Part 26 (1/2)

”I mean ten years ago.”

”Well, if you want to know, I was tired of being cooped up, so I dug out.”

”Cooped up!” exclaimed Farvel, bitterly.

”I guess you know it! And Church! Church! Church! And prayers three times a day! And a small town! Oh, it was _deadly_!”

”No other reason?” asked Farvel, coldly.

She got up, suddenly impatient. ”I've told you the truth!” she cried.

Then more quietly, seeing how white and drawn he looked, ”I'm sorry it worried you.” She set the cage on a chair near the double door.

”Worried!” echoed Farvel, bitterly. ”Ha! ha!” And with significance, ”And who was concerned in your going?”

”That's a nice thing for you to insinuate!” she returned hotly.

”I beg your pardon.”

Mrs. Milo fell to rocking nervously. She was enjoying the situation to the full; still--the att.i.tude of Farvel toward this young woman was far from lover-like; while her att.i.tude toward him was marked by hatred badly disguised. Hence an unpleasant and unwelcome thought: What if this ”Laura” turned out to be only a relative of the clergyman's!

Farvel's apology moved Clare to laughter. ”Oh, that's all right,” she a.s.sured him, impudently; ”I understand. The more religious people are, you know, the more vile are their suspicions”--this with a mocking glance at Mrs. Milo.

The green velour rocker suddenly stood still, and Mrs. Milo fairly glared at the girl. Clare, seeing that she had gained the result she sought, grinned with satisfaction, and resumed her chair.

Farvel had not noticed what pa.s.sed between the two women. He was watching Wallace. ”And you----” he began presently.

The younger man straightened, writhed within his clothes as if he were in pain, and went back to his stooping position once more--all with that swiftness which was so like the effect of an electrical current.

”Alan,” he whispered.

”--What had you to do with it?” went on the clergyman.

Clare scoffed. ”Wallace had nothing to do with it,” she declared.

”What in the d.i.c.kens is the matter with you?”

”Nothing to do with it?” repeated Farvel. Then, with sudden fury, ”Look at him!” He made for Wallace, pus.h.i.+ng aside a chair that was not in his way.

”Alan! Stop!” Clare rose, and Mrs. Milo rose, too.

”Come now, Wallace,” Farvel said more quietly. ”I want the truth.”

Mrs. Milo hastened to her son. ”Darling, I know you haven't done anything wrong,” she said, tenderly. ”This 'friend' is trying to s.h.i.+ft the blame. Stand up for yourself, my boy. Mother believes in you.”

Wallace's chin sank to his breast. At the end of his long arms, his hands knotted and unknotted like the hands of a man in agony.

”My dearest!” comforted his mother. His suffering was evidence of guilt to Balcome and Farvel; to her it was grief, at having been put under unjust suspicion.

He lifted a white face. His eyes were streaming now, his whole body trembling pitifully. ”Oh, what'll I do!” he cried. ”What'll I do!”

He tottered to the chair that Farvel had shoved aside, dropped into it, and covered his face with both hands.

”My boy! My boy!”