Part 15 (2/2)

”I thank the Lord for that much. We might help each other to--”

”No, our battles are apart.”

”Oh, I didn't mean that. I mean we can help each other spiritually.

Don't you think so?”

”We can all help one another spiritually,” she said. ”May I go now?” she asked, smiling.

”I wish I could keep you from going. Wait. I can't understand that you have labored in a field. You are the most graceful woman I ever saw--the most perfect lady couldn't discount you. You've got good blood. I believe in blood.”

”I am of a good family,” she said. ”My father was once a man of some importance. But the world turned against him. Blood is all that saved me.”

”I've got one more word to say, now that we are better acquainted. I jumped on a horse once and galloped away from you--out at the little town on the prairie. You don't remember me, but I do you.”

”Galloped away from me!” she said in surprise. ”Why did you do that?”

”Because I didn't want to get tangled up. Did you ever see a bigger fool? And when I saw you out here I started off again, but I stopped and said, 'I'll be d.a.m.ned if I do.' Once is enough. May I tell you more?”

”No,” she said, stepping back. ”I have heard enough. And what you tell me may not be true--about galloping away. I don't mean to offend you.

But I have been taught to believe--”

”That all men are liars,” he suggested. She nodded. ”They taught you about right,” he went on. ”Yes, they did. But sometimes the biggest liar may tell the truest truth. They took you out of the field and taught you politeness. I went from a college out into the wilds and there I forgot learning and learned deviltry. Do you know what they used to call me?

h.e.l.l-in-the-Mud. That was my nickname. h.e.l.l-in-the-Mud, think of it! And what saved me, if I am saved? An old woman living on a hillside in Connecticut--my mother--prayed for me and died. It's a fact. I don't know whether there's a G.o.d or not, that is, for the average run of us, but there's one for her. Prayed for h.e.l.l-in-the-Mud, and her prayer was printed in the village paper, and I got hold of it. Then I said I would pay him--a man. But go on, I'm telling you too much.”

She turned away without saying another word and almost ran along the road. He stood watching her, hoping that she would look back at him, but she did not. He went to the house. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the cards from the table and tore them into bits. ”I hate the sight of them,” he said. The clock struck five. He was reminded of his engagement at the Professor's, and he hastened to fill it. He had dreaded to meet the woman who had scared him out of her dooryard. His nerve had been lead. Now it was iron.

CHAPTER XI.

A MAN

As Milford hastened over the road that led to the Professor's house, a picture thrust itself into his mind, to shorten his stride, to make him slow. He saw the girl's hand held out to him, and he wondered why he had not dared to touch it. Surely, there was no labor mark upon it, pink and soft-looking, a hand for the pressure of love and not for work in a field. She had said that she liked him. But any one might have said that. She had said it with a frankness which showed that she had not told more than the truth. But why should she have told more than the truth? Why have had more than truth to tell? He put it all aside and strode onward toward the Professor's house. A light gleamed feebly through the mist.

He unwound the chain from about the gate-post. A dog barked. The door opened and the Professor stepped out, gowned and slippered. He seized his visitor warmly by the hand and led him into the sitting-room, dim with faded furnis.h.i.+ngs. His fingers were ink-stained, and his red hair was awry as if he had raked his head for thought. Mrs. Dolihide came into the room.

”My dear,” said the Professor, ”permit me to present to you, and to the humble hospitality of our home, our neighbor and my friend, Mr. Milford, the so-called mysterious, but, indeed, the plain and straightforward.

Mrs. Dolihide, Mr. Milford.”

She smiled pleasantly, drew back with a bow, stepped forward and held out her hand. She said that she was delighted to meet him. She had heard her husband speak of him so often. Milford breathed a new atmosphere. He saw that there was to be no allusion to the dust that was kicked up in front of the house. From the dining-room there came a stimulating sniff of coffee. A cat came in with a limber walk and stiffened herself to rub against Milford's chair.

”A fine cat,” he said, stroking her.

”A marvelous animal,” replied the Professor. ”We have had her now going on--how long have we had her, my dear?”

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