Through stained glass

  CHAPTER V

  The next day was the first of the long vacation, and with it came anaddition to the Leighton household. Mammy was given a temporary helper,a shrewd little maid, with a head thirty years old on shoulders oftwelve. Lalia was her name. The Reverend Orme had chosen her from amonghis charity pupils. He himself gave her his instructions--never to leaveShenton except to run and report the moment he escaped from her charge.

  Lalia was accepted without suspicion by the children not as a nurse, butas a playmate. Weeks passed. The four played together with a greaterharmony than the three had ever attained. Day after day the ReverendOrme sat waiting in his study and brooding. The dreaded call never came.He began to distrust his messenger.

  Then one stifling afternoon as he sat dozing in his chair a sharp rap onthe study door awakened him with a start.

  "Master! Master!" called Lalia's voice.

  "Yes, yes," cried Leighton; "come in."

  As he rose from his chair Lalia entered. She was breathless withrunning.

  "Master," she said, "Shenton did quarrel with us. He has gone toManoel--to his house."

  "Manoel!" cried Leighton, "Manoel!" and strode hatless out into theglaring sun, across the lawn, and down the loquat avenue.

  Lewis, standing with Natalie in the orange-orchard, stared, wondering,at that hurrying figure. Never had he seen the Reverend Orme walk likethat, hatless, head hanging and swinging from side to side, fistsclenched. Where could he he going? Suddenly he knew. The Reverend Ormewas going to Manoel's house. Shenton was there. Lalia came running tothem. "Hold Natalie!" Lewis cried to her, and sped away to warn Shentonof danger. He ran with all the speed of his eight years, but from thefirst he felt he was too late. The low-hanging branches of theorange-trees hindered him.

  When he burst through the last of them, he saw the Reverend Orme's tallfigure, motionless now, standing at the soiled, small-paned window ofManoel's house. As he stared, the tall figure crouched and stole out ofsight, around the corner toward the door. Lewis rushed to the window andlooked in. It seemed to him only a day since he had had to drag a log tostand on to see through this same window.

  Shenton was sitting on the bench beside the table, his black, curly headhanging to one side. Beyond him sat Manoel, leering and jabbering.Between them was a bottle. Lewis's lips were opening for a cry ofwarning when the door was flung wide, and the Reverend Orme stepped intothe room. Lewis could not see Shenton's face, but he saw his slight formsuddenly straighten.

  Then he realized with a great relief that the Reverend Orme was notlooking at Shenton; his gaze was fastened on Manoel. Lewis, too, turnedhis eyes on Manoel. Cold sweat came out over him as he saw the terror inManoel's face. The leer was still there, frozen. Over it and through it,like a double exposure on a single negative, hung the film of terror.The Reverend Orme, his hands half outstretched, walked slowly towardManoel.

  Suddenly the Portuguese crouched as though to spring. As quick as thegleam of a viper's tongue, Leighton's long arms shot out. Straight forthe man's throat went his hands. They closed, the long, white fingersaround a swarthy neck, thumbs doubled in, their knuckles sinking intothe throat. Lewis felt as though it were his own eyes that started fromtheir sockets. With a scream, he turned and ran.

  He cast himself beneath the shelter of the first low-hangingorange-tree. He saw the Reverend Orme stalk by, bearing Shenton in hisarms. For the first time in his life Lewis heard the sobs of a grownman, and instinctively knew himself the possessor of a secret thing--athing that must never be told.

  At the house, alarmed by Natalie's incoherent, excited chatter andLalia's stubborn silence, Mrs. Leighton waited in suspense. Leightonentered with his burden and laid it down. Then he turned. She saw hisface.

  "Orme!" she cried, "_Orme!_" and started toward him, groping as thoughshe had been blinded.

  "Touch me not, Ann," spoke Leighton, with a strange calmness. "ThankGod! the mark of Cain is on my brow."