CHAPTER EIGHTEEN--READJUSTMENTS
IT was a week since the burial of Harris Haynes. What remained of themystery as a surplus over and above the Whalley confession was stillunenlightened by any further clue. The juggler had refused steadfastlyto add anything to his statement. Little opportunity had there beenof acquiring new information, for storm had followed storm in quicksuccession, and though Dick and Everard Colton had been out on theknolls at all hours of day and night, and the intrepid professor,eluding his daughter by stealth, had covered many dark miles ofexploration, the shrouded foulness of the weather had preserved whateversecret Montauk Point still might hold.
To Dick Colton had come a deep content, for he and Dolly had been drawnto a close comradeship in the high pressure of events. Yet by a subtledefence she had withheld from him anything more than comradeship. Onceagain he had spoken; and she had stopped him.
"Please, Dr. Colton!" she said. "Nothing that you can say will make anydifference. If I come to you," she looked at him with the adorableand courageous straightforwardness that seemed in his eyes the finalexpression of her lovableness, "I shall come of myself. As yet, I do notknow. I am growing to know you. It has been a very brief time."
"It has been a crowded lifetime," said Dick earnestly. "But I can wait,Dolly. You don't mind if I call you that?"
"Even Everard does that," she said, smiling, and to his surprise therefollowed a sharp blush. She had recalled the self-betraying exasperationwith which she had resented, the day before, Everard's addressingher, with apparent innocence, as "Sister Dot," and that youth's meekenjoyment of her anger.
That had been the dying effort of Everard's gaiety. In that week he hadgrown worn and morose. More than once he would have left the place;but Dolly Ravenden urged upon him that he should stay until Helga hadregained her normal balance. To the girl's warm and full-blooded beautyhad succeeded a wan loveliness that made Everard's heart ache wheneverhe looked at her. Seldom did he see her alone; little had she to say tohim. Yet her eyes brooded upon him, and he felt vaguely that he was ahelp to her in her grief. Dick too had insisted upon this. But Helgaseemed to make no effort at rallying from her sombre apathy.
The week of storm ended, and the sun blazed out over a landscapebedecked with autumn's royal colours. Helga, who had risen early to goto the beach, found at her place an envelope which had not come by mail.There was an enclosure in a woman's handwriting. Once and again she wentthrough, turning from red to white. Then she turned to Dick Colton.
"You did this?" she said.
"Yes."
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot!" she cried passionately, and ran from the door,out upon the knolls.
Dick saw her climbing the hill, the joyous wind wreathing the curves ofher lithe and gracious form, to the place where Haynes was buried, andwatched her until a shoulder of the knoll shut her completely from view.
"It was high time for an antidote," he said, nodding thoughtfully."Haynes would have bade me do it; I know he would."
Helga knelt by a high boulder that crowned the knoll and arranged theflowers that she had brought up that morning for her friend's grave.
"Oh, Petit Pere," she whispered sobbingly, "if you only were here totell me! It is hard to know what is best. So hard!"
Something moved in the bushes not far away. The shrubbery parted,and there emerged on all fours the squat and powerful figure of "TheWonderful Whalley." He was unkempt and white; the murderousness wasgone from his face. As a dog cringes, expectant of a blow, he movedreluctantly forward. The girl faced him with a tense carriage in whichwas no inkling of fear.
"Ze lady shall forgive ze poor arteest," he said, holding out hands ofsupplication.
"I would kill you if I could," she said, very low.
"The Wonderful Whalley's" hand went to his belt, but the great-bladedknives no longer were there. Fumbling in his pocket, he drew forthanother knife, opened it and threw it at her feet.
"I am ready," he said.
Helga looked at the knife, and then at him with unutterable loathing.The man gave a little groan.
"Do not!" he said. "I was cr-r-razy! Eet ees gone, now. Eet was zebeating of ze sea. I haf not know zat I keel until now I break out of mypreeson las' night an' come here to ask you to forgive."
"No," said the girl stonily.
"To beg you to forgive an' to warn you." With a strikingly solemngesture he raised his hand, and swept it through the circle of theheavens.
"We may not know when eet strike," he said slowly. "Ze danger ees there.Eet ees hanging over you an' over me. Me, I may not escape my fate. Eetees not matter. But you, so young, so lofely, so brave, so kind to zepoor arteest--I come to warn you, perhaps to safe you."
"Do you know that this is the grave of the man you killed?" she said,her eyes fixed upon his.
Simply, and as a child might, the juggler kneeled at the grave. Heclasped his hands and raised his face, the eyes closed. With a pitying,yet abhorrent surprise, the girl watched him. His lips moved. She caughta half whispered word, here and there, in the soft southern tongue.In the midst of his prayer the murderer leaped to his feet His musclesstiffened; he was all attention.
"Someone come!" he cried.
Over the brow of the knoll came Everard Colton. "My God!" he cried, andbounded toward them.
Like a flash, the juggler wormed himself into the oak patch, andemerging from the farther side sprinted over the hill and disappeared.
"Has he hurt you?" cried the young man.
"Helga, my dear! tell me he has not hurt----"
"No," she said very low. "He was quite peaceable. He has escaped fromjail. I think he is sane again and remorseful."
"You must let me take you home," he said. "You must! Good heavens,Helga, anything might have happened."
Everard was shaking as with an ague. A wonderful softness came into thegirl's face. "Were you coming to speak to me?"
"To say good-bye," he said.
"Good-bye?" she repeated. "So soon? Must it----"
He stopped her with a swift, savage gesture. "Helga, I can't standit any longer! I would give you the last drop of my blood, gladly,willingly, if it would help you. But to be here as I am, to see youevery day, is more than I can endure. I must get away. There is oneother thing; I know something of what Harris Haynes did for you." Hespoke more gently, looking with a wistful respect at the grave. "Nowthat he has gone, you must not let that make any difference in youropportunities. You must go on as you were; your music, your studies."
The girl made a little gesture of refusal. They walked toward the housein silence, for a time. Then Everard spoke again.
"Yet that is what he would have wished. I know that you haven't themoney to do this." Dick, having a gift of silence, had said nothing ofHaynes' bequest. "I have more than I can use. I know I can't give it toyou outright. But I can give it to Mr. Johnston. Or, if you can't takeit from me, you could from my family. It wouldn't mean anything; itwouldn't bind you to the slightest thing. Oh, Helga, dear, let me dothat much for you!"
"Only one man can have the right to do that," she said, hardly above awhisper.
"He is gone," said Everard, not comprehending. "I cannot fill his place,except this one, poor way."
"No," she said. From her bosom she drew out a note and handed it to him.
"From mother!" he cried. "To you!"
It was the letter of a worldly but kind-natured and essentiallysound-hearted woman, an appeal for a deeply-loved son. "That's Dick'swork," said the young man fondly, after running through it. "And itcomes too late! _Does_ it come too late, Helga?"
"If I only knew what was right," said the girl. "If only Petit Pere washere to tell me!"
"Do you mean that you didn't care for him that way?" cried Everard."Helga, do you mean that I had my chance? Is there still----"
They had come around the corner of the piazza, and there sat DickColton, tipped back on two legs of his chair. He rose quickly and madefor the door. Helga called him back, and spoke brokenly: "You must writeto
your mother. I cannot yet. Oh, if I only dared be happy!" she wailed."I know how strongly Petit Pere felt against him, against your family. Icould not----"
"Helga," said Dick, catching her hands in his. "Listen, little girl,little sister. Haynes made me one of his trustees for you. Do you knowwhy? Because he trusted me. Will you trust me too?" Helga's tear-stainedeyes looked into his. "Who would not?" she said.
"He left this charge in my honour: 'Use your influence to guard heragainst marrying under circumstances that you would not approve for thewoman you loved best in the world.' With that charge upon me I solemnlytell you that you may come to us as with Harris Haynes' blessing!"
He put her hand in Everard's and disappeared through the door. The nextinstant Miss Dolly Ravenden, a heap of indignant fluff, was frowning athim from the wall against which she had staggered.
"What a way to come in!" she cried. "You bear! You--you untamedlocomotive! Is anything chasing you?"
Impulse wild and unreckoning upleaped in the heart of Dick Colton thenand there. Without a struggle he gave way to it.
Swinging her up in his powerful arms, he set her upon her feet, andbending, kissed her most emphatically upon the lips. Then he wentupstairs in two bounds, saying at the first bound:
"Good Lord! Now I have ruined myself." And at the second: "It was herown fault."
And while he was making his Adamite excuse, Miss Ravenden, red,confused, and annoyed because she couldn't seem to be properly angry,had walked out upon Helga sobbing in Everard's arms.
"Ah," she said thoughtfully, as she effected a masterly retreat, "it'sin the air to-day."