Part 38 (1/2)

At this, Fledra turned upon him. He had never felt a pair of eyes affect him as did hers. How winsomely sweet she was! It came over him in a flash that he had not dealt quite justly with her; so he smiled again and held out his hands.

During the morning Fledra crept ghostlike about the house. She strained her eyes, now at one window and then at another, for the first glimpse of Lon. The luncheon hour came and pa.s.sed, and still the thieves gave no sign of coming. Horace had returned from his office early in the afternoon, and was smoking a cigar in the library, when suddenly a loud peal of the doorbell roused him. Fledra, too, heard it distinctly. She was sitting beside Floyd; but had not dared to breathe their danger to him. Her cheeks paled at the sound, and she rested silent until presently summoned to the drawing-room.

”What's the matter?” asked her brother.

”Nothin', Fluke, lay down, and if ye hear anyone talkin' keep still.

Somebody's coming.”

”Somebody comes every day,” answered Floyd. ”That ain't nothin'. What ye doin', Flea?”

She was standing at the door with her ear to the keyhole. She heard the servant pa.s.s her, heard the door open, and Lon's voice asking for Mr.

Sh.e.l.lington. Then she slid back to Flukey, trembling from head to foot.

”Ye're sick, Dear,” said the boy. ”Get off this bed, s.n.a.t.c.het! Lay down here by me, Flea and rest.”

The girl dropped down beside him and closed her eyes with a groan. Floyd placed his thin hand upon her, and Fledra remained silent, until she was summoned to the drawing-room.

”Who wanted me?” Horace asked the question of the mystified servant.

”I didn't catch the name, Sir. I didn't understand it. He's a dreadful-looking man.”

Horace rose, put down his cigar, and walked into the hall.

Lon Cronk was waiting with a shabby cap in his hand. He bowed awkwardly to Sh.e.l.lington, and essayed to speak; but Horace interrupted:

”Do you wish to see me?”

”Yep,” answered Lon, glancing sullenly over the young lawyer. ”I've come for my brats.”

”Your what?”

”My kids, Flea and Flukey Cronk.”

Horace felt something clutch at his heart. Fledra's radiant face rose before his mental vision, and he swallowed hard, as he thought of her relation to the brutal fellow before him.

”Walk in here, please,” he said.

Then he bade the servant call his sister.

Miss Sh.e.l.lington obeyed the summons so quickly that her brother was indicating a chair for the squatter as she walked in. At sight of the uncouth stranger she glanced about her in dismay.

”Ann,” said Horace, ”this is the father--of--”

Ann's expression snapped off his statement. She knew what he would say without his finis.h.i.+ng. She remembered the stories of terrible beatings, and the story of Fledra's fear of a wicked man who wanted her for his woman. The boy's words came back to her plainly. ”And he weren't goin'

to marry her nuther, Mister, and that's the truth.” Nevertheless, she stepped forward, throwing a look from her brother to the squatter.

”But he can't have them--of course, he can't have them!”