From the Valley of the Missing Part 33

"I can't tell, although I have watched her very closely."

A strange grip caught Everett's heart. He could not think of the small, dark girl without a pang of emotion. He had made no effort to see Fledra; yet he was constantly wishing that chance would throw her in his path. Later, he intended in some way to bring about another interview.

He dared not write her a letter, although he had gone so far as to begin one to her, but in disgust at himself had torn it up. The fact that Horace was unhappy pleased him, now that they had become antagonistic.

The mystery clinging to Fledra haloed her for Everett beyond the point of interest.

"Ann," he said suddenly, "you haven't told me much about those children--I mean of their past lives."

"We know so little," she replied reservedly.

"But more than you have told me. Have they parents living?"

"A father, I think," murmured Ann.

"And no mother?"

"No."

"Do you know where their father is?"

"He lives near Ithaca, so we're told." After a silence she continued, "We want them to forget--to forget, ourselves, all about their former lives. I asked Horace if he wanted to place them in schools; but he didn't want them to go away. As long as they are as good as they have been, they're welcome to stay. Poor little things, they're nothing more than babies, not yet sixteen!"

"The girl looks older," commented Everett.

"That's because she's suffered more than most girls do. I'm afraid it'll be a long time before Floyd is completely well."

The conversation then drifted to that happy spring day when they would be married.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

From the window of the drawing-room in his home Everett threw a glance into Sleepy Hollow and listened to the wind weeping its tale of death through the barren trees. The tall monuments were as spectral giants, while here and there a guarding granite figure reared its ghostly proportions. But the weird scenery caused no stir of superst.i.tion in the lawyer.

In hesitation, Everett stood for some seconds, the snow falling silently about him; for he was still under the mood that had come upon him during Ann's parrying of his curiosity concerning the squatter children. As he paused, the Great Dane, in the kennel at the back of the house, sent out a hoa.r.s.e bark, followed by a deep growl. So well trained was the dog that nothing save an unfamiliar step or the sight of a stranger brought forth such demonstrations. Everett knew this, and walked into the garden, spoke softly to the animal, and, noting nothing unusual, ran up the back steps. The door opened under his touch, and he stepped in. The maids were in the chambers at the top of the house, and quietude reigned about him. The young master went into the drawing-room, stirred the grate fire, and sat down with a book. For many moments his eyes did not seek its pages. His meditations took shape after shape; until, dreaming, he allowed the book to rest on his knees.

Everett was perfectly satisfied with his success as a lawyer. He had proved to others of his profession in the surrounding county that he was an orator of no little ability and preeminently able to hold his own in the courtroom.

He could not have desired or chosen a better wife than Ann promised to be; but something riotous in his blood made him dissatisfied with affairs as they stood now. Manlike, he reflected that, if he had been allowed to caress Fledra as he had desired, he would have been content to have gone on his way. He wondered many times why his heart had turned from Ann to another. Something in every thought of Fledra Cronk sent his blood tingling and set his heart to leaping. His dreams melted into pleasurable antic.i.p.ations, and he tried to imagine the windings of his future path. Chance had always been kind, and he wondered whether an opportunity to win the affections of the small, defiant girl in the Sh.e.l.lington home would be given him. A strain in his blood called for her absolute subjection--and, subdue her he would; for he felt that an invincible pa.s.sion slept in her tempestuous spirit.

Suddenly, from the direction of the cemetery, an owl sent out a mournful cry, and a furious baying from the dog behind the house sounded. He rose, walked to the window, and surveyed the bleak view through the curtains. He again noted the tall trees threshing in the wind, and the looming monuments. Still under the spell of pleasant day-dreams, Everett silently contemplated the gloomy aspect. He had forgotten the owl and its harsh cry.

So deeply was he engrossed in his meditations that he did not hear the stealthy turning of the door-handle, and it was not until a distinct hiss reached his ears that he turned. A woman, dripping with water, her gray hair hanging in wet strings about a withered face, stole toward him. Everett was so taken aback by the sight of her and the hissing, cross-eyed cat perched on her shoulder that he could not speak. A newly born superst.i.tion rose in his heart that the woman was a wraith. Yet an indistinct memory made her black eyes familiar. He did not move from the window, and Screech Owl sank to the floor.

"Little 'un," she whispered, "I've comed for ye, little 'un!"

The sound of her hoa.r.s.e voice stirred Everett's senses. He gave one step forward, and the woman spoke again:

"I telled yer pappy that I'd bring ye!"

Brimbecomb shook his shoulders, his dread deepening. What was the witch-like woman saying to him, and why was she calling him by the name he now remembered she had used before? She crept nearer on her knees, her thin hands held up as if in prayer, and, with each swaying movement of her the cat shifted its position from one stooped shoulder to the other.

Everett found his voice, and asked sharply:

"How did you get into the house?"

Scraggy put up her arm, drew the snarling cat under it, and looked stupidly at the man. She was so close that he could see the steam rising from her wet clothes, and the hisses of the animal were audible above his own heavy breathing. Screech Owl smoothed the cat's bristling back.

"p.u.s.s.y ain't to hiss at my own pretty boy!" she whispered. "He's my little 'un--he's my little 'un!"

A premonition, born of her words, goaded Everett to action.

"Get up!" he ordered. "Get up and get out of here! Do you want me to have you arrested?"

Scraggy smiled.

"Ye wouldn't have yer own mother pinched, little 'un. I'm yer mammy!

Don't ye know me?"

He moved threateningly toward her; but a snarl from the furious cat stayed him.

"You lie! You crazy fool! Get up, or I'll kick you out of the house! Get out, I say! Every word you've uttered is a lie!"

"I don't lie," cried Scraggy. "Ye be my boy. Ain't ye got a long dig on ye from--from yer neck to yer arm--a red cut yer pappy made that night I gived ye to the Brimbecomb woman? The place were a bleedin' and a bleedin' all through your baby dress. Wait! I'll show ye where it is."

She scrambled up and advanced toward him.

Everett made as if to strike her.

"Get back, I say! I would hate you if you were my mother! You can't fool me with your charlatan tricks!"

The woman sank down, whimpering.

Again Everett sprang forward; but again the cat drove him back.

"Go--go--now!" he muttered. "I can't bear the sight of you!"

There were tones in his voice that reminded Scraggy of Lem, and her heart grew tender as she thought of the father waiting for his child.

"Ye won't hate yer pappy, if he does hate me. He wants ye, little 'un.

I've come to take ye back to yer hum. He won't hurt ye no more."

Everett stared at her wildly. Was the delicious mystery that had surrounded him for so many years, which had occupied his mind hour upon hour, to end in this? He would not have it so!

"Get up, then," he said, his lips whitening, "and tell me what you have to say."

Scraggy lifted herself up. Her boy wanted to hear more about his father, she thought.