CHAPTER IX
JANE MAKES A DISCOVERY
Martin Howe moved home as if in a trance, the voice of Lucy Websterringing in his ears. He recalled every glance, every smile, every gestureof this enslaving creature, who, like a meteorite, had shot across hisfirmament, rocking its serenity with the shock of her presence. Howexquisite she was! How wonderful! He had never realized there were womenlike that. Was it to be marveled at that men pursued such enchantresses tothe borderland of eternity? That they were spurred to deeds of courage;abandoned home, friends, their sacred honor; even tossed their lives awayfor such?
Lucy's advent seemed to mark a new era in existence. All that went beforewas not; and all that came after, apart from her, mattered not. Only thevivid, throbbing present was of consequence, and the intensity of it swepthim out of his balance with a force that was appalling.
He was not the Martin Howe of yesterday, nor could he ever again be thathappy, emotionless being. Within him warred a tumult of new sensationsthat seethed, flamed, maddened, consumed. The fact that they were thefires of a volcano that must forever smolder its passion out did not atfirst impress his consciousness. All that he knew was that Lucy Websterwas to him what no other woman had ever been or could be; she was hisideal, his mate, his other soul; the completing element of his incompletenature. The emptiness of his life, of which he had hitherto been onlyvaguely aware, now translated itself into the concrete terms of heart,mind, and sex. He had been struggling to make of himself a whole when intruth he was but a half; to construct from imperfect parts a unit; and notsensing the hopelessness of the attempt, he had reaped only failure anddisappointment.
How blind he had been not to understand that alone he could never hope tostill loneliness, heartache, and the stirrings of his physical nature. Hehad lived a life in which no one shared and with which no one sympathized.His fostering instincts had lain dormant until they had reverted to thereceptivity of the protected rather than serving their natural functionsand making of him a protector. All the masculinity of his being had beendwarfed, stifled. Now it awakened, clamoring to possess, guard, cherish,worship.
What an amazing miracle it was--what a glad, transforming touch of magic!He laughed in delight! Years slipped from him, and his youth surged up inall its warmth and eagerness. Why, he was a boy again! A boy at thethreshold of life's wonderland. He was looking open-eyed into a garden ofbeauty where his foot had never trod. Mystic realms were there, mazes offairy dreams, lights and colors he had never seen. At last the place ofhis desire was before him.
This other self, this woman, Lucy Webster,--the name brought with it anarresting chill that fell upon the fever of his passion with the breath ofa glacier. The girl was a Webster! She was of the blood of those hescorned and hated; of a kin with an ancestry he had been brought up toloathe with all his soul. Had he not been taught that it was his missionto thwart and humble them? Had he not continually striven to do so? Hemust have been bewitched to have forgotten the fact for an instant. Nodoubt this creature with her rare beauty was a decoy brought hither totempt him to betray his heritage.
Ellen Webster was quite capable of formulating such a scheme and settingit in motion, if only for the cruel pleasure of seeing him ensnared in itstoils. Perhaps even Lucy herself was an accomplice in the plot. Who couldtell? To be sure she appeared artless enough; but what Webster was to betrusted? And were she only the innocent tool of a more designing hand itredeemed her but little for, blameless or guilty, she was nevertheless aWebster. No power under heaven could wipe out her inheritance; for thepenalty of her blood she must pay the price.
Ah, how near he had come to playing the fool! Was it not Delilah who hadshorn Samson of his might? He, Martin Howe, to be false to his traditions,forfeit his pride, and become a spiritless weakling, forgetting hismanhood in the smile of a woman!
"Bah!" He cried the word aloud into the teeth of the gale. To think he hadalmost walked blindfolded into the trap Ellen Webster had baited for him!Ah, she should see he was not to be enticed away from the stronghold ofhis principles by any such alluring snare.
What a sly old schemer Ellen was! She would have liked nothing better thanto behold him on his knees at the feet of this niece of hers and thenwreck his hopes by snatching away every possibility of their fulfillment.Perhaps she expected that with the girl's beauty as a bribe she could makehim forget his dignity to the extent of rebuilding the wall.
She was mistaken! He was not to be thus cajoled. He had already, to someextent, betrayed his vows that night by befriending Lucy. Bitterly herepented of his weakness. Doubtless at this very moment Ellen Webster wasexulting that he had so easily been duped and hoodwinked.
Hot anger sent the blood to his cheek. He had been blind to be thus caughtoff his guard. Into what madness had this woman beguiled him! Well, in thefuture the siren should chant her Lorelei songs to deaf ears. Her spellwould be in vain.
He had found himself now. His wayward feet had recovered their stand uponthe solid rock of principle, from which for the moment they had beentempted into straying. He would demonstrate to this Lucy Webster that anyfriendliness between them was done and over.
What an ass a clever woman could make of a man! That any one could socircumvent him was unbelievable. Shaking the rain viciously from hisumbrella, he mounted the steps, blew out the lantern, and stalked into thehouse.
Mary, Eliza, and Jane looked up expectantly as he entered. It was evidentthat a multitude of questions trembled on their lips.
He hoped they would offer an apology or explanation for their conduct andthereby furnish him with the opportunity for berating them and relievinghis soul of the bitterness that rankled there. To lash somebody, anybody,with his tongue would have been a solace.
But although Jane faced him defiantly, and Mary and Eliza withanticipatory timidity, no one of the three spoke. They seemed to bewaiting for him to strike the first blow. Twice he attempted it, assumingfirst an injured then an outraged attitude. But on second thought, heabandoned the attack. After all, what was there to say? Should he rail atthem for asking Lucy to the house?
The fair face with its uplifted eyes came before his vision. No, he wasnot sorry the girl had come. Though he must never see her again, mustnever speak to her or touch her hand, he was glad he had been vouchsafedthis one glimpse into Paradise.
He might forbid his sisters ever to have anything more to do with her. Buthe could not bring himself to do that either. And even suppose he were tomake the demand. Jane might refuse to comply with it. There was mutiny inher eyes, a mutiny he might not be able to suppress unless he resorted todrastic measures; and, smarting as he was from the scorn and humiliationof his recent defeat, he was in no mood to cut himself off from the onlysympathy within his reach by creating a breach between himself and hissisters.
Therefore he loitered self-consciously before the stove as if to dry hiswet clothing and then ambled across the room, remarking in offhandfashion:
"It's settin' in for quite a rain."
"Yes, it's a hard shower," Mary ventured, turning a puzzled glance uponher brother. "We need it though."
"Yes, the ground was like chalk," agreed Martin.
Thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he took a few nervousstrides around the room and, prompted by an impulse he could not haveexplained, he stopped and absently drew down the window shade on the sideof the kitchen toward the Webster homestead.
"You didn't get any supper after all, did you, Martin?" Jane remarkedpresently. "Why don't you let me bring you a piece of fruit cake an' aglass of milk?"
"It would taste kinder good."
Although he had no wish for the food, the solicitude that accompanied thesuggestion was just then very soothing.
"We could cook you somethin'," Jane said, rising.
"No, no," broke out the man impatiently. "Don't go fussin'. I don't wantmuch. Just get me anything you have handy."
Jane went to the pantry and returned with two thick slices of "war cake"and a tumbler of cre
amy milk.
"This is the sort of cake you liked so much the other day," she said,putting it upon the table. "It's somethin' amazin' how it keeps moist. Is'pose it's the apple sauce in it."
She watched him while he broke it listlessly into fragments. It wasobvious that he was not hungry.
"You're tired, Martin," she murmured at last, in a gentle tone.
"I guess I am a little."
"The trip to the fair was a hard one, I'm afraid."
Again the man found comfort in her voice.
"Oh, no; not particularly hard," he answered with gruff kindness, "but thetrain was close an' dusty."
There was a quality in the tone that caused Jane to ponder. Furtively shestudied the bowed head, the twitching fingers, the contracted brow; nordid the jaded, disheartened droop of the mouth escape her. She could notrecall ever having seen Martin like this before.
Something must be weighing on his mind, something that had not been therewhen he had left home in the morning and had not been there when hereturned. The shadow, whatever it was, had fallen since, and she felt ithad some connection with the happenings of the evening. This unprecedentedforbearance of his was a part of it. Of that she was sure. What did itportend? Was he angry? Or had Lucy Webster dropped some remark that hadshown him the folly and uselessness of his resentment? Jane would havegiven a great deal to know just what had occurred on that walk in therain. Perhaps Lucy had openly attacked Martin's codes and forced aquarrel. She was fearless enough to do so; or perhaps she had simplyreproached him and set him thinking.
Well, it was useless to ask questions. Jane knew her brother too well topresume to do this. If he had come to his senses, so much the better. Itwas not to be expected that he would admit it. That was not his way. Anychange in his mental attitude would be quickly apparent, however, in hisactions, his deeds confessing the faults his lips were too proud to utter.She must await developments.
Hence when he rose, she offered him her customary casual good night andlistened to his slow tread upon the stairs. That unelastic step onlyserved to further convince her that something recent and deep-acting hadtaken hold on the man and was tormenting him.
She was roused from her musings by Eliza's voice:
"What can be the matter with Martin?" she said in a tense whisper. "Henever said a word. Here I was shakin' in my shoes, dreadin' every minuteto have him launch out in one of his tirades. You could 'a' knocked meover when he didn't do it."
"Maybe he's goin' to wait until to-morrow," Mary replied.
"No. He never waits," Eliza declared. "When he's mad he lets fly while histemper is up. You know that as well as I do. There's no coolin' off withhim an' then warmin' up the leavin's of his rage the next mornin'. Hebelieves in servin' things hot an' fresh."
"I never knew him to be so sort of cowed down," reflected Mary. "You don'ts'pose he's sick, do you, Jane?"
Mary turned anxious eyes toward her sister.
"Of course not," Jane retorted promptly. "Don't go worryin', Mary, an'start to brew him some thoroughwort in the hope of havin' him down with afever."
"I don't hope he'll have a fever," objected Mary in an injured tone.
Jane laughed.
"Now you know you'd love to have Martin sick so you could take care ofhim," said Jane provokingly. "Don't deny it."
"Jane Howe!"
"Well, you would. But he isn't sick, Mary. He's just tired. I wouldn'tbother him about it if I was you. He hates bein' fussed over."
A sudden light of understanding had broken in on Jane's soul.
It came like a revelation, in an intuitive flash, backed neither byevidence nor by logic. Had she tried to give a reason for the astonishingconviction that overwhelmed her, she could not have done so. Neverthelessshe was as certain of it as she was that the night would follow the day.Martin was neither hungry, angry, tired, worried, nor ill.
_He was in love!_