Part 18 (1/2)

Simpson moved in his chair, and a sudden wondering look appeared in his eyes at the words ”eastern Kentucky.” The old woman, too, slightly raised her bent form and gazed eagerly at the candidate. But Jimmy Grayson took no notice, and continued.

”This,” he said, ”is the love story of two people who were young then, but who are old now. Yet I am sure there is much affection and tenderness in their hearts, and often they must think fondly of those old days. The youth lived on the side of a mountain, and the girl lived on the side of another mountain not far away. He was tall, strong, and brave; she, too, was tall, as slender as one of the mountain saplings, with glorious brown hair and eyes, and a voice as musical as a mountain echo. Well, they met and they loved, loved truly and deeply. It might seem that the way was easy now for them to marry and go to a house of their own, but it was not. There was a bar.”

”A feud!” breathed the old man. The old woman put her hands to her eyes.

”Yes, a feud; they seem strange things to us here, but to those distant people in the mountains they seem the most natural thing in the world.

The youth and the girl belonged to families that were at war with each other, and marriage between them would have been considered by all their relatives a mortal sin.”

The old man's eyes were fastened upon Jimmy Grayson's, but his look for the moment was distant, as if it were held by old memories. The woman was crying softly. Again the soft shuffle of feet in the other part of the house came to Harley's ears, but the old couple did not hear; the driver was forgotten; for all Simpson and his wife remembered, he might still be finis.h.i.+ng his morning toilet on the porch.

”They were compelled to meet in secret,” continued Jimmy Grayson, ”but the girl was frightened for him because she loved him. She told him that he must go away, that if her father and brothers heard of their meetings they would kill him; it was impossible for them to marry, but she loved him, she would never deny that. He listened to her gently and tenderly; he was a brave youth, as I have said, and he would not go away. He said that G.o.d had made them for each other, and she should be his wife; he would not go away; he was not afraid.”

”No, I was not afraid,” breathed the old man, softly. The old woman had straightened herself up until she stood erect. There was a delicate flush on her face, and her eyes were luminous.

”This youth was a hero, a gallant and chivalrous gentleman,” continued Jimmy Grayson; ”he loved the girl, and she loved him; there was no real reason in the world why they should not marry, and he was resolved that there should be none.”

The candidate's head was bent forward over his plate. His face was slightly flushed, and his burning eyes held Simpson's. Harley saw that he thrilled with his own story and the crisis for which it was told.

Elsewhere in the building the faint noises went on, but Harley alone heard.

”The youth did what I would have done and what you would have done, Mr.

Simpson,” continued Jimmy Grayson. ”He did what nature and sense dictated. He overbore all resistance on the part of the girl, who in her heart was willing to be overborne. One dark night he stole her from her father's house and carried her away on his horse.”

”How well I remember it!” exclaimed the old man, with eyes a-gleam. ”I had Marthy on the horse behind me, and my rifle on the pommel of the saddle before me.”

The old woman cried softly, but it seemed to Harley that the note of her weeping was not grief.

”He stole her away,” continued Jimmy Grayson, ”and before morning they were married. Then he took her to a house of his own, and he sent word that if any man came to do them harm he would meet a rifle bullet. They knew that he was the best shot in the mountains, and that he was without fear, so they did not come. And that youth and that girl are still living, though both are old now, but neither has ever for a moment regretted that night.”

”You speak the truth,” exclaimed the old man, striking his fist upon the table, while his eyes flashed with exultant fire. ”We've never been sorry for a moment for what we did, hev we Marthy?”

Harley had risen to his feet, and a signal look pa.s.sed between him and the candidate.

”And then,” said Jimmy Grayson, ”why do you deny to Henry Eversley the right to do what you did, and what you still glory in after all these years? Mr. Simpson, shake hands with your new son-in-law. He and his bride are waiting in the doorway.”

The old man sprang to his feet. His daughter and a youth, a handsome couple, stood at the entrance. Behind them were three or four men, one the driver, and another in clerical garb, evidently a minister.

”They were married in your front parlor while we sat at breakfast,” said Jimmy Grayson. ”Mr. Simpson, your son-in-law is still offering you his hand.”

The bewildered look left the old man's eyes, and he took the outstretched hand in a hearty grasp.

”Henry,” he said, ”you've won.”

X

THE ”KING'S” REQUEST

An hour later the candidate, Harley, and the driver were on the way to the town at which they had intended to pa.s.s the preceding night. With ample instructions and a brilliant morning sunlight there was no further trouble about the direction, and they pursued their way in peace.