Part 15 (2/2)
His wife, who knew all the varying weathers of his temper was using all her small stock of diplomacy to get him to eat his supper. ”When in doubt about a man, feed him,” had been Louisa Bartlett's unfailing rule for the last thirty years. ”Here, Amasy, sit down in your place that Anna has fixed for you. You can talk after you've had your tea. Anna, please make the Squire some fresh tea. I'm afraid this is a little cool.”
”She need not make my tea, now, or on any future occasion--her days of service in my family are done for.” And he hammered the table with his clenched fist.
Anna closed her eyes; it had come at last; she had always known that it was only a question of time.
The rest looked at the Squire dumbfounded. Ah, that is, but Marthy.
She was licking her lips in delightful antic.i.p.ation--with much the same expression as a cat would regard an uncaged canary.
”Why, father, what do you mean?” asked David in amazement. He had heard no rumor of why his father had gone to Belden.
”Now, listen, all of you,” and again he thundered on the table with his fist. ”Last summer I was persuaded, against my will, to take a strange woman into my house. I found out to-day that my judgment then was right. I have been imposed on--she is an imposter, an adventuress.”
”Amasy, Amasy, don't be so hard on her,” pleaded his wife. But the Squire had the true huntsman's instinct--when he went out to hunt, he went out to kill.
”The time has come,” he continued, raising his voice and ignoring his wife's pleading, ”when this home is better without her.”
Anna had already begun her preparation to go. She took her cloak down from its peg and wrapped it about her without a word.
”Father, if Anna goes, I go with her,” and David rose to his feet, the very incarnation of wrath, and strode over to where Anna stood apart from the rest. He put his arm about her protectingly, and stood there defiant of them all.
”David, you must be mad. What, you, a son of mine, defy your father here in the presence of your friends for that--adventuress?”
”Father, take back that word about Anna. A better woman never lived.
You--who call yourself a Christian--would you send away a friendless girl a night like this? And for what reason? Because a few old cats have been gossiping about her. It is unworthy of you, father; I would not have believed it.”
”So you have appointed yourself her champion, sir. No doubt she has been trying her arts on you. Don't be a fool, David; stand aside, if she wants to go, let her; women like her can look out for themselves; let her go.”
”Don't make me forget, sir, that you are my father. I refuse absolutely to hear the woman I love spoken of in this way.”
The rest looked on in painful silence; they seemed to be deprived of the power of speech or action by the Squire's vehemence; the wind howled about the house fitfully, and was still, then resumed its wailing grief.
”And you stand there and defy me for that woman in the presence of Kate, to whom you are as good as betrothed?”
”No, no; there is no question of an engagement between David and me, and there never can be,” said Kate, not knowing in the least what to make of the turn that things had taken.
David continued to stand with his arm about Anna. He had heard the Belden gossip--a wealthy young man from Boston had been attentive to her, then left the place; jilted her, some said; been refused by her, said others. It did not make a bit of difference to David which version was true; he was ready to stand by Anna in the face of a thousand gossips. This was just his father's brutal way of upholding what he was pleased to term his authority.
”What do you know about her, David?” reiterated the Squire. ”I heard reports, but like you, I would not believe them till I had investigated them fully. Ask her if she has not been the mother of an illegitimate child, who is now buried in the Episcopal cemetery at Belden--ask her if she was not known there under the name of Mrs. Lennox?”
”It is true,” said the girl, raising her head, ”that I was known as Mrs. Lennox. It is true that I have a child buried in Belden----”
David's arm fell from her, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Anna opened the door, a whirling gust flared the lamps and drove a skurrying cloud of snowflakes within, yet not one hand was raised to detain her. She swayed uncertain for a moment on the threshold, then turned to them: ”You have hunted me down, you have found out that I have been a mother, that I am without the protection of a husband's name, and that was enough for you--your duty stopped at the scandal.
Why did you not find out that I was a young, inexperienced girl who was betrayed by a mock marriage--that I thought myself an honorable wife--why should your duty stop in hunting down a defenseless girl while the man who ruined her life sits there, a welcome guest in your house to-night?”
<script>