And this was a pleasant young man, one whom she felt could be a delightful companion. But somehow it was a strange thing. She found as she looked back after the evening was over that she had been constantly comparing him with Lance Lorrimer, trying to match him up with Lance. Why, it was just as if two kinds of life were being held up for her to choose from, and that was so silly. In the first place there was no choice. Lance was away, and he hadn't given any indication that he had time or interest in being a friendly companion except during that one evening when the Fanes were bothering again. And here was a young man who did not hesitate to proclaim his interest in her, and she didn't want him! Yet she couldn't explain to herself why she wasn't interested.
And then, the next morning, came a brief letter from Lance Lorrimer. It began,
Dear Eden,
I did not ask if I might write to you, because I was hoping that my errand would not keep me so long away. The end is not yet in sight. But I want to tell you how disappointed I am that I was not able to take you to that meeting we planned to attend.
I hope you found a way to get there. I thought perhaps Janet would go with you, for I knew you would enjoy it. However, if this business ever gets itself over with and I can return, I hope you will allow me to make up for it.
I find myself very glad that you are in our heavenly Father's care and that you know Him and rest in Him. I am not forgetting to pray for you.
Your friend in Christ,
Lance Lorrimer
Eden went about her morning's affairs humming a soft little song of happiness after that letter came. It wasn't filled with a great admiration, nor coaxing her to do anything for him. It gave no address where she might write to him, and it didn't claim any exclusive interest for himself. It was almost impersonal in its tone, and yet there was about it an atmosphere of deep friendship, of feeling that they were one in their interests, and an assurance that an absence either long or short could not change their relationship. That they would always understand each other.
After she had read the letter and reread it several times, she began to wonder in herself if perhaps the main reason why she did not want to go to Florida was just because she wanted to be right here waiting when Lance came back, not to miss welcoming him home. And if that was the case, perhaps she ought in honesty to herself and to Lance go away to Florida and get over this silly idea that her interest must be in him. She toyed with the thought, and then she read her mother's last few letters over again. But when Niles Nevin came back and stopped to see if she had made up her mind to go back with him to his sister, and said they could get a plane and make a very brief trip of it, she told him so. She simply could not go away now. There were things she must do. Important things. But she hoped they would stop to see her in the spring when they came back. And then she found she was glad when the door closed behind him and he was gone.
"But I'm going to write you," he warned her, "and I shall expect letters back. I shall demand them. For you and I have just got to get better acquainted."
Well, she told herself, perhaps this was according to her mother's advice, to go slowly in choosing her friends and not jump to a conclusion that a man with a handsome face, and riches, and a pleasant manner was the companion she should choose for life. Let him write--for a while perhaps. She would see what he was like. It might be better to judge a man by his letters than any other way.
And then came the glad day when Tabor was allowed to walk to the front door and look out for a moment. Afterward Eden spent an hour reading to him while he rested. The whole household was full of joy, servants and mistress, because Tabor was to be about among them again.
Niles Nevin was by no means out of the picture. He sent delightful little picture postcards of the places in Florida where he and his sister were visiting or taking trips to, and he wrote brief bits of messages on them, as an intimate friend might write, as if their friendship were thoroughly established. He had always a bright joke or a funny story in each one, and very often he spoke of how he wished she were with them and how delightful it was going to be when they got back to New York and she came to visit them. Then he began to talk about summer resorts and tried to sell her on several, begging her to say which one she would prefer and whether she wouldn't begin now to arrange it at home so that she could be away with them all summer. He always took it for granted that she had implied that was what she would do. Sometimes there was a message from his sister, but most of the letters were from himself, and he didn't seem to mind that she didn't answer right away. He just kept on writing. His method of pursuit was most persistent.
Eden answered a few of the cards, with little bright, brief sentences, but when he began to write long intimate letters, proclaiming his interest in her and his thoughts of her beauty, she was long in giving even a brief response and finally grew more and more troubled as his letters continued to come, whether they were answered or not.
You know I'm crazy about you, Eden, and I can scarcely wait till the time comes when I can see you every day, be near you all the time. I spend half my time watching the postman, and when I find no answer to my last effusion I am disconsolate until the next mail.
Sometimes, too, she could scarcely tell whether his attitude might not be all a big joke.
He sent her boxes of oranges and all delicacies of citrus fruits. He sent her flowers and candy, until she had to implore him not to send so much. And finally she settled down to write very brief letters, always thanking him in quite a sisterly way for what he had sent and telling how busy she was with a Sunday school class of young girls she had taken over for a friend who had gone away on a trip.
As the spring drew near, Eden was more and more troubled, for in spite of her insistence that she could make no promises for either spring or summer, the Nevins' letters continued to urge, and then take for granted that she would be with them. They even suggested a trip to Alaska or Canada, and Vesta herself wrote, telling of a wonderful resort they had recently heard about in northern Canada; really wild and primitive yet blessed with marvelous hotels, with fishing and hunting in plenty, also horseback riding. At last Eden began actually to dread the coming of the brother and sister, for she saw she must make a quick decision that would end all of this persistence. They had even suggested that Eden might like to bring Janet with her as a personal maid. They said this place in Canada had many Scotch people in a settlement nearby, and an old-time Scotch church that might interest her. But by this time Eden was thoroughly fed up with the whole plan and wrote that it would be quite impossible for her to go away anywhere this summer. She had other plans. Perhaps another year she might manage it, but at present she was not in the market for any kind of trip.
And then they wrote that they were coming home at once and would stop at her house and take her to New York with them. She had certainly promised them that she would come on their return. There were parties and plays going on in New York that they especially wanted her to attend with them. They were coming up the end of the week and would expect her to be ready to go on at once with them.
Eden talked it over with Janet and decided perhaps she ought to go for a couple of days, just to satisfy them, if Janet would go with her.
But Eden was not happy about it. Her soul was troubled exceedingly.
That night she knelt by her bed to pray, and the petition of her heart was, Here, my Lord, is something I don't know what to do about. I can't just see the way ahead, whichever way I decide. Won't You please take over and manage this for me?
Then she lay down and slept quietly. She had put it all in God's hands, ready to go or stay, whatever He planned for her.
The next morning there came a telegram from Vesta:
Mother has taken seriously ill. Niles and I are taking a plane for home at once. Sorry we cannot come for you at this time. Lovingly, Vesta.
Eden stood in wonder as she read the telegram and was startled at the thought of how soon God had settled that troublesome question for her. "Before they call
, I will answer"--the words rang in her soul. Her kindly heart was troubled that her friend was having to bear anxiety as a part of God's answer to her prayer, but she could not help being glad that she was not having to go to New York at present.
Two days later Vesta called up on the telephone. She said her mother was critically ill with double pneumonia, and while she was just a trifle better that morning, it would be some days before the doctor could tell them what the outcome would be. When she was better, if she did recover, she should go at once to California, and Vesta herself and Niles would have to go with her. Their father could not very well leave until he had some business matters in shape. Vesta's voice was very sad, and she seemed glad to talk her troubles over with her friend.
"I'm so disappointed and discouraged," she said. "I had looked forward to such a pleasant summer with you, and all that traveling. It would have been delightful! And the best of it is that Niles is so fond of you, dear. He's really fallen for you hard! If it hadn't been for Mother being so awfully sick, I know he would just have hurried to you right away. But, you know, he's devoted to Mother, and if she needed anything, he would be at her side at once. He's really sweet, Eden, when you get to know him. That's why I did so want to have you visit us and get to like him."
"Oh, I like him, of course," said Eden with a degree of fervor. "I like him a lot, and I know I would have had a lovely time; but it did seem rather inconvenient for me to go anywhere just at present, so it's quite all right to have the plans changed, for I really have still some important things to attend to."
"Well, don't work too hard, dear. You are so serious minded," said Vesta. "And you do understand why I can't ask you to come to us at once, don't you? Mother has been, and still is, so very sick. We have two nurses and must keep it so very quiet. We couldn't plan for anything at all."
"Why, of course I understand, Vesta. Remember I've been through sickness a lot, and I know what it is. I'm only sorry that the interrupted plans had to come through trouble to you and yours. You dear child, I've been praying for you and for your dear mother. I do hope she will soon be better. And if there is anything I can do in any way to help you, please let me know."
"That's a dear. Of course I will. But I can't see how there would be, unless by and by you could come to California and join us. I'll keep in touch with you, in case we go, and you keep it in mind and try to plan for it tentatively."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that, Vesta, not this year!"
"Oh, don't say that. It would be so lovely to have you, if we go. It might be if Mother gets better soon that Niles will run down and plan it out with you."
"No," said Eden. "I couldn't possibly go this year, but thanks a lot for wanting me."
But Mrs. Nevin did not get better for a long time, and it was a hard siege in the beautiful old New York house, while nurses and doctors came and went, and the son and daughter hung anxiously over their adored mother. Now and then Vesta called up her friend in Glencarroll and had a talk, giving the details of the progress of her mother's illness. But no more was said about the trip to California, as the possibility of that was still in the far distance.
In the meantime Niles's letters grew briefer and further apart. Eden was relieved and wondered if that didn't mean that Niles Nevin was never meant for her, or she would have wanted him to come and been disappointed that he could not leave home. For Vesta had said that her mother was so devoted to Niles and was always wanting him to come and sit beside her bed and hold her hand, when she was conscious.
Eden was very sorry for them all but somehow relieved that she was not there and didn't have to do anything about it.
The weeks rolled by, and at last a final heartening word from Lance Lorrimer arrived:
The important errand on which I was sent is about accomplished, and there is some hope that I may return soon. God keep you, dear friend.
Lance
It was brief and said little, but it filled Eden with deep joy. Then she began to upbraid herself for caring so much. This was really not right. He had written to her, yes, several times, but the messages were just friendly. She shouldn't care so much!
Then she carried her anxiety to her Lord: Please take care of this for me, and make my heart right about it. Let me be what You want me to be, dear Lord.
And on that she rested.
Chapter 16
The hideout where Ellery Fane had taken refuge was near the top of a far mountain, not many miles from the Canadian border, in a deserted region frequented by outlaws, evil men, sharpers, and crooks in trouble. Ellery had come into contact with them when a mere lad, drifting on his own to a large extent, because his mother was too silly and ambitious to get up in the world, to pay much attention to him. These men had used the willing boy to work for them in their crooked dealings, to slide into banks and places of business to unlock a door or draw back a bolt, just at closing time, and make a way for them to enter when night came. And because he had been the successful assistant in several such raids and had under their instructions been able to vanish out of the raided district and never suspected, they had often sent for him to help in more and more "important jobs" as they called them. It was to such a school that Ellery had been allowed to go by his careless, silly mother. So now, in the most trying emergency of his till then lightly punished career of crime, Ellery took to the hideout, where he was sure to find friends who would "understand," as he told himself, and might help.
He had once been taken with the other men to this hideout, when he was a young boy, after a daring escapade in which he had supplied the part of a missing link. They had not told him where he was going; "just away on a little vacation so that no one would question him," they said. But even as a very young boy Ellery had been alert to all that was going on about him. Why had been the biggest word in his vocabulary since babyhood, and he did not easily forget. He had been always listening when the men thought he was asleep and were talking of private matters. So he had a wide glimpse of crime in the raw, and while, of course, he hadn't gathered it all at once, still it laid a good foundation for a devious life and its possibilities, even as a baby absorbs most of the language of its new world in two short years.
They had taken him away in the night, after three days in that charmed mountain, watching their games of cards, quick to notice the sharp way in which they cheated and won. He drank in their vile talk. The men did not know how much he was absorbing. He was a good-looking child. They liked him, and he was one they could use in their serious business of hoodwinking innocent people.
They gathered him up out of what they thought was a sound sleep one night. They put him in the car and took him home. It was dark. He could not see much, but what was visible he noted and remembered. In the morning he was among familiar scenes and the men were gone. It was a long time before he saw any of them again.
But lately he had been more or less in touch with some of them, and so it was to their distant hideout in his need that he was making his way.
He had an uncanny sense of direction, and he had had years to figure out where that safe place must be, so he dodged contact with respectable people, got rides whenever he thought it was safe, and at last arrived at the mountain, doing a good deal of the way on foot, scouting around and listening to make sure whether there were any of his old friends there. It was from that mountain hideout that Ellery, when one of the men went down into the world, briefly had sent his message about the red beads. And it was in search of that place that poor Lavira had been trying to make her way when she escaped the second time and was finally caught and held for trial.
So Lavira languished miserably in jail, and Ellery languished on a desolate mountain, waiting for some news from the world where he had once thought his prospects were so bright. And while he waited, there was much time for thought. Perhaps Ellery had never done any thinking before, except about how to get ahead of the other fellow and see how much he could get for himself of this world's goods. Yet here he was shut in by great tr
ees that he grew to hate, under a lofty sky that, bright or dim, looked down on him with scorn and condemnation. While he was there perhaps some dim notion of what the God must be who had created those trees and that sky, and himself, entered his trivial soul. But if so, it only filled him with resentment and fear.
There was nothing to do up here. Not that he minded being lazy if there was some fun to be had. But there was no fun. Of course, he could gamble with those hardened sharpers, but he had little chance against them, for he had never made a specialty of cards. There had always been some practical sly game for him to play for the benefit of the others, before he came up here. Even here he was sent down twice to do a little ticklish job--something connected with a bank. Strangely, he went with his heart in his mouth, because now he was beginning to be afraid. If he should be caught in a big thing like an outstanding bank robbery, he was finished, of course. For these men had no real fondness for him. The old ones he used to know when he was a child were either dead, shot, or "in for life," and no one would help him out if serious trouble came. And those red beads would do him no good if he couldn't find a friend to cash them in. It wouldn't do for him to try it himself. They would trace the theft to him and that would be the end. He would be a "lifer."
Thus he mused there on that mountaintop with that awesome sky staring down into his soul--he hadn't believed before that he had a soul, but there was no question now. He had a soul, and he felt already that it was doomed. He cast frightened eyes around, shook his fist at the wide sky, and turned his glance downward. Was that the messenger coming back?