the revulsion of feeling was so sharp as to demand all the effort she was capable of making to move at all. her self-control had never before been so severely tested; the strain was so great that she forgot to smile, until pendleton, drawing off his gloves and toasting his back at the fire, which he first took pains to rearrange with as serene assurance as if it had been his own house, said:
"dear me, rosamund! why this exuberant gayety of welcome?"
it was easy enough to laugh, and she felt secretly grateful for his nonsense. she had almost forgotten the time when she had found such banter on her own part a veritable shield and buckler.
"i'm stunned with joy, marshall," she laughed. then, turning to flood, "have my woods brought you?"
he flushed with joy that she should have remembered their talk on the pocantico ride. "your woods and what's in them," he told her. "i've brought down a couple of young dogs, and we thought we'd try for some shooting before the snow. that's due any day now, isn't it?"
"yes, the season has been unusually late, they say. but, mr. flood, you must not try to do any shooting around here!"
"why not?" pendleton put in, raising his eyebrows; he succeeded in trying to look teasing only so far as to appear malicious. "tame birds, rose?"
she ignored his impudence. "you'd get me into greater disfavor than ever," she said, speaking to flood. "you know there are said to be illicit stills in these mountains; there have been some lawless things done within a year or two, and the government is watching the people here, or so they believe. they are distrustful of everybody—my poor innocent self included."
"i hope there's nothing unpleasant?" flood asked, looking disturbed.
"no! oh, dear, no! but there might be, if you went about in the woods with your guns, and were known to be my friends."
"your fears are quite groundless, my dear," said pendleton. "we were not going to stop here, anyway, but flood hesitates to disillusion you. there's no hotel in your neighborhood, you know."
"i'm so glad!" she cried, and then joined the two men in their laugh. "oh, marshall, you're always making me absurd! you know perfectly well what i mean! i had horrible visions of your being murdered in the woods; naturally, i'm not glad there's no place for you to stay! i wish i could put you up here, but——"
"certainly!" said flood, to her expressive pause. "we understand how impossible it would be. fact is, we thought we'd run down to oakleigh for a few days, and we found we wanted to come a bit out of the path and call on you! hope you don't mind?"
to her surprise she realized that she was really very glad to see them. she had within the hour been declaring that she had put away the old life, yet here were these two dropped from the skies of chance, to remind her of it; and she was undeniably glad to see them!
it ended in their staying to the midday dinner, when aunt sue surpassed the standard of her own fried chicken and beaten biscuits, and matt could be heard turning the ice-cream freezer all during the first part of the meal, and tim had to be suppressed by eleanor because he would persist in trying to describe how the chickens they were eating had hopped and hopped and hopped when matt had chopped their heads off.
it was the first time flood had met eleanor, and it was immediately evident that she impressed him very much. his look was upon her more than upon rosamund; he watched her every move with a light of pleasure in his eyes, and his manner toward her was exquisite—holding something of the deference of a young man toward a very charming, very old lady, something of the tenderness of a physician toward a courageous patient, something of a courtier's manner toward a queen, a little of the look of the lover of beauty at something unexpectedly lovely. and since eleanor was neither old nor ill nor yet a queen, it must have been her loveliness, fragile and gentle and rare, that had attracted him, since attracted he so plainly was.
he would look from eleanor to rosamund from time to time as if trying to convey, silently, to the woman whom he held above all others how lovely he found her friend; and rosamund, understanding and liking him for it, drew eleanor out of the little tiredness of manner that was apt to fall upon her before strangers, and flood brought the color to eleanor's cheeks when he noticed how timmy had blossomed under her care. indeed, the little boy, with the quick adaptability of babyhood, might have been petted and adored all his life, so complacently did he accept his new mother's care and ignore the comments of flood; for the moment he was absorbed in the celery family which he had spread out before him on the tablecloth.
"it's me an' my muvver," he said to himself, as he arrayed a short stalk and some longer ones before him, "an' it's miss rose, an' it's yetta, an' it's matt. an' vey ain't any sue!" tim could not be prevailed upon to accept aunt susan, apparently feeling that in order to repudiate the relationship which he thought her title of courtesy implied he must repudiate her entirely.
after dinner rosamund managed so that a rather reluctant flood and eleanor should be led off by tim to inspect the chickens. pendleton was by no means disdaining to pay homage to yetta's black eyes, and for a while rosamund watched the two with amusement.
it was the first opportunity rosamund had found for measuring the girl's improvement. it was amusing to see how well yetta had learned to imitate eleanor's manners and her own, how seldom she lapsed into the speech of the streets, yet how much of her native quickness and assurance she had retained. she was never at a loss for an answer to pendleton's banter; and pendleton, soaring to farther and farther heights of absurdity, was enjoying himself immensely, when rosamund decided that yetta had had enough, and sent the girl off to her lessons.
"now what did you break it up for, rose?" pendleton protested, adding, "it's wonderful how jealous all you women are of me!"
she laughed. "marshall! your absurdity is only exceeded by your modesty!"
"oh, i know my worth," said he, folding his hands and looking down, with his head on one side. apparently he never tired of playing the clown.
"tell me about cecilia," said rosamund.
"ah, dear cecilia! she's looking very well this autumn, very well indeed. and young! and slim! i admire dear cecilia's slimness exceedingly. it's a monument to perseverance and self-denial."
rosamund understood, and smiled with him. "her letters have sounded very happy, so i've taken it for granted that things have gone well with her," she said.
"well, you're responsible for that, aren't you? 'pon my word, if cecilia had money enough—or i had—to make her contented——" he sighed. "but cecilia's up to something. she doesn't seem to—er—to care as much for my company as she did. why, rose, would you believe it, she even sent down word to me the other day that she had a headache!"
"perhaps she had," rosamund suggested.
"oh, no. no. if she had, she would have let me see her. i'm good for headaches. no, it wasn't that. besides, it was the very day after flood told her he was coming here, and asked if she had any messages for you. no. cecilia's up to something."
he wilted sideways in his chair, and tried to look pensive and pathetic. rosamund watched him, amused as always, and not in the least understanding what he was trying to imply.
suddenly he leaned toward her. "and you're up to something, too, rosy!" he said, as if throwing the words at her. "what's your game in staying down here, anyway?"
she flushed angrily. "marshall! you go too far, you know!"
"oh, come along, don't get mad!" he said. "what's your little game? are you staying up here to draw old flood on, or is it something else? i won't tell!"
she felt herself enveloped in a hot wave of anger and disgust, as if the fetid breath of some foul creature had blown toward her. she sprang from her chair and went swiftly toward the long window, and throwing it open stepped down to the piazza.
pendleton followed as calmly as if nothing had been said to arouse her; but she was spared an answer, even a look, for eleanor and flood were coming back to the house, flood declaring that it was time for their adieux.
rosamund was glad; she had been unexpectedly glad to see them, but now her pleasure was gone. she felt sick at heart, and wanted to be alone. yet her pride sustained her until they were gone; she stood on the veranda to wave farewell to them as if nothing had happened, one arm about yetta's shoulders, framed against the background of the little brown house that flood thought so inadequate a shelter for a creature so beloved and so rare.
flood felt that he had been discretion itself. he had learned his lesson, and was now too anxious for ultimate success to risk alarming her; but every move she made, every look, every tone had been as meat and drink to his longing.
on their way back past the summit his mind and heart were full of her, from her first silent greeting to the last glimpse of her with her arm across the child's shoulders. how like her unerring taste, he thought, to have chosen as friend so exquisite a creature as that mrs. reeves; and how right mrs. reeves had been in all her praise of rosamund! it had seemed to him to-day that her face had been more than ever full of dancing play of color; certainly her cheeks had flamed when she had come out of that long window to meet him.
but pendleton broke in on his dreams. "our rosy was looking exceedingly blooming," said he. "wonder what's up?"
he managed to throw something of insinuation into his tone.
"oh, shut up, you ass!" said flood.
whereupon mr. pendleton raised his eyebrows, smiled, and proceeded to whistle the "merry widow waltz," which he knew flood detested, for one immortal hour.
later in the evening, when tim and yetta had been long in bed, rosamund and eleanor were in the sitting-room before the fire, the table with its yellow-shaded lamp drawn up between them. since the night of rosamund's fright the shades were kept drawn at night; now the room, in its seclusion, was warm and cosy with the sense of home. eleanor smiled over a garment of timmy's that she was mending; she stopped, from time to time, to look into the fire, laying the work in her lap as if it were a task over which she loved to linger.
rosamund sat back in her big chair, her eyes partly closed, deep in thought. the day had been full of crowding emotions. she mentally recalled first one and then another, trying to marshal them into some sequence of cause and event.
on the last moments between herself and john ogilvie she dwelt least; even in memory they were too palpitating. it is only after surrender, or after loss, that a woman loves to dwell upon such moments; before, they hold too much of fear, not to call forth the feminine withdrawal of the unwon. his looks she dared recall; his pale intensity, the flame in his eyes, the fear and anger there as she described the wicked face at the window, his look before he left her, when pendleton's step was already on the veranda.
that brought her thoughts to pendleton, to his insinuations and the slight leer in his look. she shuddered all the more because she knew that, a few months before, she would have parried his impertinence with a laugh, instead of with the scorn and anger she had not been able to hide to-day. she was at least that far from the old life, the old state of mind! she knew now how intolerable she would find the people who had seemed only commonplace before! looking back, secure in her new life in this purer air, she could say to herself how much she hated their suspicions of everyone, their petty gossip, their searching for hidden, unworthy motives in every least action, their expecting the base to emerge from every innocence, their smiling, flattering faces.
she was glad, she told herself, so glad to be away from all that—all the more glad because she could remember the time when it had not especially displeased her. yet in fairness she reminded herself that flood was different. he had been very nice, indeed, to-day—and he had liked eleanor. it spoke well for him that eleanor, too, liked him! she looked across at eleanor's tenderly brooding face, and smiled; how suitable it would be, she thought, if flood and eleanor—that would relieve herself of flood's intentions. it was the first time she had been willing to admit that she knew what they were—and intentions on flood's part would be quite delightful if eleanor were their object——
so her thoughts passed, from one thing to another, until, suddenly, as if a shot had broken her dream, her heart stood still with fear, then seemed to leap into her throat.
she and eleanor were on their feet in an instant, hands grasping hands, startled eyes searching each other's and then turning toward the door. this time it was no stealthy presence which had crept upon the house to peer in at the window. even while they held each other, there in their safety before the fire, something stumbled across the piazza, fell against the door, cried out, seemed to fall farther, as if at the limit of strength—and was still.
even the negroes in the kitchen heard the noise, and came running in with scared faces.
rosamund moved quickly and quietly to the door, silently slid back the bolt, and flung it open.
there was no lurking enemy to surprise. instead, a huddled form lay, as if crushed, before the doorsill. between them they managed to lift it and bear it upstairs. all the way up eleanor, though trembling and very white, carried her full share of the burden, and kept saying over and over to rosamund:
"it's all right, sweet! don't be frightened! it's all right, sweet! don't be frightened!"
and rosamund was saying over and over, on sobbing breath, "o grace! poor grace! o grace!"
they laid her on a bed and undressed her. the poor cut feet were soiled with blood and seemed frozen; the forehead beneath the pale strands of hair—those pathetic strands of the woman in whom pride and vanity are dead—was cut and bruised; on her body they found larger bruises. they bathed her, and wrapped her in clean linen, and made her as comfortable as they could. aunt sue and eleanor exchanged looks, and shook their heads. they sent matt after the doctor. then timmy called out, and eleanor went to him. aunt sue said something about more hot water, and descended to the kitchen.
rosamund knelt beside the bed, and presently grace fluttered back to a dim consciousness.
"miss rose! miss rose!" were her first words, uttered in a tone of fright.
"yes, dear! i am here," said rosamund, laying one of her cool hands on grace's forehead.
grace closed her eyes as if satisfied. "i had to come," she whispered. "it wasn't only for me."
