Part 66 (1/2)

”You puzzle me deeply,” he said, walking up and down with troubled anxiety. ”I can form no opinion as to whether your dread is purely imaginary or not, because you tell me nothing. If you were an ordinary woman, I should not give much thought to what you say--or rather to what you look, for you say nothing; but you are not ordinary. You are essentially brave, and you have fewer of the fantastic, irrelevant fancies of women than any girl I have ever known. There must be something, then, to fear, since _you_ fear so intensely. I like you, Anne; I respect you. I admire you too, more than you know. You are so utterly alone in this trouble that I can not desert you. And I will not.”

”Do not stay on my account.”

”But I shall. That is, in the city; it is decided. Here is my address.

Promise that if you should wish help or advice in any way--mark that I say, in any way--you will send me instantly a dispatch.”

”I will.”

”There is nothing more that I can do for you?”

”Nothing.”

”And nothing that you will tell me? Think well, child.”

”Nothing.”

Then, as it was late, he made her renew her promise, and went away.

The next morning the package of newspapers was brought to Anne from the station at an early hour as usual. She was in her own room waiting for them. She watched the boy coming along the road, and felt a sudden thrill of anger when he stopped to throw a stone at a bird. To stop with _that_ in his hand! Old Nora brought up the package. Anne took it, and closed the door. Then she sat down to read.

Half an hour later, Gregory Dexter received a telegraphic dispatch from Lancaster. ”Come immediately. A. D.”

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

”He was first always. Fortune Shone bright in his face.

I fought for years; with no effort He conquered the place.

We ran; my feet were all bleeding, But he won the race.

”My home was still in the shadow; His lay in the sun.

I longed in vain; what he asked for, It straightway was done.

Once I staked all my heart's treasure; We played--and he won!”

--ADELAIDE PROCTER.

When the dispatch came, Dexter had not yet seen the morning papers. He ate his breakfast hastily, and on the way to the station and on the train he read them with surprise and a tumultuous mixture of other feelings, which he did not stop then to a.n.a.lyze. Mrs. Bagshot had been brought forward a second time by the prosecution, and had testified to an extraordinary conversation which had taken place between Mrs.

Heathcote and an unknown young girl on the morning after the news of Captain Heathcote's death in the Shenandoah Valley had been received, parts of which (the conversation) she, in an adjoining room, had overheard. He had barely time to grasp the tenor of the evidence (which was voluminous and interrupted by many questions) when the train reached Lancaster, and he found Li in waiting with the red wagon. All Li could tell was that Miss Douglas was ”going on a journey.” She was ”all ready, with her bonnet on.”

In the little parlor he found her, walking up and down, as he had walked during the preceding evening. White as her face was, there was a new expression in her eyes--an expression of energy. In some way she had reached a possibility of action, and consequently a relief. When he had entered, with a rapid motion she closed the doors. ”Have you read it?”

she said.

”You mean the new testimony? Yes; I read it as I came out.”

”And you understood, of course, that it was I?”

”I feared it might be.”

”And you see that I must go immediately to Multomah?”