The Hollow of Her Hand

  CHAPTER XIV

  IN THE SHADOW OF THE MILL

  Later on Sara, in sober reflection, endorsed what had appeared atthe time to be a whimsical, quixotic proceeding on her part. Shebrought herself completely to the point where she could view heraction with complacency. At first, there was an irritating, naggingfear that Mr. Wrandall had been genuinely soul-sacrificing in hiseffort to defend her; that his decisive falsehood was a sinceredeclaration of loyalty to her and not the transparent outburst ofone actuated by a sort of fanatical selfishness, in that he dreadedthe further dragging in the dust of the name of Wrandall, and allthat in spite of his positive belief that she was being wrongly,unfairly attacked. She knew that her father-in-law had no doubt inhis mind that she could successfully combat any charge Smith mightbring against her; that her innocence would prevail even in theopinion of the scheming detective. But behind all this was theWrandall conclusion that a skin was to be saved, and that skin theone which covered the Wrandall pride.

  His lie was not glorifying. She even consented that it mightbe the first deliberate falsehood this honourable, discriminatinggentleman had told in all his life. At the moment, he may havebeen actuated by a motive that deceived him, but even unknown tohim the Wrandall self-interest was at work. He was not lying forher, but for the Wrandalls! And she would have to remain his debtorall her life because of that amiable falsehood!

  She intuitively felt the force of that secret motive almostthe instant it found expression, and she resented it even as sheapplauded it in the first wave of inward enthusiasm. She mighthave marked it down to his credit, and loved him a little for it,had not his rather distorted integrity impelled him to confess histransgression to the lawyers, whereas it was perfectly plain thatthey appreciated his distortion of the truth without having itexplained to them in so many words. That virtuous little speechof his was all-illuminating; it let in a great light and laid barethe weakness that was too strong for him.

  Her abrupt change of front, her suddenly formed resolve to pay theman his price, was the result of a natural opposition to the elderWrandall. She acted hastily, even ruthlessly, in direct contradictionto her original intentions, but she now felt that she had actedwisely. There could be no doubt in the mind of the keen-wittedSmith that Mr. Wrandall had lied; his lips therefore were sealed,not by the declaration, but by her own surprising offer to remunerate.

  When she told Hetty what she had done, the girl, who had beentortured by doubts and misgivings, threw herself into her arms andsobbed out her gratitude.

  "I could die for you, Sara. I could die a thousand deaths," shecried.

  "Oh, I dare say Smith is quite delighted," said Sara carelessly."He had come up against a brick wall, don't you see. He could gono further. There was but one thing for him to do and he did it.He had no case, but he felt that he ought to be paid just the same.Mr. Wrandall would never have paid him, he was sure of that. Hisgame failed. He thinks better of me now than he ever did before,and I have made a friend of him, strange as it may appear."

  "Oh, I hope so."

  Sara stroked her cheek gently. "Don't be afraid, Hetty. We arequite safe."

  Hetty secretly gloated over that little pronoun 'we.' It speltsecurity.

  "And wasn't it splendid of Mr. Wrandall to say what he did?" shemused, lying back among the cushions with a sigh of relaxation.

  Sara did not at once reply. She smiled rather oddly.

  "It was," she said succinctly. "I am sure Leslie will go intoraptures over his father's decline and fall."

  "Must he be told?" in some dismay.

  "Certainly. Every son should know his own father," she explained,with a quiet laugh.

  The next day but one was overcast. On cloudy, bleak days HettyCastleton always felt depressed. Shadowless days, when the sun wasobscured, filled her with a curious sense of apprehension, as ifwhen the sun came out again he would not find the world as he hadleft it. She did not mope; it was not in her nature. She was morethan ever mentally alert on such days, for the very reason thatthe world seemed to have lapsed into a state of indifference, withthe sun nowhere to be seen. There was a queer sensation of dreadin knowing that that great ball of fire was somewhere in the vaultabove her and yet unlocated in the sinister pall that spread overthe skies. Her fancy ofttimes pictured him sailing in the west whenhe should be in the east, dodging back and forth in impish abandonbehind the screen, and she wondered at such times if he would bewhere he belonged when the clouds lifted.

  Leslie was to return from the wilds on the following day. Earlyin the morning Booth had telephoned to enquire if she did not wantto go for a long walk with him before luncheon. The portrait wasfinished, but he could not afford to miss the morning hour withher. He said as much to her in pressing his invitation.

  "To-morrow Leslie will be here and I shan't see as much of you asI'd like," he explained, rather wistfully. "Three is a crowd, youknow. I've got so used to having you all to myself, it's hard tobreak off suddenly."

  "I will be ready at eleven," she said, and was instantly surprisedto find that her voice rang with new life, new interest. The greynessseemed to lift from the view that stretched beyond the window; sheeven looked for the sun in her eagerness.

  It was then that she knew why the world had been bleaker than usual,even in its cloak of grey.

  A little before eleven she set out briskly to intercept him atthe gates. Unknown to her, Sara sat in her window, and viewed herdeparture with gloomy eyes. The world also was grey for her.

  They came upon each other unexpectedly at a sharp turn in theavenue. Hetty coloured with a sudden rush of confusion, and hadall she could do to meet his eager, happy eyes as he stood over herand proclaimed his pleasure in jerky, awkward sentences. Then theywalked on together, a strange shyness attending them. She experiencedthe faintness of breath that comes when the heart is filled withpleasant alarms. As for Booth, his blood sang. He thrilled withthe joy of being near her, of the feel of her all about him, ofthe delicious feminine appeal that made her so wonderful to him.He wanted to crush her in his arms, to keep her there for ever, toexert all of his brute physical strength so that she might neveragain be herself but a part of him.

  They uttered commonplaces. The spell was on them. It would lift,but for the moment they were powerless to struggle against it. Atlength he saw the colour fade from her cheeks; her eyes were ableto meet his without the look in them that all men love. Then heseemed to get his feet on the ground again, and a strange, ineffablysweet sense of calm took possession of him.

  "I must paint you all over again," he said, suddenly breaking inon one of her remarks. "Just as you are to-day,--an outdoor girl,a glorious outdoor girl in--"

  "In muddy boots," she laughed, drawing her skirt away to reveal ashapely foot in an American walking shoe.

  He smiled and gave voice to a new thought. "By Jove, how much betterlooking our American shoes are than the kind they wear in London!"

  "Sara insists on American shoes, so long as I am with her. I don'tthink our boots are so villainous, do you?"

  "Just the same, I'm going to paint you again, boots and all. You--"

  "Oh, how tired you will become of me!"

  "Try me!"

  "Besides, you are to do Sara at once. She has consented to sit toyou. She will be wonderful, Mr. Booth, oh, how wonderful!"

  There was no mistaking the sincerity of this rapt opinion.

  "Stunning," was his brief comment. "By the way, I've hesitatedabout asking how she and Mr. Wrandall came out with the detectivechap."

  Her face clouded. "It was so perfectly ridiculous, Mr. Booth. Theman is satisfied that he was wrong. The matter is ended."

  "Pure blackmail, I'd call it. I hope it isn't ended so far as sheis concerned. I'd have him in jail so quick his--"

  "She's tender-hearted, and sensitive. No real harm has been done.She refuses to prosecute him."

  "You can't mean it."

  "If you knew her as I do, you would understand."

  "But her lawyer, wh
at had he to say about it? And Mr. Wrandall? Ishould have thought they--"

  "I believe they quite approve of what she has done. Nothing willcome of it."

  He walked on in silence for a couple of rods. "I have a feelingthey will never know who killed Challis Wrandall," he said. "It isa mystery that can't be solved by deduction or theory, and thereis nothing else for them to work on, as I understand the case. Theearth seems to have been generous enough to swallow her completely.She's safe unless she chooses to confess, and that isn't likely.To be perfectly frank with you, Miss Castleton, I rather hope theynever get her. He was something of a beast, you know."

  She was looking straight ahead. "You used the word generous, Mr.Booth. Do you mean that she deserves pity?"

  "Without knowing all the circumstances, I would say yes. I've hadthe feeling that she was more sinned against than sinning."

  "Would you believe that she acted in self-defence?"

  "It is quite possible."

  "Then, will you explain why she does not give herself up to theauthorities and assert her innocence? There is no proof to thecontrary." She spoke hurriedly, with an eagerness which he mistookfor doubt.

  "For one reason, she may be a good woman who was indiscreet. Shemay have some one else to think of besides herself. A second reason:she may lack moral courage."

  "Moral courage!"

  "It is one thing to claim self-defence and another thing to getpeople to believe in it. I suppose you know what Leslie thinksabout it?"

  "He has not discussed it with me."

  "He believes his brother deserved what he got."

  "Oh!"

  "For that reason he has not taken an active part in hounding herdown."

  She was silent for a long time, so long indeed that he turned tolook at her.

  "A thoroughly decent, fair-minded chap is Leslie Wrandall," hepronounced, for want of something better to say. "Still, I'm boundto say, I'm sorry he is coming home to-morrow."

  The red crept into her cheeks again.

  "I thought you were such pals," she said nervously.

  "I expect to be his best man if he ever marries," said he, whackinga stone at the road-side with his walking stick. Then he lookedup at her furtively and added, with a quizzical smile: "Unlesssomething happens."

  "What COULD happen?"

  "He MIGHT marry the girl I'm in love with, and, in that case, I'dhave to be excused."

  "Where shall we walk to this morning?" she asked abruptly. He haddrawn closer to her in the roadway. "Is it too far to the old stonemill? That's where I first saw you, if you remember."

  "Yes, let us go there," she said, but her heart sank. She knew whatwas coming. Perhaps it were best to have it over with; to put itaway with the things that were to always be her lost treasures. Itwould mean the end of their companionship, the end of a love dream.She would have to lie to him: to tell him she did not love him.

  One would go many a fruitless day in quest of a more attractive pairthan they as they strode swiftly down the shady road. They laggednot, for they were strong and healthy, and walking was a joyto them, not an exercise. She kept pace beside him, with her freestride; half a head shorter than he, she did not demand it of himthat he should moderate his stride to suit hers. He was tall andlong-limbed, but not camel-like in his manner of walking, as so manytall men are apt to be. His eyes were bright with the excitementthat predicted a no uncertain encounter, although he had nodefinite purpose in mind. There was something singularly wistful,unfathomable, in her velvety blue eyes that gave him hope, he knewnot why.

  Coming to the jog in the broad macadam, they were striking offinto the narrow road that led to the quaint old mill, long sinceabandoned in the forest glade beyond, when their attention was drawnto a motor-car, which was slowing down for the turn into Sara'sdomain. A cloud of dust swam in the air far behind the machine.

  A bare-headed man on the seat beside the driver, waved his hand tothem, and two women in the tonneau bowed gravely. Both Hetty andBooth flushed uncomfortably, and hesitated in their progress upthe forest road.

  The man was Leslie Wrandall. His mother and sister were in the backseat of the touring car.

  "Why--why, it was Leslie," cried Booth, looking over his shoulderat the rapidly receding car. "Shall we turn back, Miss Castleton?"

  "No," she cried instantly, with something like impatience in hervoice. "And spoil our walk?" she added in the next breath, addinga nervous little laugh.

  "It seems rather--" he began dubiously.

  "Oh, let us have our day," she cried sharply, and led the way intothe by-road.

  They came, in the course of a quarter-of-an-hour, to the bridge overthe mill-race. Beyond, in the mossy shades, stood a dilapidated,centurion structure known as Rangely's Mill, a landmark witha history that included incidents of the revolutionary war, wheneager patriots held secret meetings inside its walls and plottedunder the very noses of Tory adherents to the crown.

  Pausing for a few minutes on the bridge, they leaned on the railand looked down into the clear, mirror-like water of the race. Theirown eyes looked up at them; they smiled into their own faces. Anda fleecy white cloud passed over the glittering stream and sweptthrough their faces, off to the bank, and was gone for ever.

  Suddenly he looked up from the water and fixed his eyes on herface. He had seen her clear blue eyes fill with tears as he gazedinto them from the rail above.

  "Oh, my dear!" he cried. "What is it?"

  She put her handkerchief to her eyes as she quickly turned away.In another instant, she was smiling up at him, a soft, pleadinglittle smile that went straight to his heart.

  "Shall we start back?" she asked, a quaver in her voice.

  "No," he exclaimed. "I've got to go on with it now, Hetty. I didn'tintend to, but--come, let us go up and sit on that familiar oldlog in the shade of the mill. You must, dear!"

  She suffered him to lead her up the steep bank beyond and throughthe rocks and rotten timbers to the great beam that protrudedfrom the shattered foundations of the mill. The rickety old wheel,weather-beaten and sad, rose above them and threatened to toppleover if they so much as touched its flimsy supports.

  He did not release her hand after drawing her up beside him.

  "You must know that I love you," he said simply.

  She made no response. Her hand lay limp in his. She was staringstraight before her.

  "You DO know it, don't you?" he went on.

  "I--God knows I don't want you to love me. I never meant that youshould--" she was saying, as if to herself.

  "I suppose it's hopeless," he said dumbly, as her voice trailedoff in a whisper.

  "Yes, it is utterly hopeless," she said, and she was white to thelips.

  "I--I shan't say anything more," said he. "Of course, I understandhow it is. There's some one else. Only I want you to know that Ilove you with all my soul, Hetty. I--I don't see how I'm going toget on without you. But I--I won't distress you, dear."

  "There isn't any one else, Brandon," she said in a very low voice.Her fingers tightened on his in a sort of desperation. "I know whatyou are thinking. It isn't Leslie. It never can be Leslie."

  "Then,--then--" he stammered, the blood surging back into hisheart--"there may be a chance--"

  "No, no!" she cried, almost vehemently. "I can't let you go onhoping. It is wrong---so terribly wrong, You must forget me. Youmust--"

  He seized her other hand and held them both firmly, masterfully.

  "See here, my--look at me, dearest! What is wrong? Tell me! Youare unhappy. Don't be afraid to tell me. You--you DO love me?"

  She drew a long breath through her half-closed lips. Her eyesdarkened with pain.

  "No. I don't love you. Oh, I am so sorry to have given you--"

  He was almost radiant. "Tell me the truth," he cried triumphantly."Don't hold anything back, darling. If there is anything troublingyou, let me shoulder it. I can--I will do anything in the worldfor you. Listen: I know there's a mystery somewhere. I have felt itabout you alway
s. I have seen it in your eyes, I have always sensedit stealing over me when I'm with you--this strange, bewilderingatmosphere of--"

  "Hush! You must not say anything more," she cried out. "I cannotlove you. There is nothing more to be said."

  "But I know it now. You do love me. I could shout it to--" Themiserable, whipped expression in her eyes checked this outburst.He was struck by it, even dismayed. "My dearest one, my love," hesaid, with infinite tenderness, "what is it? Tell me!"

  He drew her to him. His arm went about her shoulders. The finalthrill of ecstasy bounded through his veins. The feel of her! Thewonderful, subtle, feminine feel of her! His brain reeled in a newand vast whirl of intoxication.

  She sat there very still and unresisting, her hand to her lips,uttering no word, scarcely breathing. He waited. He gave her time.After a little while her fingers strayed to the crown of her limp,rakish panama. They found the single hat-pin and drew it out. Hesmiled as he pushed the hat away and then pressed her dark littlehead against his breast. Her blue eyes were swimming.

  "Just this once, just this once," she murmured with a sob inher voice. Her hand stole upward and caressed his brown cheek andthroat. Tears of joy started in his eyes--tears of exquisite delight.

  "Good God, Hetty, I--I can't do without you," he whispered, shakenby his passion. "Nothing can come between us. I must have you alwayslike this."

  "Che sara, sara," she sighed, like the breath of the summer windas it sings in the trees.

  The minutes passed and neither spoke. His rapt gaze hung upon theglossy crown that pressed against him so gently. He could not seeher eyes, but somehow he felt they were tightly shut, as if inpain.

  "I love you, Hetty. Nothing can matter," he whispered at last."Tell me what it is."

  She lifted her head and gently withdrew herself from his embrace.He did not oppose her, noting the serious, almost sombre look inher eyes as she turned to regard him steadfastly, an unwaveringintegrity of purpose in their depths.

  She had made up her mind to tell him a part of the truth. "Brandon,I am Hetty Glynn."

  He started, not so much in surprise as at the abruptness with whichshe made the announcement.

  "I have been sure of it, dear, from the beginning," he said quietly.

  Then her tongue was loosed. The words rushed to her lips. "I wasHawkright's model for six months. I posed for all those studies,and for the big canvas in the academy. It was either that orstarvation. Oh, you will hate me--you must hate me."

  He laid his hand on her hair, a calm smile on his lips. "I can't loveand hate at the same time," he said. "There was nothing wrong inwhat you did for Hawkright. I am a painter, you know. I understand.Does--does Mrs. Wrandall know all this?"

  "Yes--everything. She knows and understands. She is an angel, Brandon,an angel from heaven. But," she burst forth, "I am not altogethera sham. I AM the daughter of Colonel Castleton, and I AM the cousinof all the Murgatroyds,--the poor relation. It isn't as if I werethe scum of the earth, is it? I AM a Castleton. My father comesof a noble family. And, Brandon, the only thing I've ever done inmy life that I am really ashamed of is the deception I practisedon you when you brought that magazine to me and faced me with it.I did not lie to you. I simply let you believe I was not the--theperson you thought I was. But I deceived you--"

  "No, you did not deceive me," he said gently. "I read the truth inyour dear eyes."

  "There are other things, too. I shall not speak of them, exceptto repeat that I have not done anything else in all my life that Ishould be ashamed of." Her eyes were burning with earnestness. Hecould not but understand what she meant.

  Again he stroked her hair. "I am sure of that," he said.

  "My mother was Kitty Glynn, the actress. My father, a younger son,fell in love with her. They were married against the wishes of hisfather, who cut him off. He was in the service, and he was braveenough to stick. They went to one of the South African garrisons,and I was born there. Then to India. Then back to London, where anaunt had died, leaving my father quite a comfortable fortune. Buthis old friends would have nothing to do with him. He had lived--well,he had made life a hell for my mother in those frontier posts. Hedeserted us in the end, after he had squandered the fortune. Mymother made no effort to compel him to provide for her or for me.She was proud. She was hurt. To-day he is in India, still in theservice, a martinet with a record for bravery on the field of battlethat cannot be taken from him, no matter what else may befall. Ihear from him once or twice a year. That is all I can tell you abouthim. My mother died three years ago, after two years of invalidism.During those years I tried to repay her for the sacrifice she hadmade in giving me the education, the--" She choked up for a second,and then went bravely on. "Her old manager made a place for me in oneof his companies. I took my mother's name, Hetty Glynn, and--well,for a season and a half I was in the chorus. I could not stay there.I COULD not," she repeated with a shudder. "I gave it up after mymother's death. I was fairly well equipped for work as a children'sgoverness, so I engaged myself to--"

  She stopped in dismay for he was laughing.

  "And now do you know what I think of you, Miss Hetty Glynn?" hecried, seizing her hands and regarding her with a serious, steadfastgleam in his eyes. "You are the pluckiest, sandiest girl I've everknown. You are the kind that heroines are made of. There is nothingin what you've told me that could in the least alter my regard foryou, except to increase the love I thought could not be stronger.Will you marry me, Hetty?"

  She jerked her hands away, and held them clenched against herbreast.

  "No! I cannot. It is impossible, Brandon. If I loved you less thanI do, I might say yes, but--no, it is impossible."

  His eyes narrowed. A grey shadow crept over his face.

  "There can be only one obstacle so serious as all that," he saidslowly. "You--you are already married."

  "No!" she cried, lifting her pathetic eyes to his. "It isn't that.Oh, please be good to me! Don't ask me to say anything more. Don'tmake it hard for me, Brandon. I love you--I love you. To be yourwife would be the most glorious--No, no! I must not even think ofit. I must put it out of my mind. There IS a barrier, dearest. Wecannot surmount it. Don't ask me to tell you, for I cannot. I--Iam so happy in knowing that you love me, and that you still loveme after I have told you how mean and shameless I was in deceiving--"

  He drew her close and kissed her full on the trembling lips. Shegasped and closed her eyes, lying like one in a swoon. Soft, moaningsounds came from her lips. He could not help feeling a vast pityfor her, she was so gentle, so miserably hurt by something he couldnot understand, but knew to be monumental in its power to oppress.

  "Listen, dearest," he said, after a long silence; "I understandthis much, at least: you can't talk about it now. Whatever it is,it hurts, and God knows I don't want to make it worse for you inthis hour when I am so selfishly happy. Time will show us the way.It can't be insurmountable. Love always triumphs. I only ask you torepeat those three little words, and I will be content. Say them."

  "I love you," she murmured.

  "There! You are mine! Three little words bind you to me for ever.I will wait until the barrier is down. Then I will take you."

  "The barrier grows stronger every day," she said, staring out beyondthe tree-tops at the scudding clouds. "It never can be removed."

  "Some day you will tell me--everything?"

  She hesitated long. "Yes, before God, Brandon, I will tell you.Not now, but--some day. Then you will see why--why I cannot--" Shecould not complete the sentence.

  "I don't believe there is anything you can tell me that willalter my feelings toward you," he said firmly. "The barrier may beinsurmountable, but my love is everlasting."

  "I can only thank you, dear, and--love you with all my wretchedheart."

  "You are not pledged to some one else?"

  "No."

  "That's all I want to know," he said, with a deep breath. "I thoughtit might be--Leslie."

  "No, no!" she cried out, and he caught a note
of horror in hervoice.

  "Does--does he know this--this thing you can't tell me?" he demanded,a harsh note of jealousy in his voice.

  She looked up at him, hurt by his tone. "Sara knows," she said."There is no one else. But you are not to question her. I demandit of you."

  "I will wait for you to tell me," he said gently.