Sons and Fathers

  CHAPTER LIV.

  HOW A DEBT WAS PAID.

  On went the spirited mare to The Hall, skillfully avoiding obstructions,and drew up at last before the big gate. She had not been gentle in herapproach, and old Isham was out in the night holding her bit and talkingto her before she realized that her coming had not been expected.

  "De Lord bless yer, horse, whar you be'n an' what you done wid youngmissus?" Mary was now out on the porch.

  "What is it, Isham?"

  "For Gawd's sake, come hyar, missy. Dis hyar fool horse done come erlongback 'thout young missus, an' I spec' he done los' her out in de roadsomewhar--" Mary caught sight of the dress and bonnet and greatlyalarmed drew them out. What could have happened? Why was Annie's bonnetand clothing in the buggy? For an instant her heart stood still.

  Her presence of mind soon returned. Her mother had retired, and so,putting the maid on guard, she came out and with Isham beside her,turned the horse's head back toward the city. But as mile after milepassed nothing explained the mystery. There was no dark form by theroadside. At no place did the intelligent animal scent blood and turnaside. It was likely that Annie had gone to spend the night with afriend, as she declared she would if the hour were too late to enter thejail. But the clothing!

  The girl drove within sight of the prison, but could not bring herself,at that hour, to stop there. She passed on to Annie's friends. She hadnot been there. She tried others with no better success. And now,thoroughly convinced that something terrible had occurred, she drove onto Ilexhurst. As the tired mare climbed the hill and Mary saw the lightshining from the upper window, she began to realize that the situationwas not very much improved. After all, Annie's disappearance might beeasily explained and how she would sneer at her readiness to run to Mr.Morgan! It was the thought of a very young girl.

  But it was too late to turn back. She drew rein before the iron gate andboldly entered, leaving Isham with the vehicle. She rapidly traversedthe walk, ascended the steps and was reaching out for the knocker, whenthe door was suddenly thrown open and a man ran violently against her.She was almost hurled to the ground, but frightened as she was, it wasevident that the accidental meeting had affected the other more. Hestaggered back into the hall and stood irresolute and white with terror.She came forward amazed and only half believing the testimony of hersenses.

  "Mr. Royson!" The man drew a deep breath and put his hand upon a chair,nodding his head. He had for the moment lost the power of speech.

  "What does it mean?" she asked. "Why are you--here? Where is Mr.Morgan?" His ghastliness returned. He wavered above the chair and thensank into it. Then he turned his face toward hers in silence. She readsomething there, as in a book. She did not cry out, but went and caughthis arm and hung above him with white face. "You have not--oh, no, youhave not--" She could say no more. She caught his hand and looked dumblyupon it. The man drew it away violently as the horror of memory cameupon him.

  "Not that way!" he said.

  "Ah, not that way! Speak to me, Mr. Royson--tell me you do not meanit--he is not----" The whisper died out in that dim hall. He turned hisface away a moment and then looked back. Lifting his hand he pointed upthe stairway. She left him and staggered up the steps slowly, painfully,holding by the rail; weighed upon by the horror above and the horrorbelow. Near the top she stopped and looked back; the man was watchingher as if fascinated. She went on; he arose and followed her. He foundher leaning against the door afraid to enter; her eyes riveted upon aform stretched upon the bed, a cloth over its face; a strange sweet odorin the air. He came and paused by her side, probably insane, for he wassmiling now.

  "Behold the bridegroom," he said. "Go to him; he is not dead. He hasbeen waiting for you. Why are you so late?" She heard only two wordsclearly. "Not dead!"

  "Oh, no," he laughed; "not dead. He only sleeps, with a cloth andchloroform upon his face. He is not dead!" With a movement swift as abounding deer, she sprang across the room, seized the cloth and hurledit from the window. She added names that her maiden cheeks would havepaled at, and pressed her face to his, kissing the still and silent lipsand moaning piteously.

  The man at the door drew away suddenly, went to the stairway and passeddown. No sound was heard now in the house except the moaning of the girlupstairs. He put on a hat in the hall below, closed the door cautiouslyand prepared to depart as he had come, when again he paused irresolute.Then he drew from his pocket a crumpled paper and read it. And there,under that one jet which fell upon him in the great hall, something wasborn that night in the heart of Amos Royson--something that proved himfor the moment akin to the gods. The girl had glided down the steps andwas fleeing past him for succor. He caught her arm.

  "Wait," he said gently. "I will help you!" She ceased to struggle andlooked appealingly into his face. "I have not much to say, but it is foreternity. The man upstairs is now in no immediate danger. Mary, I haveloved you as I did not believe myself capable of loving anyone. It isthe glorious spot in the desert of my nature. I have been remorselesswith men; it all seemed war to me, a war of Ishmaelites--civilized waris an absurdity. Had you found anything in me to love, I believe itwould have made me another man, but you did not. And none can blame you.To-night, for every kind word you have spoken to Amos Royson, for thenote you sent him to-day, he will repay you a thousandfold. Come withme." He half-lifted her up the steps and to the room of the sleeper.Then wringing out wet towels he bathed the face and neck of theunconscious man, rubbed the cold wrists and feet and forced cold waterinto the mouth. It was a doubtful half-hour, but at last the sleeperstirred and moaned. Then Royson paused.

  "He will awaken presently. Give me half an hour to get into a batteau onthe river and then you may tell him all. That--" he said, after a pause,looking out of the window, through which was coming the distant clamorof bells--"that indicates that Annie has waked and screamed. And nowgood-by. I could have taken your lover's life." He picked up the picturefrom the table, kissed it once and passed out.

  Mary was alone with her lover. Gradually under her hand consciousnesscame back and he realized that the face in the light by him was not ofdreams but of life itself--that life which, but for her and thegentleness of her woman's heart, would have passed out that night atIlexhurst.

  And as he drifted back again into consciousness under the willows of thecreeping river a little boat drifted toward the sea.

  Dawn was upon the eastern hills when Mary, with her rescuedsister-in-law, crept noiselessly into The Hall. It was in New York thatthe latter read the account of her mortification. Norton was not there.She had passed him in her flight.