CHAPTER 29.
MELISSA AND MARGARET
The early spring sunshine lay like a benediction over the Deanhousehold, for Margaret and her mother were home from exile. On thecorner of the veranda sat Mrs. Dean, where she always sat, knitting.Under the big weeping willow in the garden was her husband's grave.When she was not seated near it, she was there in the porch, and to ither eyes seemed always to stray when she lifted them from her work.
The mail had just come and Margaret was reading a letter from Dan, and,as she read, her cheeks flushed.
"He took me into his own tent, mother, and put his own clothes on meand nursed me like a brother. And now he is going to take me to you andMargaret, he says, and I shall be strong enough, I hope, to start in aweek. I shall be his friend for life."
Neither mother nor daughter spoke when the girl ceased reading. OnlyMargaret rose soon and walked down the gravelled walk to the stile.
Beneath the hill, the creek sparkled. She could see the very pool whereher brothers and the queer little stranger from the mountains werefishing the day he came into her life. She remembered the indignantheart-beat with which she had heard him call her "little gal," and shesmiled now, but she could recall the very tone of his voice and thesteady look in his clear eyes when he offered her the perch he hadcaught. Even then his spirit appealed unconsciously to her, when hesturdily refused to go up to the house because her brother was "feelin'hard towards him." How strange and far away all that seemed now! Up thecreek and around the woods she strolled, deep in memories. For a longwhile she sat on a stone wall in the sunshine--thinking and dreaming,and it was growing late when she started back to the house. At thestile, she turned for a moment to look at the old Buford home acrossthe fields. As she looked, she saw the pike-gate open and a woman'sfigure enter, and she kept her eyes idly upon it as she walked ontoward the house. The woman came slowly and hesitatingly toward theyard. When she drew nearer, Margaret could see that she wore homespun,home-made shoes, and a poke-bonnet. On her hands were yarn half-mits,and, as she walked, she pushed her bonnet from her eyes with one hand,first to one side, then to the other--looking at the locusts plantedalong the avenue, the cedars in the yard, the sweep of lawn overspreadwith springing bluegrass. At the yard gate she stopped, leaning overit--her eyes fixed on the stately white house, with its mighty pillars.Margaret was standing on the steps now, motionless and waiting, and,knowing that she was seen, the woman opened the gate and walked up thegravelled path--never taking her eyes from the figure on the porch.Straight she walked to the foot of the steps, and there she stopped,and, pushing her bonnet back, she said, simply:
"Are you Mar-ga-ret?" pronouncing the name slowly and with greatdistinctness.
Margaret started.
"Yes," she said.
The girl merely looked at her--long and hard. Once her lips moved:
"Mar-ga-ret," and still she looked. "Do you know whar Chad is?"
Margaret flushed.
"Who are you?"
"Melissy."
Melissa! The two girls looked deep into each other's eyes and, for oneflashing moment, each saw the other's heart--bared and beating--andMargaret saw, too, a strange light ebb slowly from the other's face anda strange shadow follow slowly after.
"You mean Major Buford?"
"I mean Chad. Is he dead?"
"No, he is bringing my brother home."
"Harry?"
"No--Dan."
"Dan--here?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"As soon as my brother gets well enough to travel. He is wounded."
Melissa turned her face then. Her mouth twitched and her clasped handswere working in and out. Then she turned again.
"I come up here from the mountains, afoot jus' to tell ye--to tell YOUthat Chad ain't no"--she stopped suddenly, seeing Margaret's quickflush--"CHAD'S MOTHER WAS MARRIED. I jus' found it out last week. Heain't no--"--she started fiercely again and stopped again. "But I comehere fer HIM--not fer YOU. YOU oughtn't to 'a' keered. Hit wouldn't 'a'been his fault. He never was the same after he come back from here. Hitworried him most to death, an' I know hit was you--YOU he was alwaysthinkin' about. He didn't keer 'cept fer you." Again that shadow cameand deepened. "An' you oughtn't to 'a' keered what he was--and that'swhy I hate you," she said, calmly--"fer worryin' him an' bein' sohigh-heeled that you was willin' to let him mighty nigh bust his heartabout somethin' that wasn't his fault. I come fer him--youunderstand--fer HIM. I hate YOU!"
She turned without another word, walked slowly back down the walk andthrough the gate. Margaret stood dazed, helpless, almost frightened.She heard the girl cough and saw now that she walked as if weak andill. As she turned into the road, Margaret ran down the steps andacross the fields to the turnpike. When she reached the road-fence thegirl was coming around the bend her eyes on the ground, and every nowand then she would cough and put her hand to her breast. She looked upquickly, hearing the noise ahead of her, and stopped as Margaretclimbed the low stone wall and sprang down.
"Melissa, Melissa! You mustn't hate me. You mustn't hate ME."Margaret's eyes were streaming and her voice trembled with kindness.She walked up to the girl and put one hand on her shoulder. "You aresick. I know you are, and you must come back to the house."
Melissa gave way then, and breaking from the girl's clasp she leanedagainst the stone wall and sobbed, while Margaret put her arms abouther and waited silently.
"Come now," she said, "let me help you over. There now. You must comeback and get something to eat and lie down." And Margaret led Melissaback across the fields.