CHAPTER XXVII.
The darkness enveloped the hurrying man as it had done once before thisnight, when he stood silent and motionless in the middle of the road,near the toll-house, yet the girl still followed his retreating figurepersistently through the gloom, beseeching him to return, to relinquishhis fell purpose.
She stopped at last, understanding that it was futile to follow further,that he was deaf to her entreaties to turn back, and that she could nolonger hope to overtake him. As she stood still and listened, she heardhis retreating footsteps growing fainter and fainter far up the road.
Some minutes later, a second vivid band of light revealed his tall, darkfigure sharply silhouetted against the sky, from the brow of the hill hehad climbed, then darkness came again, like a black curtain, and blottedhim from sight.
The girl stood for some time in the middle of the road, with handsclasped tightly together, and tear-stained face, striving to thinkconnectedly, to reason calmly in the face of a new trouble.
What must she do? Which way to turn?
She well knew Milt's disposition--a veritable powder magazine it was,readily ignited by an angry spark, yet soon over with, a flash in thepan, one might say, without a bullet behind to be sped on its mission ofevil.
Such dire threats as he had just uttered, were but the violent outburstof a sudden passion, and signified no durability of purpose, no fixedresolve. Long before he could reach the Squire's place, his betterjudgment would surely prevail--the calm after a spent storm. Probably hewas already beginning to repent his hot temper, and regret his hastyspeech.
That it was without cause Sally could not aver. From Milton'sstandpoint, at least, he must feel that he had been most shamefullyused, not so much at the hands of the Squire, in the present instance,as by the girl herself. How meanly he must think of her--heartless,mercenary, hypocritical! And yet she dared not defend her actions bytelling him the truth.
As she stood thus, uncertain and confused, looking anxiously toward thehill where she had last seen the solitary figure crowning it, areassuring thought came to her. Even should Milt go as far as theSquire's, he would not be able to gain entrance to the house, for hisuncle had doubtless reached home before this, and he would be littlelikely to admit any one into his house at that hour of the night,especially an avowed enemy, such as he knew his nephew to be.
If Milt attempted to make any trouble at all, he would wait until themorrow--her wedding day. How hateful the thought of this event nowseemed to her! She felt at the moment that if Milt would only come backand tempt her to flight, this unhappy marriage would never take place.She would risk anything, everything, and marry the younger man despiteall else. Why had she not thought of this sooner? Oh! yes, sheremembered, it was on her mother's account. What would become of her?
As the unhappy girl recalled her lover's angry words, she felt that shedeserved them all--each word of harsh reproach, of fierce anger, andjust scorn. It was a very wonder he had not offered to strike her deadas she stood before him. To think he had even been a witness to herkiss, and had moreover heard from her very own lips the confession thatshe was about to wed his hated kinsman. It was little wonder that Miltwas half crazed by jealousy and rage.
If he did but know the terrible sacrifice she was about to make for hissake, he must surely pity her, and no longer taunt her for her seemingperfidy and falseness of heart.
The girl found herself wondering that her lover's anger had not centeredon herself rather than the Squire. She was the one on whom the youngerman should have avenged himself. Perhaps it was a fortunate thing, afterall, that she had not followed him further into the night. He might havebeen tempted, in his ungovernable rage, to wreak his vengeance on her aswell as on his hated kinsman. A strange, unusual timidity suddenly tookpossession of her--a feeling that was near akin, to dread of the youngerman, irresponsible in his jealous rage, though scarcely a fear of theman himself, so much as of the demon of jealousy she had aroused inhim.
Beset with this new sensation, she peered cautiously into the night, asthough one might be lurking in hiding near by, ready to spring forthupon her, then realizing that nothing but darkness lay around her, sheabruptly turned her steps toward the toll-house.
Alas! the bitter disappointment of life. Thus had come to naught all theefforts in Milton Derr's behalf, her own sacrifice a useless thing,since, instead of averting the dangers that threatened him, she hadunwittingly been the cause of involving him in yet greater perils.
Even though his threats against the Squire were but idle ones--blastedbuds of evil without promise of fruition, as she believed them to be,still, if Milt persisted in tarrying longer in the locality, he was notonly putting his own life in jeopardy, but would also bring on SteveJudson swift retribution as well.
She had tried to impress these facts on Milt's mind before he had goneaway. Why had he not remained away as she had entreated him to do, onparting?
Then she remembered that he would not have returned--that he wouldprobably have known nothing of her marriage until it was too late, if hehad not read an announcement of it in the papers. Her mother was reallyat the bottom of it all, she was chiefly to blame for Milt's return; formany things, in fact, now bearing the bitter fruit of sorrow.
Mrs. Brown had caused the notice of the marriage to be put in the paperwithout her daughter's knowledge or consent. Sally had begged her motherto say as little about the wedding as possible, and if that obdurateperson had only heeded the request, all this present trouble mighteasily have been avoided.
Beset with anxious doubts, intangible fears, disquieting thoughts,feeling the while most bitterly toward her mother for the officious partshe had persistently played in all this unhappy affair, Sally retracedher steps slowly to the toll-house.
Poor girl! Truly her marriage eve was not a propitious one.
The first objects on which the girl's eyes rested the next morning, whenshe awoke after a troubled sleep, were the simple wedding garmentsspread out carefully on some chairs near her bed, and as she lay andlooked at them in bitterness of heart and spirit, she heard her motherastir in the kitchen preparing breakfast.
Sally half rose in bed. Her very heart seemed faint within her as shegazed on all this hateful reminder of what the day held in store, andwith a quick sob she buried her face in her hands.
As she sat thus--a tearful, sobbing figure--surely a strange posture fora prospective bride on her bridal morn, she heard a horse gallopingswiftly along the road, and as the sound came nearer, she found herattention gradually absorbed by it. There seemed something of unduehaste in the rider's speed.
A moment later the winded animal stopped at the toll-house gate, while aloud knock quickly summoned Mrs. Brown to the door. Sally's alert earcaught the sound of a negro's voice without, speaking rapidly andexcitedly, then a sharp exclamation from the toll-taker followed.
The listening bride-elect could not distinguish the negro's hurriedwords, nor guess the import of his message, but finally she caught onesingle word that her mother uttered, and that word was--"murdered."
Scarcely had it reached the girl's strained attention, when she spranghurriedly out of bed, and catching up her wedding dress threw it hastilyover her shoulders. Then her strength seemed suddenly to go, and shestood trembling and white, her eyes fixed on the door of her room in avacant stare, her mind a blank to all surroundings.
Her mother found her thus when she came into the room a few momentslater, visibly agitated.
"You heard it then?" she said huskily, looking into Sally'sterror-stricken face.
"He could not have done it!" gasped Sally, brokenly. "It was only anidle threat," she added, her voice sinking to a whisper.
"Of course he didn't do it!" exclaimed her mother, catching only herdaughter's first words. "He was murdered--murdered in cold blood!"
The girl opened her mouth as if to speak again, but the sound crumbledto unintelligible murmurs, as the fear of uttering words no ear mustever hear flashed through her bewildered mind, s
o she stood lookingblankly at her mother, with wide-open eyes of horror, while the colorfled from her face, leaving a ghastly pallor instead.
All the dreadful interval she was thinking of Milton Derr rather thanhis victim, and she started like a guilty thing at her mother's nextwords:
"There's but one person in the whole wide world who could have donethis, to my thinkin', an' that's Milt Derr!"