Instantly she darted into the hemlocks that grew close to the steps, slid behind them in the dark, and held her breath. Oh, if she could only manage to evade them.
Henry had gone up two steps without her. Now she could hear him pawing around in the dark trying to find her, grabbing the arm of a stranger who was coming out. There were angry words, and Henry turned and went down two steps again calling, "Beautiful! Beautiful! Where are you?"
Fear lent courage to Melissa and strength to her numb feet. She made a quick plunge into the blackness behind where she stood, not knowing it if were brush or briar or a heap of stones. But it proved to be only shrubs that gave way before her touch, and like a rabbit in the grass she passed along the end of the house, touching it lightly with her fingertips as she went, to keep her direction, for it was very dark. She could not see at all, until she came to the corner at the back near the kitchen. There was a light here from an open window, and she could hear the clatter of dishes, the clink of bottles among the ice.
On she plunged recklessly, holding herself tense, stepping as lightly as she could in this unknown darkness. She rounded the corner and came to the latticed porch. There were people inside, waiters dishing ice cream, carrying trays of bottles. She must not draw their attention. She must not get into the line of the light.
She was glad she had had the presence of mind to grasp her little overnight bag when she knew she would have to get out of the car. She did not care so much for the bag or the things in it as to have gotten it away from the car. The thought of that terrible Sylvia handling her few simple things with a sneer seemed like a pinprick to her thoughts as she went more slowly, step by step, cautiously, lest some of those waiters should hear her. There was a big dog, too, chained by the back door. He had risen now, and his hair seemed to be bristling on his supple neck. His eyes glared toward her like baleful lamps. Ah! She must skirt that garden patch. It would not do to get that dog to barking.
And now she could hear Henry calling louder.
"Beautiful! I say! Where are you?"
There was a stirring as of pursuing feet toward the front of the house, and Melissa made another wild plunge off behind a shadowing building, an old chicken house perhaps. She slid around behind it till she found a fence, through which she crept into a field, and then hearing voices behind her, she started to run and fell headlong down a little hill in the deep grass!
She dared not rise but lay there in the darkness, with the wet cool grass against her face, the tears slipping hot and big down her cheeks.
She heard them come out somewhere over there by the building and call her, and she lay perfectly still with closed eyes, scarcely breathing for a long, long time, till they seemed to give up and go back again. She could hear their voices dying away in the distance, and then a far door closed and there was only dim chatter of jazz by an orchestra, the clink of glasses, and the voices of servants.
A long time afterward, for she was afraid someone was still lurking out there watching for a movement, she cautiously stirred and little by little crept painfully down that hill across the field and by a wide skirting reached the road.
She could not be sure, but she thought that it was the same road by which they had just come to the house. Now, if she could follow it and hide in the foliage whenever a car came down that way, she might sometime in the course of the night find that village again through which they had passed and perhaps find a train. Certainly she was justified now in using Mr. Brady's money, for no more alarming emergency could possibly be conjured than that she was now in.
But, oh, it was dark, and she was tired, deadly tired. She would have been glad just to drop down in her tracks and die, she was so troubled and weary. And the hot tears were coursing down her face in a continuous salt tide till her lips smarted and her eyes were fairly blinded.
At last she reached the main road. She was sure it was the road from which they had turned a few minutes ago. She stumbled down the embankment and hurried breathlessly along. The thunder roared ominously. Another storm was coming up. The lightning shivered out in the blinding sheets and showed the way ahead, a long road with no turning. She felt so alone and terrified. The rain was coming down now in long, detached drops. There would be a downpour in a minute, and she would be drenched. If she could only get to a shelter somewhere!
She cast a wild look about in the darkness, and then another blinding flash of lightning showed the great hulk of an old barn looming at the roadside not far away.
She began to run with all her might and clambered up the bank just as the rain came like an avalanche. Groping breathlessly, she found an open doorway and crept fearfully inside, as much afraid of what might be lurking there as of what she was leaving behind.
Just inside the old stone walls she hid and tried to penetrate the darkness, till another flash revealed somewhat the dusty, empty interior. The barn was evidently unused now. An old farm wagon with a broken wheel and a plow with a rusty share were the only occupants of the place besides herself.
Somewhat reassured, she slipped farther back out of the rain and sank upon the bare floor. Her trembling limbs would scarcely bear her up to stand, and she must not waste her strength. She would need it all to get back to that village and find a railroad. How glad and thankful she was now that Brady had insisted upon her taking that money.
An automobile shot by in the road and set her trembling again just as she was getting her nerves a little steady. What if those two drunken fools should take it into their heads to chase after her? Hollister, even with his brains stupid with drink, might think he had a responsibility for her. Oh, she ought to get on, yet no one could make any headway in a storm like this, and she would be soaked to the skin if she tried to make time now.
She drooped against the old wall and closed her eyes, listening to the rain till she almost fell asleep. But in a little while it stopped, and another car going by startled her awake again. Its headlights played within the doorway, and her heart came into her throat. Had they come for her?
Alert now, she listened till the car was out of sight, then stole forth, her hand up to feel for rain. No, it was not raining now. She must get on. Of course, if it started again, she would have to keep on, for it was not likely she would find another empty barn wide open to receive her.
Her feet were heavy and wet. Her clothes were a little wet, too, and her head was heavy with sleep. But she plodded on, as fast as she could make herself go.
Once a car came behind her, its headlights brightening the path she trod, and she scuttled into the shadows at the roadside, fearful lest it was the Hollister car. They must know she would be somewhere along the road. They could easily have found her if they tried, had they not been drunk. But this constant fear of pursuit made her going doubly hard, for she had to be ready to spring at an instant's notice into the ditch or whatever shelter she could find. However, there were not many cars going at that hour.
She tried to calculate what time it was. It seemed ages since she left the hospital. But her watch had stopped, and it was too dark to see it anyway.
It seemed to her that she had walked three times as far as they must have come from the village before some scattering houses began to make it look like the outskirts of a village and gave her new hope.
She plodded on down a long main street of small houses, all asleep in the dark. The storm had gone now to other places, with only a distant rumble of thunder now and then and an occasional lighting of the sky in vivid sheets from afar. But this light showed her the sleeping town and guided her steps to the sidewalk from the road and down through the little huddle of stores to the railroad station.
Being city bred, Melissa had hoped for an open station where she might sit and wait for the next train going her way. She tried the door of the dark little brick building that stood beside the tracks with dismay. It was closed till morning. Of course. She should have known that. And there would not be trains stopping, either. How hopeless everything was! She sank down upo
n the bare platform, for there were no benches in sight and she was too tired to try to hunt a better seat. There did not seem to be any lights in the village, either, except the streetlamps at long intervals. There was nowhere she could go, nothing she could do but wait. She was alone in the dark world that was asleep.
Before her the track stretched in endless miles, lit now and then by the more and more distant storm. A woods menaced darkly behind the station. The boards where she sat were wet, and already the dampness was striking through her garments. Her feet were wet and cold. She shivered as she curled them under her and leaned her head against the wall of the station. Suddenly she put her face down into her hands and cried, shaking from head to foot with great sobs such as she had not known since she was a little child and fell down a long flight of stairs. They wrenched out from the depths of her being, every little nerve in her tired body crying out for redress. She ached from head to foot, and her head ached so that she could scarcely hold it up.
Then to her lips unbidden came that cry of the lost soul that has reached its limit:
"Oh God!" she cried. "Won't You help me? If You are a God, You can! I know I haven't believed in You, but if You'll just help me now, I'll know You are a real God, and I'll believe in You always! Oh, I will, truly."
Having registered this vow, made as it were her bargain with God, her sobs gradually grew less. She seemed to have cried it out, all the misery that was in her soul. She had given in against her pride and prejudice and put the matter into God's hands. There simply was nothing else that she could do.
Then, because she was too tired to hold up any longer, she put her little overnight bag down upon the wet board platform, laid her head upon it for a pillow, and sank into a deep sleep.
About two hours later, just as a faint gray began to appear off toward the eastern horizon, there came quiet steps down a side street, paused a moment on the platform, then came softly toward her till a dark form stood over her, stooping a little and looking down upon her.
Still Melissa slept on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Quite early in the morning, Phyllis, who had slept very little all night and had occasionally in the intervals of rest kept her promise to her young brother about praying, stole forth from the house before anybody was awake.
She hurried to a nearby drugstore where she knew there was a telephone booth, her mouth set firmly, her smooth brow knit in anxiety. She had with her enough of her precious ten-dollar bill to pay for several long-distance telephone calls if necessary, and also Melissa's two telegrams.
She did not try for the president or the dean of the college in that distant town to which Melissa had gone. She knew it was too early in the morning to get either gentleman. She went straight for the hospital authorities and after much delay was informed about her brother being in a nearby village hospital. A little more insistence and she was connected with the right hospital at last. She asked if they knew where her sister Miss Challenger was, and could she speak with her, and after more delay there came word that Miss Challenger left for home yesterday about half past ten in the morning.
Fear clutched at Phyllis's throat. Half past ten in the morning! That ought to have brought her home by dark at the most. Phyllis had asked discreet questions of Brady last night and knew the time it took a good driver to get to the city from the college. More fear! One accident in the family quickly gets the fear of another. What had happened to Melissa, and how would Mother take it? Mother was just about all in now. It didn't take brains to see that. Phyllis had been aghast at her mother's sobs last night. She had never heard her sweet little mother give way and cry aloud before. Tears there had been, many quiet, sad tears when worries came----when Rosalie had had scarlet fever, when Bob had the mastoid operation--but no such soul-shaking sobs. Mother had reached the limit, and something must be done.
Phyllis came out of the telephone booth white with anxiety, wondering whether to let her mother know or to keep silent about it. Only Rosalie was up when Phyllis got back, and she made the excuse of having gone out to get more butter for breakfast.
"Phyllis, you're worried," said the child, looking at her keenly.
"Oh, a little," said Phyllis evasively.
"But you needn't be," said Rosalie. "You know if God is going to take care of us, we can't do any good by worrying."
"How can you help worrying?" said Phyllis with a tired, hopeless look in her eyes.
"You can," said Rosalie, "if you just keep trusting Him. Phyllis, there are three dandelions open in the backyard. And it's only March, just think! One is between the bricks in the walk by the trash can, one is by the fence where the sun shines brightest--that is the big one--and the other is just poking its head out from under a board. Do you think, Phyllis, that it would be nice for me to pick them for the breakfast table, or should I leave them to make the yard bright?"
"Oh, I'd pick them," said Phyllis, trying to speak brightly. "There are always plenty of dandelions, aren't there?"
"Not this time of year, Phyllie! And not when people are poor and don't have flowers on their tables. I think dandelions are pretty."
"You poor little precious!" said her sister, stooping to kiss her and hide the desire for tears. "You've never been much in the country, have you? When I was a little girl, we lived in the suburbs and had a lovely garden of flowers and vegetables. I remember I had a bed of forget-me-nots, and Melissa had mignonette in hers."
"What's mignonette?"
"Oh, a kind of fuzzy little knob of a flower that looks like fringed gingham and has a heavenly smell."
They were suddenly interrupted by the sharp turning of a key in their mother's door and her footsteps coming down the stairs. Both girls stopped their conversation and turned anxious eyes to the stairs as she came down.
Mary Challenger's face was white and drawn, her eyes full of her night of agonizing prayer.
"I thought I heard the postman come!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, I'll see!" said Rosalie, running to the front door. "Yes, here's a letter."
"Oh!" said the mother with a gleam of hope in her eyes. "From Melissa, is it? Perhaps she felt it better to stay over another day, and she likely thought we'd get the letter in time to save anxiety. She wanted to save money, of course."
But the little girl shook her head as she handed out the letter.
"No, Mother dear," she said, "it's not her writing. It's typewritten. I think it's from those same people that the other letter came from the night Mrs. Barkus acted so dreadfully."
"Oh!" said Mary Challenger, tossing the letter on the table and coming slowly down the stairs, the cloud settling down again upon her wan face.
"What is it, Mother?" asked the little girl, picking up the letter and examining the name in the upper left-hand corner.
"Was it anything interesting? You went to see them and you never told us about it," said Rosalie, eager to turn her mother's attention.
"Oh, just some people who wanted to know about our family tree."
"Family tree?" said Rosalie, full of curiosity at once. "Have we a tree? How I'd like to see it!"
"She doesn't mean a tree that grows in the ground, Rosy," explained Phyllis. "She means our line of ancestors. I'll tell you about it after breakfast. We must hurry now, and you'd better run up and call Bob. He'll be late to school."
"But what did those lawyers want to know about our ancestors for, Mother?" continued Rosalie when she came back from rousing her brother. Rosalie never dropped a subject until she had exhausted it utterly, or the people who knew about it.
"I'm sure I don't know," said Mary Challenger wearily, going to the window for the third time since she had come downstairs, to look for a car that did not come. "They are probably writing a book on the family lineage, or some client of theirs is and has set them to find out about everybody. I only know I wasted two good carfares and a whole morning going down there and waiting for them to look up their papers and then answering their questions. I had to tell all about
your grandmothers, and my great-great-grandfathers, and your father's family, too. It is all utter nonsense anyway. What difference does it make who your ancestors were?"
"But aren't you going to open this letter, Mother?" asked Rosalie anxiously.
"No, I can't be bothered with such trivial things now. It's likely only to tell me that the book will soon be ready and that I can have a first edition reserved for me if I will forward five or ten dollars today. That's the way those things go. I don't want the book. What would we do with it? And where would we get the five or ten dollars to pay for it?" She spoke bitterly, looking down the empty street and trying to force back the tears that had somehow got the habit of slipping slowly down her cheeks.
"May I open it, Mother?" asked Rosalie, still engrossed with the letter.
"Yes, if you want to," said the mother indifferently.
Rosalie tore open the envelope with curiosity.
"Oh, Mother! You'll have to go," she exclaimed. "It says they have something very important to tell you. Listen:
Dear Madam:
We have compared the data that you gave us the other day and find it to be in all particulars correct. We have instructions to ask you to come to our office as soon as you can conveniently do so and learn something that will be very greatly to your advantage.
Very sincerely,
HAPGOOD AND WRIGHT
Attorneys at Law
Rosalie was all eagerness.
"Now you'll go, won't you, Mother, and see what it is?"
But the mother turned a sad smile on her little girl. "No, dear, I shan't bother about it. It's just a way of advertising. You don't understand. They want to sell a copy of the book, and they feel sure if they get me into the office they can persuade me that I must have the whole story of the Challenger and Langdon families. That's all it can possibly mean."