn’t any right to lay the ghost of a claim to him, has she, Tom?”
“Nary a claim,” said Tom Levering earnestly. “Why, even you, Polly, couldn’t serve me as she did Phil, and ever get me back again. If I were you, Miss Comstock, I’d send my mother to talk with her and I’d stay here.”
Tom had gauged Mrs. Comstock rightly. Polly put her arms around Elnora. “Let me go with you, dear,” she begged.
“I promised I would speak with her alone,” said Elnora, “and she must be considered. But thank you, very much.”
“How I shall love you!” exulted Polly, giving Elnora a parting hug.
The girl slowly and gravely walked back to the willow. She could not imagine what was coming, but she was promising herself that she would be very patient and control her temper.
“Will you be seated?” she asked politely.
Edith Carr glanced at the bench, while a shudder shook her.
“No. I prefer to stand,” she said. “Did Mr. Ammon give you the ring you are wearing, and do you consider yourself engaged to him?”
“By what right do you ask such personal questions as those?” inquired Elnora.
“By the right of a betrothed wife. I have been promised to Philip Ammon ever since I wore short skirts. All our lives we have expected to marry. An agreement of years cannot be broken in one insane moment. Always he has loved me devotedly. Give me ten minutes with him and he will be mine for all time.”
“I seriously doubt that,” said Elnora. “But I am willing that you should make the test. I will call him.”
“Stop!” commanded Edith Carr. “I told you that it was you I came to see.”
“I remember,” said Elnora.
“Mr. Ammon is my betrothed,” continued Edith Carr. “I expect to take him back to Chicago with me.”
“You expect considerable,” murmured Elnora. “I will raise no objection to your taking him, if you can–but, I tell you frankly, I don’t think it possible.”
“You are so sure of yourself as that,” scoffed Edith Carr. “One hour in my presence will bring back the old spell, full force. We belong to each other. I will not give him up.”
“Then it is untrue that you twice rejected his ring, repeatedly insulted him, and publicly renounced him?”
“That was through you!” cried Edith Carr. “Phil and I never had been so near and so happy as we were on that night. It was your clinging to him for things that caused him to desert me among his guests, while he tried to make me await your pleasure. I realize the spell of this place, for a summer season. I understand what you and your mother have done to inveigle him. I know that your hold on him is quite real. I can see just how you have worked to ensnare him!”
“Men would call that lying,” said Elnora calmly. “The second time I met Philip Ammon he told me of his engagement to you, and I respected it. I did by you as I would want you to do by me. He was here parts of each day, almost daily last summer. The Almighty is my witness that never once, by word or look, did I ever make the slightest attempt to interest him in my person or personality. He wrote you frequently in my presence. He forgot the violets for which he asked to send you. I gathered them and carried them to him. I sent him back to you in unswerving devotion, and the Almighty is also my witness that I could have changed his heart last summer, if I had tried. I wisely left that work for you. All my life I shall be glad that I lived and worked on the square. That he ever would come back to me free, by your act, I never dreamed. When he left me I did not hope or expect to see him again,” Elnora’s voice fell soft and low,” and, behold! You sent him–and free!”
“You exult in that!” cried Edith Carr. “Let me tell you he is not free! We have belonged for years. We always shall. If you cling to him, and hold him to rash things he has said and done, because he thought me still angry and unforgiving with him, you will ruin all our lives. If he married you, before a month you would read heart-hunger for me in his eyes. He could not love me as he has done, and give me up for a little scene like that!”
“There is a great poem,” said Elnora, “one line of which reads, `For each man kills the thing he loves.’ Let me tell you that a woman can do that also. He did love you –that I concede. But you killed his love everlastingly, when you disgraced him in public. Killed it so completely he does not even feel resentment toward you. To-day, he would do you a favour, if he could; but love you, no! That is over!”
Edith Carr stood truly regal and filled with scorn. “You are mistaken! Nothing on earth could kill that!” she cried, and Elnora saw that the girl really believed what she said.
“You are very sure of yourself!” said Elnora.
“I have reason to be sure,” answered Edith Carr.
“We have lived and loved too long. I have had years with him to match against your days. He is mine! His work, his ambitions, his friends, his place in society are with me. You may have a summer charm for a sick man in the country; if he tried placing you in society, he soon would see you as others will. It takes birth to position, schooling, and endless practice to meet social demands gracefully. You would put him to shame in a week.”
“I scarcely think I should follow your example so far,” said Elnora dryly. “I have a feeling for Philip that would prevent my hurting him purposely, either in public or private. As for managing a social career for him he never mentioned that he desired such a thing. What he asked of me was that I should be his wife. I understood that to mean that he desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness.”
“Shameless!” cried Edith Carr.
“To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply?” inquired Elnora. “I never was less ashamed in all my life. Please remember I am in my own home, and your presence here is not on my invitation.”
Miss Carr lifted her head and struggled with her veil. She was very pale and trembling violently, while Elnora stood serene, a faint smile on her lips.
“Such vulgarity!” panted Edith Carr. “How can a man like Philip endure it?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” inquired Elnora. “I can call him with one breath; but, if he judged us as we stand, I should not be the one to tremble at his decision. Miss Carr, you have been quite plain. You have told me in carefully selected words what you think of me. You insult my birth, education, appearance, and home. I assure you I am legitimate. I will pass a test examination with you on any high school or supplementary branch, or French or German. I will take a physical examination beside you. I will face any social emergency you can mention with you. I am acquainted with a whole world in which Philip Ammon is keenly interested, that you scarcely know exists. I am not afraid to face any audience you can get together anywhere with my violin. I am not repulsive to look at, and I have a wholesome regard for the proprieties and civilities of life. Philip Ammon never asked anything more of me, why should you?”
“It is plain to see,” cried Edith Carr, “that you took him when he was hurt and angry and kept his wound wide open. Oh, what have you not done against me?”
“I did not promise to marry him when an hour ago he asked me, and offered me this ring, because there was so much feeling in my heart for you, that I knew I never could be happy, if I felt that in any way I had failed in doing justice to your interests. I did slip on this ring, which he had just brought, because I never owned one, and it is very beautiful, but I made him no promise, nor shall I make any, until I am quite, quite sure, that you fully realize he never would marry you if I sent him away this hour.”
“You know perfectly that if your puny hold on him were broken, if he were back in his home, among his friends, and where he was meeting me, in one short week he would be mine again, as he always has been. In your heart you don’t believe what you say. You don’t dare trust him in my presence. You are afraid to allow him out of your sight, because you know what the results would be. Right or wrong, you have made up your mind to ruin him and me, and you are going to be selfish enough to do it. But—-“
“That will do!” said Elnora. “Spare me the enumeration of how I will regret it. I shall regret nothing. I shall not act until I know there will be nothing to regret. I have decided on my course. You may return to your friends.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Edith Carr.
“That is my affair,” replied Elnora. “Only this! When your opportunity comes, seize it! Any time you are in Philip Ammon’s presence, exert the charms of which you boast, and take him. I grant you are justified in doing it if you can. I want nothing more than I want to see you marry Philip if he wants you. He is just across the fence under that automobile. Go spread your meshes and exert your wiles. I won’t stir to stop you. Take him to Onabasha, and to Chicago with you. Use every art you possess. If the old charm can be revived I will be the first to wish both of you well. Now, I must return to my visitors. Kindly excuse me.”
Elnora turned and went back to the arbour. Edith Carr followed the fence and passed through the gate into the west woods where she asked Henderson about the car. As she stood near him she whispered: “Take Phil back to Onabasha with us.”
“I say, Ammon, can’t you go to the city with us and help me find a shop where I can get this pinion fixed?” asked Henderson. “We want to lunch and start back by five. That will get us home about midnight. Why don’t you bring your automobile here?”
“I am a working man,” said Philip. “I have no time to be out motoring. I can’t see anything the matter with your car, myself; but, of course you don’t want to break down in the night, on strange roads, with women on your hands. I’ll see.”
Philip went into the arbour, where Polly took possession of his lap, fingered his hair, and kissed his forehead and lips.
“When are you coming to the cottage, Phil?” she asked. “Come soon, and bring Miss Comstock for a visit. All of us will be so glad to have her.”
Philip beamed on Polly. “I’ll see about that,” he said. “Sounds pretty good. Elnora, Henderson is in trouble with his automobile. He wants me to go to Onabasha with him to show him where the doctor lives, and make repairs so he can start back this evening. It will take about two hours. May I go?”
“Of course, you must go,” she said, laughing lightly. “You can’t leave your sister. Why don’t you return to Chicago with them? There is plenty of room, and you could have a fine visit.”
“I’ll be back in just two hours,” said Philip. “While I am gone, you be thinking over what we were talking of when the folks came.”
“Miss Comstock can go with us as well as not,” said Polly. “That back seat was made for three, and I can sit on your lap.”
“Come on! Do come!” urged Philip instantly, and Tom Levering joined him, but Henderson and Edith silently waited at the gate.
“No, thank you,” laughed Elnora. “That would crowd you, and it’s warm and dusty. We will say good-bye here.”
She offered her hand to all of them, and when she came to Philip she gave him one long steady look in the eyes, then shook hands with him also.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHEREIN ELNORA REACHES A DECISION,
AND FRECKLES AND THE ANGEL APPEAR
Well, she came, didn’t she?” remarked Mrs. Comstock to Elnora as they watched the automobile speed down the road. As it turned the Limberlost corner, Philip arose and waved to them.
“She hasn’t got him yet, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock,