Part 13 (1/2)

Lambert stopped him peremptorily.

”Leave those things just where they were, please.” Paul did as he was told.

”You'll throw them out, uncle?”

”Kindly learn to obey without asking questions!”

All that day, Jane had seen her cousin gay, full of good spirits, utterly unlike the moody, disagreeable boy that he had been for so long; but now the old, hard, obdurate expression came into his face.

”These things are mine, uncle,” he said, quietly.

”Indeed? The top of that flour barrel?” inquired Mr. Lambert, pointing to the picture. Paul hesitated for a moment, and then with a slight shrug, put it down again on the chair.

”No, that is yours,” he said, and walked out of the room.

Mr. Lambert took the picture, looked at it for a moment or two, as if uncertain whether it too, were guilty of some heinous crime against his rule; then, he took it; but instead of breaking it in two, placed it quite carefully behind his desk.

Paul did not appear at supper; but Mr. Lambert preferred not to notice his absence. Everyone was aware that civil war was brewing in the household, and with varying degrees of curiosity or anxiety, made their private conjectures as to what the future would develop in the way of open hostilities or amicable compromise between uncle and nephew.

It was at about half-past ten that night, that Jane, who was rarely in bed at the prescribed time, happened to remember that Elise had left ”Ivanhoe” on the dining room mantel piece; she felt also, that an apple or two was just what she wanted to subdue a certain mild emptiness. The household was perfectly still, and so, taking off her slippers, she stole down-stairs in her stocking feet, to get her book, and rummage in the larder.

There was still a faint glow of firelight in the dining room.

Half-way to the kitchen door she stopped, arrested by a movement in the room, and with her heart beating violently, peered about her. Then she saw that someone was sitting in Granny's chair. For a moment, she could not move a muscle, then, mustering up her courage, she quavered,

”Who-who is that?”

The figure in the chair gave a violent start, then with a little laugh Paul's voice said,

”Is that you, Jane?”

”Oh, _Paul_!” Jane gave a great sigh of relief.

”Did I frighten you?” Paul asked, getting up.

”Well, you _startled_ me,” said Jane, who had always maintained that she was not afraid of ghosts or burglars-never having met a sample of either. ”What are you doing?”

”Nothing,” said Paul. ”What are _you_ doing?”

”I want some food,” said Jane, succinctly. ”Do you?”

”I'm not very hungry. What are you going to get?”

”Well, if there's enough wood there to fix up the fire a little, I could make some cocoa. It's awfully cold in here.”

Paul picked up a stout log and flung it onto the smouldering ashes, and in a few moments, a bright flame crackled up, sending its ruddy light into every corner of the room.

Everyone is familiar with the exquisite feeling of sympathy, which food, produced at just the right moment, can excite between the most hostile natures, and over their cups of cocoa, Jane and Paul, who had never been really hostile, began to see each other in a new light. For the first time they talked with unguarded friendliness, and gradually Paul became more confiding, and Jane listened with her usual eager interest.

At first he talked about his life with his father, his wanderings, and strange adventures, without however, the least exaggeration or the braggadocio with which he had teased and disgusted Carl. It was not strange that Jane, who had never seen any part of the world save the few square miles of earth, bounded by the hills of Frederickstown, listened to his stories of foreign seas and foreign lands as if she were bewitched.

Never before had Paul talked to any of them about himself or his past life; loquaciousness on any subject was not one of his characteristics and concerning his own affairs he had been particularly reticent; but now it was as if he could no longer smother down all that was pent up within him. In the presence of his sympathetic listener, his words now fairly tumbled over each other, and his face grew tight and weird with earnestness and enthusiasm.