Arthur Lane and Sandy talked it over. “I wonder what has happened. He looks dreadful.” The two boys were on their way to Castle Manor. They wanted books. Evans’ library was a treasure-house for youthful readers. It had all the old adventuring tales. And Evans had read everything. He would simply walk up to a shelf, lay his hand on a book, and say, “Here’s one you’ll like.” And he was never wrong.
He had told them that the latch-string was always out for them. And they had learned to look for his welcome. Sometimes he asked them to stay, and ’phoned to their parents. And then they popped corn before the library fire, or made taffy in the kitchen. And sometimes Baldy Barnes was there and that wonderful Miss Towne. And Mrs. Follette. The boys didn’t care in the least what the rest of Sherwood thought about Mrs. Follette. They liked her and when she made the taffy and stood over the boiling kettle with the big spoon in her hand, they thought her regal in spite of the humble nature of her occupation.
But of late, Evans Follette had met them with an effort. “Look for yourselves,” he had said, when[259] they asked for books, and had sat staring into the fire. And he had not urged them to stay. His manner had been kind but inattentive. They were puzzled and a little hurt. “I feel sorta queer when he acts that way,” Sandy was saying, “as if he didn’t take any interest. I don’t even know whether he wants us any more.”
Arthur refused to believe his hero inhospitable. “It’s just that he’s got things on his mind.”
They reached the house and rang the bell. Old Mary let them in. “He’s in the library,” she said, and they went towards it. The door was open and they entered. But the room was empty....
That morning Baldy had had a letter from Jane and had handed it to Evans. It was the first long letter since her engagement to Towne. Baldy had written to his sister, flamingly, demanding to know if she was really happy. And she had said:
“I shall be when Judy is better. That is all I can think of just now. Her life is hanging in the balance. We can never be thankful enough that we got the specialist when we did. He had found the trouble. The question now is whether she will have the strength for another operation. When she gets through with that! Well, then I’ll talk to you, darling. I hardly know how I feel. The days are so whirling. Mr. Towne has been more than generous. If the little I can give him will repay him, then I must give it, dearest. And it won’t be hard. He is so very good to me.”
[260]And now this letter had come after Towne’s second visit:
“Baldy, dear, I am very happy. And I want you to set your mind at rest. I am not marrying Mr. Towne for what he has done for us all, but because I love him. Please believe it. You can’t understand what he has been to me in these dark days. I have learned to know how kind he is—and how strong. I haven’t a care in the world when he is here, and everything is so—marvellous. You should see my ring—a great sapphire, Baldy, in a square of diamonds. He is crazy to buy things for me, but I won’t let him. I will take things for Judy but not for myself. You can see that, of course. I just go everywhere with him in my cheap little frocks, to the theatres and to all the great restaurants, and we have the most delectable things to eat. It is really great fun.
“Judy is so happy over the whole thing, that it is helping her to get well. She says she was half afraid to advise me, but she knew it was for my happiness. Bob simply walks on air. He says when business grows better, he will pay back every cent to Mr. Towne. And of course he must. But we haven’t any of us been made to feel that we ought to be grateful. Mr. Towne says that he simply held out a friendly hand when we needed it, and that’s all there is to it.
“Well, dearest dear, I wish I could hear Philomel sing o’ mornings, and see Merrymaid and the kit-cat on the hearth, but best of all would be to have your own darling self on the other side of the table.”
[261]Since he had heard the news of Jane’s approaching marriage, Evans had lived in a dream. The people about him had seemed shadow-shapes. He had walked and talked with them, remembering nothing afterward but his great weariness. He had eaten his meals at stated times, and had not known what he was eating. He had gone to his office, and behind closed doors had sat at his desk, staring.
Nothing mattered. All incentive was gone. He spoke of Jane to no one. Not even to his mother. He had a morbid horror of hearing her name. When he came across anything that reminded him of her, he suffered actual physical pain.
And now this letter! “You see what she says,” Baldy had raged. “Of course she isn’t in love with him. But she thinks she is. There’s nothing more that I can do.”
Evans had taken the letter to the library to read. He was alone, except for Rusty, who had limped after him and laid at his feet.
She loved—Towne. And that settled it. “I am marrying Mr. Towne because I love him.” Nothing could be plainer than that. Baldy might protest. But the words were there.
As Evans sat gazing into the fire, he saw her as she had so often been in this old room—as a child, sprawled on the hearth-rug over some entrancing book from his shelves, swinging her feet on the edge of a table while he bragged of his athletic[262] prowess; leaning over war-maps, while he pointed out the fields of fighting; curled up in a corner on the couch while he read to her—“Oh, silver shrine, here will I take my rest....”
He could stand his thoughts no longer. Without hat or heavy coat, he stepped through one of the long windows and into the night.
As he walked on in the darkness, he had no knowledge of his destination. He swept on and on, pursued by dreadful thoughts.
On and on through the blackness.... No moon ... a wet wind blowing ... on and on....
He came to a bridge which crossed a culvert. No water flowed under it. But down the road which led through the Glen was another............