Part 21 (1/2)

Here Podge ran out of the room and the conversation in the front parlor was renewed. The voice of Calvin Van de Lear said:

”Agnes, looking at your affairs in the light of religious duty, as you seem to prefer, I must tell you that your actions have not always been perfect.”

Nothing was said in reply to this.

”I am to be your pastor at some not distant day,” spoke the same voice, ”and may take some of that privilege now. As a daughter of the church you should give the encouragement of your beauty and favor only to serious, and approved, and moral young men. Not such scapegraces as Andrew Zane!”

”Sir!” exclaimed Agnes, rising. ”How dare you speak of the poor absent one?”

”Sit down,” exclaimed Calvin Van de Lear, not a bit discomposed. ”I have some disciplinary power now, and shall have more. A lady in full communion with our church--a single woman without a living guardian--requires to hear the truth, even from an erring brother. You have no right to go outside the range at least of respectable men, to place your affections and bestow your beauty and religion on a particularly bad man--a criminal indeed--one already fled from this community, and under circ.u.mstances of the greatest suspicion. I mean Andrew Zane!”

”Hus.h.!.+” exclaimed Agnes; ”perhaps he is dead.”

A short and awkward quiet succeeded, broken by young Van de Lear's interruption at last:

”Aggy, I don't know but it is the best thing. Is it so?”

”For shame, sir!”

”He wouldn't have come to any good. I know him well. We went to school together here in Kensington. Under a light and agreeable exterior he concealed an obstinacy almost devilish. All the tricks and daredevil feats we heard of, he was at the head of them. After he grew up his eyes fell on you. For a time he was soberer. Then, perceiving that you were also his father's choice, he conspired against his father, repeatedly absconded, and gave that father great trouble to find and return him to his home, and still stepped between Mr. Zane and his wishes. Was that the part of a grateful and obedient son?”

Not a word was returned by Agnes Wilt.

”How ill-advised,” continued Calvin Van de Lear, ”was your weakness during that behavior! Do you know what the tattle of all Kensington is?

That you favored both the father and the son! That you declined the son only because his father might disinherit him, and put off the father because the son would have the longer enjoyment of his property! I have defended you everywhere on these charges. They say even more, _Miss_ Agnes--if you prefer it--that the murder of the father was not committed by Andrew Zane without an instigator, perhaps an accessory.”

The voice of Agnes was heard in hasty and anxious imploration:

”For pity's sake, say no more. Be silent. Am I not bowed and wretched enough?”

She came hastily to the fissure of the door and looked in, because Duff Salter just then sneezed tremendously:

”Jericho-o-o-o! Jer-ry-cho-o-o!”

Podge Byerly reappeared with a pack of cards and shuffled them before Duff Salter's face.

They sat down and played a game of euchre for a cent a point, the tablets at hand between them to write whatever was mindful. Duff Salter was the best player.

”I believe,” wrote Podge, ”that all Western men are gamblers. Are you?”

He wrote, to her astonishment,

”I was.”

”Wasn't it a sin?”

”Not there.”

”I thought gambling was a sin everywhere?”