CHAPTER IX
Lewis stopped at Nadir only long enough to learn that the Reverend Ormehad remained at the school-house as had been his wont of late. He foundhim there, idle, sitting at the rough table that served as his desk, andbrooding. Lewis walked half the length of the room before Leighton sawhim.
"What are you doing here?"
"What have you been telling Nat?"
The questions were almost simultaneous.
"What have I been telling Natalie?" repeated the Reverend Orme. "Well,what _have_ I been telling her?"
Lewis fixed his eyes on Leighton's face.
"Are you really going to marry Nat to that--to that old man?"
The Reverend Orme shifted in his chair.
"Lewis," he said, "I don't know that it's any of your business, but itis probable that Natalie will marry Dom Francisco."
Lewis moved awkwardly from one foot to the other, but his eyes nevershifted.
"Does Mother--Mrs. Leighton know about this? Does mammy? Do they_agree_?"
"Young man," answered Leighton, angrily, "they know that, as this worldgoes, Natalie is a lucky girl. Dom Francisco is the wealthiest man inthe province. Look around you, sir. Whom would you have her marry if notDom Francisco? Some pauper, I suppose. Some foundling."
Lewis's cheeks burned red.
"You need not go so far as to marry her to a foundling," he answered,"but you might be kinder to her than to marry her to--to that old man.You might choke her to death."
The Reverend Orme leaped from his chair.
"Choke _her_ to death, you--you interloper!" He strode toward Lewis, histrembling hands held before him.
"Hold on!" cried Lewis, his eyes flaming. "I'm no drunkard--no cowardlyManoel."
The Reverend Orme stopped in his stride. A ghastly pallor came over hisface.
"Manoel!" he whispered. "What do _you_ know about Manoel?"
Lewis's heart sank low within him. His unbroken silence of years hadbeen instinctive. Now, when it was too late, he suddenly realized thatit had been the thread that held him to Nadir. He had broken it. Nevermore could he and the Reverend Orme sleep beneath the same roof, eat atthe same table. He saw it in the Reverend Orme's face.
Leighton had staggered back to his chair and sat staring vacantly at thefloor. Lewis looked at his head, streaked with white, at his brow,terribly lined, and at his vacant, staring eyes. He felt a sudden greatpity for his foster-father, but pity had come too late.
"Sir," he said, "I am going away. I shall need some money." He felt noshame at asking for money. For seven years he had tended Leighton'sgoats--tended them so well that in seven years they had increasedsevenfold.
Leighton unlocked the drawer of his table and took out a small roll ofbank-notes. He tossed it on the table. Lewis picked out two notes fromthe roll, and pushed the rest back. He started toward the door. Half-wayhe paused and turned to his foster-father.
"Good-by, sir. I'm sorry I let you know that--that I knew."
Leighton did not look up.
"Good-by, Lewis," he said quietly.
Lewis hurried to his little room. He took out all his boyish treasuresand laid them on the bed. How silly they looked, how childish! He sweptthem away, and spread a large red handkerchief in their place. He heardNatalie come in and call for him, but he did not answer. In thehandkerchief he packed his scanty wardrobe. As he knotted the cornerstogether he heard Mrs. Leighton and mammy chatting lightly with Natalie,helping her to dress.
Lewis, heavy-hearted, looked about his ugly little room, so bare, but asfriendly as a plain face endeared by years of kindness. From among hisdiscarded treasures he chose the model in clay of a kid, jumping, thebest he had ever made. He tucked it into his bundle; then he picked upthe bundle, and walked out into the great room, kitchen, sitting anddining room combined.
Mrs. Leighton and mammy were seated at the table. Beside them stoodNatalie. They turned and looked at Lewis, surprised. Lewis stared atNatalie. She wore a dress he had seen but twice before and then on greatoccasions. It had been a birthday present from her parents. It was ared, pleated dress. Accordion silk, the women called it.
About Natalie's shoulders was a white, filmy scarf. For the first timein her life her hair was loosely piled upon her head. Through it andover it ran a bright ribbon. The gloss of the satin ribbon was as naughtbeside the gloss of her shining hair. Her neck, and her arms from theelbows, were bare. Her neck was very thin. One could almost see thebones.
"Where are you going, Lewis?" said Mrs. Leighton, listlessly.
Lewis felt the tears rise to his eyes. He was ashamed of them.
"Do not speak to me," he said roughly. "You are a wicked woman. You havesold Natalie." Then he turned fiercely on mammy. "And you," hesaid--"you have dressed her for the market. You are a bad nigger."
Mrs. Leighton gasped and then began to cry softly. Mammy's eyes staredat Lewis.
"Bad niggah, young Marster?" she mumbled vaguely.
Natalie grasped the table and leaned forward. "Lew!" she cried. "Why,_Lew_!"
Lewis struck a tear from his cheek, turned, and fled. He went to therough lean-to that served as a stable and began to saddle his pony.
In all the heavens there was not a cloud. It was what the natives, toooften scourged by drought, called an ugly night. The full moon rosevisibly into the pale bowl of blue. Above her tropic glare the satellitestars shone wanly and far away.
As Lewis was about to mount, Natalie came running from the house. Sheheld her new dress above her knees. Her white scarf streamed out liketwo wings behind her.
"Lew!" she called. "Wait! What are you doing?"
Lewis waited for her. She came close to him and laid her hand upon hisarm. Her brown eyes, shot with gold, were bigger than ever. They lookedtheir question into his face.
"Nat," he said, "I've quarreled with your dad. There's nothing to talkabout. I must go."
"Go, Lew? Go where?"
Lewis shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know," he said. "Just go."
Natalie laid her head against him. Her two hands gripped his shoulders.She sobbed as though her heart would break. Lewis put his arm about her.He felt the twitching bones of her thin, warm body. His face was in herhair.
"Ah, Natalie," he murmured, brokenly, "don't cry! don't cry!"
They were children. They did not think to kiss.