A Colony of Girls Part 39

"What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.

"I have seen Mr. Farr to-day, and a good many things that have puzzled me have been made clear. I am not judging you, Lillian. I am completely in the dark as to your motives. I only know that you were not honest with me."

"So you have seen Val Farr," murmured Miss Stuart. She flung back her head defiantly. "Well, what did he tell you of me? I thought he was too much of a man to speak ill of a woman."

"Your name was never mentioned, Lillian. I am not prepared to tell you what Mr. Farr said to me. Suffice it to say, it proved the untruth of what you led me to believe last summer."

Miss Stuart caught her breath.

"I suppose that means that he is in love with your sister?"

"We will not discuss that, please," replied Helen with quiet dignity.

Her companion laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.

"Well, I could have told you that last summer. I did lie to you about it. The game is played out now, and I have lost, so there is no further reason why I should not tell you the truth. I was jealous of that little sister of yours, and I did everything in my power to keep her and Valentine Farr apart. Placed in the same position, I should undoubtedly repeat the offense."

Cruel and unwomanly as the words were, there was something in her friend's voice which stirred Helen with a feeling of pity. She rose and laid a gentle hand on Miss Stuart's arm.

"You must not try to make me think badly of you, dear. I would so much rather believe that you did not realize how much misery you were causing. Let us not speak any more of this, Lillian."

A sudden rush of tears dimmed Miss Stuart's eyes.

"The least I can do is to grant your last request, Helen. One thing more I can do for you, dear--I can go. You need never see me again."

There was just a faint interrogation in the low-spoken words, but Helen remained quite silent. She was waging a bitter fight within herself. Everything pressed her into a renunciation of this friendship which had cost her so dear. Slowly there was awakening within her a deep knowledge of Guy Appleton's character, and with this knowledge came a great longing to win from him the love which she had so lightly sacrificed. While a vestige of this friendship remained Guy would never take her to his heart, and now her choice must be made. Then she thought of Jean and Valentine Farr, and the thought strengthened her conviction that only one path was open to her. Raising her tearstained face, she met Lillian's eyes smiling sadly on her.

"So you find it hard to give me up, Helen? Are you sure it is necessary?"

The critical moment had come, and involuntarily Helen put her hands before her eyes to shut out the beautiful face so close to her own:

"Our paths must lie apart, Lillian, dear; but as long as I live I will remember you and pray for you."

The silence that followed these words became oppressive, and Helen stirred uneasily and stole a timid glance at her friend. Miss Stuart's face was uplifted; her wonderful eyes, filled with unutterable sadness, gazed mournfully into s.p.a.ce. If suffering can expiate a sin, in that moment she fully expiated the wrong she had done to Jean.

After a while she turned and laid her hands on Helen's shoulders.

"I understand, my dear, and I do not blame you. Good-by!" And stooping, she kissed her gently on the lips.

Helen stood before the fire in the hall-way of the manor, two letters in hand, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. In four days Jean and Mrs. Fay would sail for home, and Guy had written: "Will you not send for me, Helen? I will never return until you do."

"Oh, dear," her thoughts ran, "why must it be left for me to decide!

If Guy would only take it into his own hands and come, I would be so grateful."

Poor weak little woman! It was hard for her to act for herself. How happy she would be to find shelter in some safe harbor, guided there by a stronger hand than her own. With one stroke of a pen she could recall Guy, but the strangest shyness overmastered her. She wandered restlessly about the house, her heart as heavy as lead; and not until daylight was waning, and the long winter evening closing in upon the manor, did she finally start out for the telegraph office, a bit of paper held closely in the hand that was tucked in her m.u.f.f.

In a hotel in Paris a party of people was a.s.sembled in a small private sitting-room. Against the walls, their lids gaping, were a number of half-filled trunks, and in the paraphernalia that were scattered around was every indication of an imminent departure. Mrs. Fay and Jean bustled busily about, stowing away the many purchases which this city of shops had tempted them to make, stopping now and then to consult Guy as to some detail of the long journey which lay before them. Poor Mrs. Appleton watched them with homesick eyes. She was tired of wandering about in strange lands, hungry for a sight of the little vine-covered cottage which had been empty for so many weary months. Surely no mother had ever given her son a greater love, a more generous sacrifice.

"I am a foolish old woman, my dear," she had said to him a few moments since, when he had looked up suddenly and had seen the tears in her eyes. "I suppose it is not unnatural that I should sometimes dream of spending the last years of my life in 'my own home.'"

Guy did not answer then. It was a shock to him to discover how much this exile had cost his patient, uncomplaining mother; and, as he sat at the little table in the center of the room, apparently absorbed in straightening out accounts, he was facing the duty which had suddenly been made clear to him.

"Poor mother!" he thought, with tender compunction, "I have been a selfish brute."

Yet it was not easy for him to depart from the course he had marked out for himself, for, like many another man of strong character, Guy was very obstinate. One glance at his mother's face, however, made him ashamed of his hesitation, and he pushed away his papers and rose to his feet, while he framed the sentence which would determine their return home. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door, and in response to Jean's brisk, "_Entrez_," a servant handed her a cablegram in its blue wrapper, addressed "Appleton, Continental, Paris."

Three simple words the message contained, but to the man who read them they made all the difference between light and darkness, between life and death. The message read:

Please come home.--HELEN.

CHAPTER XX.

"PEACE ON EARTH--GOOD WILL TO MEN."

On a most delicious day late in December there is an air of unusual bustle and excitement over the manor. Outside the ground is covered with a deep mantle of glistening snow, and overhead the winter's sun shines cold and clear from out a vault of deepest blue. Within the house wood fires are blazing on every hearth, and the atmosphere is filled with the fragrance of fresh flowers which Helen's deft hands have just arranged in every available vase and bowl.

Only yesterday the travelers from the other side arrived; Mrs.

Appleton supremely contented to be once more at home; Guy, with the antic.i.p.ation of his happiness lighting his whole face, and Jean sweet and brave as ever, but with a deep sadness in her eyes, and looking such a frail and slender figure in her close-fitting gown.

Helen and Nathalie had gone to town to meet them, and had brought them to Hetherford; for on the morrow all the old friends were to gather at the manor for Christmas, and the girls wanted one long quiet evening with Jean before the arrival of their guests.

This home-coming was very hard for poor Jean; harder than she had antic.i.p.ated; and when the first little excitement of her meeting with Aunt Helen and the children was over, it required all her courage to keep her face bright and smiling, her voice gay and cheery. Everything spoke to her of Farr, and she sighed a little wearily, as she realized that all her journeyings had lessened not one whit the pain at her heart. As they gathered before the blazing logs in the drawing-room, just after dinner, to talk over all that had happened since they parted, Helen's loving heart detected the undercurrent of pathos which ran through all Jean's spirited accounts of her travels and adventures; and she was tempted to speak just the few words which alone could bring back the sunny light-hearted expression to Jean's face. She resisted the temptation, however, for she had given Farr her promise that his coming on the morrow should be a complete surprise.

He was to come out on an early train, so as to secure a quiet hour with Jean before the manor was invaded by its other guests.

And now he is almost due, and Helen's heart beats fast, and her eyes watch Jean's every movement as if she feared to let her out of her sight. All the morning they have been dressing the house with Christmas greens, and Jean stands on tip-toe to fasten the last wreath over the fireplace, when a ringing of sleigh-bells breaks the stillness of the snowy winter's day. Then there is a stamping of a man's feet on the veranda, and Helen opens wide the door to admit Valentine Farr. Jean's back is toward him, and there is just a brief instant while she adjusts the last nail to secure the wreath, before she turns.

"What a draught. Why don't you close the----" she begins; then, turning, the hammer she is holding falls to the ground with a crash, and, her hand on her heart, her eyes wide-open and startled, she stands facing Valentine Farr.

In another instant Helen has closed the door and disappeared into the drawing-room, and Farr has taken Jean's hands in his own, and is speaking to her in a voice grown very deep and tender.

"Jean, my little love, have you no word of welcome for me?"

The blood rushes into her face, then ebbs away, leaving it even paler than before.

"Ah, I have frightened you, sweetheart," Farr cries contritely, "and you are not very strong yet, are you, dear? But I have waited such a weary while; I have been so miserable for a sight of your sweet face; I could not wait to tell you that I love you. Surely you must have known it long ago, darling."

Jean's head droops lower and lower, and she does not speak.

"I want you to be my wife, dear," Farr's tender voice goes on. "Do you love me, Jean?"

Still she is silent, and Farr's face grows very white.