Janet of the Dunes Part 11

The morning came up ruddily from the sea; it came with a south-wind playfulness, which tossed the girl's glistening hair with free touch and kissed the glowing face into richer beauty.

Presently the little, secluded hut came into view; the very next hollow held it! Janet stood upon the last hill, drew out her whistle and with smiling lips, that with difficulty formed themselves to the task, sent forth her call. The musical note penetrated the stillness. A bird rose affrightedly from a near-by bush; but it, and the waiting girl, seemed to have the Hills to themselves.

"So much the better!" murmured Janet, sparkling with excitement. "It will be all the more surprising." She ran rapidly forward, secured the key and opened the door. Then she obediently locked it again and stood within the room gazing tenderly at every beloved object. It was just as Thornly had left it. He had waited all day for the girl; he had wanted her to pose in the open, but she had failed him and he had evidently devoted himself to the picture he was painting, as he had told her, for his own private use. "My Pimpernel," he called it, and rough as the work was at that stage, it was full of beauty and promise. It was Janet, little more than sketched, to be sure, but a startling likeness; and the wreath of pimpernel flowers, on the glorious sun-touched hair, had evidently been the artist's last work.

The throne-like s.p.a.ce, with the cushions and low divan upon which the girl posed, was in full view, with Thornly's jacket and pipe lying carelessly upon it. The curtain, which always hung over the picture for Mr. Mason, was drawn aside. Apparently the man had had less reason to hide that from any chance visitor. Janet walked over to the table and raised the cover of the chafing dish.

"He ate at the boarding house," she whispered, "else I'd have to wash this. He's scandalously untidy!" She picked up a gla.s.s and sniffed.

"Wine!" she announced, "wine for a party,--and cracker crumbs! Company!

I wonder who? One, two, three, four winegla.s.ses. Bluff Headers!" Then the smile trembled before the memory of Mr. Devant's proud, haughty sister and the young lady unlike any one the dune-bred girl had ever seen before. Not even the most gorgeous boarder in the least resembled her. She was so icily cold, so calmly beautiful; so exquisitely dressed in white, white always, with a dash of gold to match her smooth, shining hair! No power could draw Janet to Bluff Head after the one visit during which the two ladies had frankly and condescendingly taken stock of her, evidently in consequence of remarks made by the master of the house.

For the first time in her life, Janet had felt the resentment of being "looked down upon." Had she a particle of malice or suspicion in her nature, the resentment might have rankled and grown into hate, for the girl had all the pride and independence of the place. As it was, she had withdrawn into herself, like the flower to which she had been likened, and had vanished from sight.

"I won't wash the gla.s.ses!" the laugh rang merrily like the laugh of a child; "let her wash her own gla.s.s, and soil her pretty frock."

But this declaration of independence did not prohibit a general tidying in other respects. The north window shade was rolled up and the sash raised; the easel drawn out into place before the low stool; and the jacket and pipe arranged conveniently at hand for the master when he should appear.

"And now," rippled the girl, "I'll give him a surprise and a shock!"

First, she went outside, relocked the door and hid the key; then nimbly entered the hut by the north window. Once inside again, she closed the window and, trembling with excitement and hurry, ran to the posing platform and flung herself among the cushions. Then she spread her hair loosely over the sea-green pillows that rose around her. The net was caught up and draped about the slim, graceful body. Eyes and small brown feet showed between the meshes; the conceit was deliciously bewildering!

When all was arranged, she cautiously let fall the shielding curtain and waited.

"He'll come early!" she whispered, "oh! very early. And I wonder what he will call this picture?"

The night's patrol, and the mastering of Billy, had tired the girl. The couch was sleep-enticing, the pillows dream-bringing, and the day was yet young; so Janet slept, a vision to touch any heart, one to stir an artist to holy rapture.

How long she slept Janet never knew, but the grating of the key in the lock awakened her. Her heart beat wildly and the blood ran riotously in her veins. The door opened, some one spoke; and then, as if before a north blast, all the glow and glory of Janet's joy froze within her!

"Wasn't I clever to watch where he hid the key, Mr. Devant? And how utterly good of you to enter the conspiracy and help me find him out! I know he has an immortal picture somewhere here! He wants to spring it upon you and me along with the herd, by and by. But we wish to be partakers in the pleasure of preparation, do we not, Mr. Devant?"

The musical voice had a ring in it not altogether lovely. "Stand aside, Mr. Devant! See, he must have brought his work out after we left yesterday. It was orderly enough then; but look at it now! Let us examine this upon the easel. But first, open the door. I smell stale wine. The untidy fellow has not washed the gla.s.ses!"

Mr. Devant opened the door and said with a half laugh, "I'm not quite sure how d.i.c.k will like this, Katharine. But while the cat's away--"

"Ah!" The word came sharply. "Mr. Devant, look here!" The two were standing before the easel.

"Good Lord!" cried the man. "The Pimpernel! Katharine, this d.i.c.k of ours has prepared a surprise for us sure enough!"

"He evidently had reasons for holding us at bay, Mr. Devant." A thinly veiled sneer was in the low, even voice. "He has been using that wild, odd, young creature of yours as a model! And he has never told you? I greatly fear our sly d.i.c.k has been--well, deceitful!"

"Oh! my dear girl!" Devant rea.s.sured her, "you do not understand. d.i.c.k has probably had to procure such a model upon terms of secrecy, not on his own account, but hers! You do not know these people. They are not above taking money, but they make their own terms."

"Terms?" Again the scornful tone.

"Yes, my dear! Why, what do you think would happen if I called my cook Eliza instead of Mrs. Smith? Starvation, my dear, actual starvation! And I carry my own laundry to Mrs. Abner Snow's,--carry it and fetch it.

This girl now might be willing to pose, and you must admit that she is a raving beauty, but she would hold d.i.c.k to a cast-iron vow never to let any one know. What's more, I can take my oath, knowing these people as I do, that the girl never sets her foot in d.i.c.k's shop without a body guard of at least one captain, perhaps three or four!"

"Let us see if he has any more secrets!" There was relaxation in the clear voice. "Let us hurry; d.i.c.k may be here at any moment, and I do so want to get ahead of him just to punish him for his underhand methods!"

Janet heard the two turn; she knew they were coming directly to the platform.

"Once,"--the slow, fine voice had regained its smoothness,--"once in New York I dropped in at d.i.c.k's studio when he did not expect me. I wanted him to take me out to luncheon; and I had the oddest experience! Oh! Mr.

Devant, look at that bit, pinned to the wall! That is really exquisite!

Well, as I was saying, I stole in upon d.i.c.k. I called from the outer room that it was I--I wished afterward that I had not!--and then I ran into the studio. As quick as a flash, d.i.c.k dropped a curtain, just like this, between me and his easel! I was determined to see what he had been painting, but he positively forbade it. He said it was a painter's prerogative to warn even--love from that holy of holies. I often wonder what was behind the curtain. I realized from that moment that if you want to see a great artist's best work, you must override his modesty and secretiveness--and tear the screen from his altar!"

With a light laugh, the girl now drew aside the sheltering curtain with playful, dramatic force, and lay bare the secret that it hid!

Janet did not move. Her great, startled eyes, dark, intense, and pa.s.sion-filled, stared helplessly at the two, who, transfixed, returned the stare in frozen silence. So rigid and deathlike the model lay in the meshes of the net, so beautiful and graceful in her motionless pose, that for an instant the intruders could not trust their senses. Then the woman found voice and action.

"I fear," she said slowly, coldly, and distantly, "I fear we really have intruded where we have no right, Mr. Devant." Then she laughed a rich, rippling laugh. "And the captains! where are the captains, my dear Mr.

Devant? They seem to have omitted the captains to-day. Pray let us go at once. I would not interfere with d.i.c.k's future fame for all the world! I can quite understand why artists hide their best work at times!"

Without a word, Mr. Devant dropped the curtain.

Janet heard them go out, heard them lock the door, and realized that they hid the key. She tried to get up, but the intention was only mental and died without an effort. A physical sickness and bodily weakness held her. To lie still was the only course possible, but the thoughts rushed madly through the awakened mind. In that hour womanly instinct was born, the instinct that armed itself against suspicion and another's contempt.

Shame, for what was not real but suggested by a coa.r.s.er mind, hurt and blinded her. The child in Janet had been killed by that white, cold woman, and what arose was more terrible than the slayer could have imagined, for this new creature scorned the innocence and weakness of that lately crushed childhood. It held in contempt the poor, vain, cheap thing that had offered, actually offered, itself to a being that came from a world that knew and had power to despise.

Wave after wave of torment engulfed the poor girl as she lay without a struggle in her net. The apple of understanding had been forced between her lips by the refined cruelty of another woman. Instinctively, Janet found a sort of dumb comfort in the memory of the look she recalled in Mr. Devant's eyes, but while life lasted her soul would shrivel at the memory of the glance which that proud, beautiful girl had cast upon her.

The lovely face upon the sea-green pillows paled and flushed as the flood of growing knowledge gathered force. The eyes grew dark and terror-racked, and misery claimed the newborn woman.

Then again the key grated in the lock. Strengthened by the perception that was now hers, the girl sprang to a sitting posture and drew her feet beneath the shelter of the coa.r.s.e red skirt. The net ensnared her further and so she sat, caught fast in the meshes and in the terror of her condition.

Thornly entered the room, closed and locked the door. Then he opened the windows wide. His eye and ear would warn him of intruders, and the breath of the summer day he must have! Janet heard him stop before the easel; then his laugh, contented and youth-filled, rang clearly in the little room.

"Beauty!" he muttered. "Great heaven, what almost weird beauty! My Pimpernel, you'll make me famous!" Then he whistled gayly, hung up his coat and hat--did not the listening girl know every movement?--drew on the old paint besmirched jacket, and filled his pipe.

"Dirty winegla.s.ses!" he muttered, "bah! how the stale wine befouls this air! Outside you go to await your purification!" The gla.s.ses were set jinglingly upon the window ledge. Then Thornly came to the curtain and flung it heedlessly back.

"Good Lord!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and staggered away. The panic-stricken face, that met his, paralyzed him for the moment; then he laughed.

"Pimpernel!" he drew nearer; "dear child, you are as full of surprises as this glorious day and the Hills. You've brought me a new sensation, a heaven-sent inspiration. What a partner you are! G.o.d bless you!"

"Don't you--touch--me!" Janet warned off the extended hands. Her arms were free, and they must serve her now.

"Janet! What ails you, child?"

"I do not know. I cannot think. Only I know you must not touch me; and--and I'm not a child any more!"

Then tears came, a wild, remorseful flood. The girl swayed upon the couch, torn by the emotions that lashed her cruelly. Thornly stood apart. Something undefinable held him to his place. He recalled the first day he had met this strange girl upon the Hills and her tears then; but these were different. In a subtle, unspeakable way he realized that something startling had brought about this changed condition from yesterday's Eden-like life.

"I wish you could tell me what is the matter," he said pityingly and quietly. He did not move toward her, but his tone, with its sympathetic reserve, did the one thing he longed to do; it drew the girl's trust and confidence. The storm of sobs lessened. The hidden face was raised and the burden of fear and distress lifted slowly.

"They--have been here!" The words came upon the crest of the last sob.

"They--who?" Thornly's eyes contracted.

"Mr. Devant and the one he calls Katharine."