Part 25 (1/2)

”It's awfully good of you. But please, if you mind coming, don't; for indeed I----”

”You ain't your aunt,” a.s.serted Martin with a shy glance into her face.

Lucy met the glance with a blush and a whimsical smile.

”No, I'm not,” she responded, ”and sometimes I wish you weren't your father and your grandfather.”

”What do you mean?”

”Because if you were just _you_, you'd be more forgiving--I know you would.”

She saw him bite his lips and a dull red tinge his cheek. Without answering he turned into the long avenue and presently drew up before the side door.

”There you are!” he remarked stiffly.

Lucy did not need to look at him to sense that the kindliness had left his countenance, and his jaw had become grim and set.

Had she been able to read his thoughts, she would have realized that the short detour into Ellen Webster's territory had brought Martin to himself, and that he was already deploring with inward scorn the weakness that had led him to do the thing he had pledged his word never to do. He could not even shunt off the blame for his act and say, as did his ill.u.s.trious ancestor: ”The woman tempted me and I did eat.” No, he had open-eyed stalked voluntarily into temptation,--willingly, gladly, triumphantly. He had sinned against his conscience, his traditions, his forbears, and behold, angry as he was with himself for yielding to it, the sin was sweet.

CHAPTER XII

THE TEST

Martin had guided his horse round the triangle of sweet-williams and, still torn by conflicting emotions of ecstasy and self-reproach, was proceeding down the driveway when a cry of distress reached his ear:

”Martin--Mr. Howe!”

He turned to see Lucy Webster beckoning frantically to him from the door.

”Come back, please,” she cried. ”Hurry!”

That she was excited was evident. Indeed she must have been quite out of her mind to have called him Martin in that shameless fas.h.i.+on. The fact that the name had slipped so spontaneously from her lips and that she hastened to correct her mistake caused the man to speculate with delight as to whether she was wont to think of him by this familiar cognomen. This thought, however, was of minor importance, the flash of an instant. What chiefly disturbed Martin was the girl's agitation.

Bringing his horse to a stop, he sped back to where she was standing, and on reaching her side he was startled to see that the face but a short interval before so radiant had blanched to a deathly pallor.

”My aunt!” she whispered in a frightened tone. ”Something terrible has happened to her!”

If Lucy entertained any doubts as to whether he would aid her in the present emergency she had either cast them aside or was determined to ignore such a possibility, for she held the door open with the obvious expectation that he would follow her into the house.

A year ago, a month, nay--a week, he would never have consented to cross the Webster threshold, let alone offer any a.s.sistance to its mistress; but the siren who beckoned him on had cast such a potent spell over his will that now without open protest, although with a certain inward compunction, he followed her through the hall into the kitchen.

Upon the floor was stretched Ellen Webster--crumpled, helpless, inert--her eyes closed and her stern face set as in a death mask. How long she had lain there it was impossible to tell. If she had called for succor it had been to empty walls.

As with mingled sensations Martin stood looking down upon her unconscious form, Lucy threw herself upon her knees beside the woman and gently touched her wrists and heart.

”She isn't dead,” she murmured presently. ”She must either have had a fall or some sort of shock. We must get her upstairs and send for a doctor.”

The ”_we_” told Martin that the girl had not even considered the chance of his refusing to come to her a.s.sistance.