If the gentleman is not born in a man, it can not be bred in him. If itis born in him, it can not be bred out of him. August Wehle hadinherited from his mother the instinct of true gentlemanliness. And now,when Andrew relapsed into silence and abstraction, he did not attempt torouse him, but bidding him goodnight, with his own hands threw therope-ladder out the window and started up the hollow toward home. Theair was sultry and oppressive, the moon had been engulfed, and the firstthunder-cloud of the spring was pushing itself up toward the zenith,while the boughs of the trees were quivering with a premonitory shudder.But August did not hasten. The real storm was within. Andrew's story hadraised doubts. When he went down the ravine the love of Julia Andersonshone upon his heart as benignly as the moon upon the waters. Now thelight was gone, and the black cloud of a doubt had shut out his peace.Jule Anderson's father was rich. He had not thought of it before! Butnow he remembered how much woodland he owned and how he had two largefarms. Jule Anderson would not marry a poor boy. And a Dutchman! She wasnot sincere. She was trifling with him and teasing her parents. Or, ifshe were sincere now, she would not be faithful to him against everytempting offer. And he would have to drive on the rocks, too, as Andrewhad. At any rate, he would not marry her until he stood upon some sortof equality with her.
The wind was swaying him about in its fitful gusts, and he rather likedit. In his anguish of spirit it was a pleasure to contend with thestorm. The wind, the lightning, the sudden sharp claps of thunder wereon his own key. He felt in the temper of old Lear. The winds might blowand crack their cheeks.
But it was not alone the suggestions of Andrew that aroused hissuspicions. He now recalled a strange statement that Samuel Andersonmade in discharging him. "You said what you had no right to say about mywife, in talking to Julia." What had he said? Only that some woman hadnot treated Andrew "just right." Who the woman might be he had not knownuntil his present interview with Andrew. Had Julia been making mischiefherself by repeating his words and giving them a direction he had notintended? He could not have dreamed of her acting such a part but forthe strange influence of Andrew's strange story. And so he staggered on,wet to the skin, defying in his heart the lightning and the wind, untilhe came to the cabin of his father. Climbing the fence, for there was nogate, he pulled the latch-string and entered. They were all asleep; thehard-working family went to bed early. But chubby-faced Wilhelmina, thefavorite sister, had set up to wait for August, and he now found herfast asleep in the chair.
"Wilhelmina! wake up!" he said.
"O August!" she said, opening the corner of one eye and yawning, "Iwasn't asleep. I only--uh--shut my eyes a minute. How wet you are! Didyou go to see the pretty girl up at Mr. Anderson's?"
"No," said August.
"O August! she is pretty, and she is good and sweet," and Wilhelminatook his wet checks between her chubby hands and gave him a sleepy kiss,and then crept off to bed.
And, somehow, the faith of the child Wilhelmina counteracted theskepticism of the and Andrew, and August felt the storm subsiding.
When he looked out of the window of the loft in which he slept theshower had ceased as suddenly as it had come, the thunder had retreatedbehind the hills, the clouds were already breaking, and the white faceof the moon was peering through the ragged rifts.