CHAPTER XXV.
To Sally the next few days were more full of disturbing thoughts thanevents.
So far as Milton Derr's safety was concerned, her mind was at ease, forhe had succeeded in getting away, and no one was the wiser regarding hisgoing--no one but herself and Steve.
The horse that Milt had ridden on the night of his mysteriousdisappearance, and which had been turned loose by the raiders, had goneback to Mr. Peppers', and the general impression seemed to be that itsrider had left that part of the country on account of the toll-gatetroubles, with which his name was now being connected.
Sally had arisen even earlier than usual the morning following her nightjourney to the old quarry, and, as she had expected, she found Joewaiting patiently at the lot gate to be let in. This she managed to dobefore her mother was up; therefore, no explanations were necessary,save to explain that she had not stayed overnight with Sophronia, andhad quietly let herself in by means of the back door, so as not todisturb her mother, who had gone to bed.
With each day slipping stealthily by, like the waters of a deep stream,whose surface seems almost stagnant, the time was drawing near to handwhen the girl had promised to purchase her sweetheart's liberty with herown bondage.
Now that Milton Derr was spirited safely away, quite beyond the reach ofthe Squire's hatred and vengeance, the temptation fell heavily upon thepretty toll-taker to repudiate her part of the bargain, given under suchstress of anxiety. Such a promise should not be held inviolable. TheSquire had deliberately forced her into it by his threats against hisnephew.
Yet the promise had been given in good earnest at the time, and acceptedin good faith. The Squire had abided by his promise, she must now dolikewise.
Apart from all this--independent of the right or wrong, justice orinjustice of the matter, the fact was self-evident, that though thenephew might be beyond the reach of the Squire's anger, she and hermother were not.
His rage must of necessity fall on the defenseless heads of both, andthe girl felt far more helpless now than before her champion had gone,for, in losing him, she had lost the only knight who might valiantlyfight her battles.
Looking at her helpless condition, there seemed but one thing lefther--a marriage to the Squire. What though it should be a loveless one?Such marriages took place day after day, and some of them appeared toeven bear the seal of contentment, if not of happiness. Not that thiscould ever prove true in her case. It were a thing impossible, with thememory of one she really loved ever enshrined in her heart.
Fate, however, seemed determined to require a sacrifice of her, so whynot make it and end the unequal struggle?
Milton Derr was now not only a fugitive from justice, but debarred fromever returning, by the edict of the band, which had believed itselfbetrayed by him. To its members he was literally dead. For his ownsake, as well as for Judson's safety, he could not hope to come back.There was still less hope that she could ever go to him, with her motheralso to be provided for, and so--what did it matter if she paid the debtshe had incurred? There was no one to suffer but herself.
The Squire had confided to her mother the girl's promise to marry him,and Mrs. Brown was diligently spreading the news daily, despite herdaughter's wishes to the contrary. Soon the announcement of the weddingwas made in the town paper, to the girl's great disgust and indignation.Both the Squire and Mrs. Brown had conspired in this public notice ofthe approaching marriage, and the hapless girl began to feel, as theyhad intended, that matters had gone too far for her to rue the bargain.
Every allusion to the affair made her heartsick and miserable. Mrs.Brown, who was filled with plans regarding the event, strongly urged achurch wedding in town--it would have proven a morsel of supreme delightto her, but Sally steadfastly refused to consider the matter even for asingle moment. She would be married at the toll-house, and at no otherplace. No one should witness the marriage but her mother, not evenSophronia was to be invited.
This decision was a great grief to the mother. She had hoped and plannedfor far more elaborate things. In vain she reasoned and expostulated. Itwas all to little purpose--the girl was determined and obdurate.Arguments and entreaties were of no avail, not even inducements, for theSquire had given Mrs. Brown a sum of money quite sufficient to purchasethe prospective bride a handsome wedding outfit.
Sally was also firm and immovable in her rejection of this proposedexpenditure. She would not receive any wedding finery from the Squire,nor would she marry in any that his money had purchased.
"He must take me as I am, or not at all," she said.
"Sally, I don't know what to make of you!" cried her mother, in dismay."Refusin' a bran'-new weddin' dress that's offered you."
"He can buy me dresses after he's bought me," answered Sally,bitterly. "I won't accept them now."
"SALLY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF YOU," CRIED HERMOTHER.]
The moments sped like birds of evil passage. Nearer and nearer drew thehour of sacrifice. Each day that might have been so full of joy, underother circumstances, was one of prolonged unhappiness, and she scarcelyknew whether to rejoice or grieve when it was ended, for the morrowwould be but a repetition of the day that had passed, and one day nearerthe goal of her misery.
The Squire would have proven a most ardent suitor had Sally consented,but she would have none of it. He hovered about the toll house, with thepersistency of a youthful swain, fired by his first grand passion; butthe bride elect very promptly sent him about his business, whenever hecame spooning around, and curtly announced that she was busy gettingready to marry him, and, therefore, had no time for sentimentaldallying.
If, notwithstanding these repeated rebuffs, he chose to linger, it fellto Mrs. Brown to entertain him, which she generally did by findingexcuses for Sally's brusque manners and strange words. "Skittish coltsmake the tamest ones in harness," said she.
"When they're properly broke," thought the Squire, with a quiet chuckleof satisfaction.
On the evening before the wedding the prospective groom presentedhimself at the New Pike Gate. His efforts at rejuvenation, in dress andmanner, would have struck Sally as comically grotesque but for the partshe was to play in the tragic comedy.
"I thought I'd drop in to see if there's anything you wished done beforeto-morrow," said he, in a half apologetic way, as he readily interpretedthe look on Sally's face to mean disapproval of his presence.
The girl's heart gave a sudden leap of terror. To-morrow! Was itpossible that her marriage was this near? She had tried to put away thethought of it, day by day, as if this could lengthen time, or stay theunhappy event, and now the hour was almost at hand. She might no longerforget, or put the fact aside. The shadow of its actual presenceovershadowed her and chilled her very heart.
A wild impulse flooded her brain, like a tidal wave from the sea of herdespair. She would appeal to the Squire for a release from herpromise--humbly petition his better self to spare her the misery of amarriage, loveless at least on her part. It could only bring sorrow toher, and doubtless unhappiness to him; since he could not wish to wed awife, who brought him no love, and only deep aversion.
Yes, she would appeal to him--it was the one final hope left her. Hemust not, could not refuse to release her after such a confession. Whenat last he started to go, the girl quickly caught up her hat, and said,"I will ride with you along the road a little way."
"And after to-morrow, it will be all the way in life together, eh?"asked the old man jocosely, chucking her under the chin with one of hisclumsy fingers. She instinctively shrank from his touch, but followedhim into the night.
Without, the elements seemed as foreboding as the girl's own unhappythoughts. An ominous sky brooded in gloom. In the north a huge pile ofclouds, sullen and heavy, lay banked high above the horizon, threateninghills of blackness that seemed to hem in her little world of woe. Gustsof wind from time to time came sweeping by, boisterous heralds,precursors of threatening storm.
As the girl and the old man stood on the platfor
m, after the door wasshut behind them, he was the first to speak, as she unconsciously drew alittle nearer to his side before a passing gust.
"I must have a kiss, my dear--one little kiss, on this, our marriageeve."
Her first impulse was to push him rudely from her, to deny him flatlysuch a request, though surely a lover's prerogative on the eve ofmarriage. Then, remembering the purpose for which she had followed himinto the night, and the appeal she was about to make, she quicklyrealized that she must touch his compassion, not arouse his prejudice,if she would hope to win. Perhaps a submissive acquiescence on her partat this important moment might help to gain her cause.
She paused a brief moment, nerving herself for the trying ordeal, thenresolutely putting aside her aversion, holding in check all mutinousthoughts, she hastily put up her lips and lightly touched his red,coarse cheek.
As she did so, a sudden flash from the muttering sky, like a reprooffrom heaven itself, for the act, made day of the night for one briefinstant, and the clearly defined scene was enveloped in darkness again.
The Squire's back was partly turned toward the road, but Sally, lookingout full upon it, saw in that brief flash of vivid light, clearlydefined against the white background of the pike, Milton Derr standingin the road not ten paces away.