Janet of the Dunes Part 24

lookin' so different to city folks, an' she out an' out told me 't warn't no use, she was bein' courted by a city man as was rich, an'

goin' t' make a real lady of her."

Poor Billy's weather-beaten face twitched under the lash of the old memory which had never lost its power over him. Janet did not take her eyes from him, nor did she break the spell by a word of hurry or question. Presently Billy went on.

"An' then--she came back here! Davy, he brought her across the bay after dark one evenin'. No one on the mainland knew. When I went on the midnight patrol she met me--an' told me!"

"Told you what?" No longer could Janet hold the question back. She knew Billy's method of going around a dangerous spot, and her womanhood and daughterhood demanded _all_.

"'Bout him in the city!" The past misery shook Billy's voice. "He--he didn't marry her! He went away an' left her! The poor little wrecked soul came back here, havin' no other harbor in all G.o.d's world, an' she knew she could trust me an' the love I allus had fur her. Her faith steered her true! She didn't want t' let me take the course I laid out; she said it wasn't fair t' me. Lord! not fair t' me! She never would tell me his name. She wanted t' forgit everythin'. It made her shiver t'

talk, even, of the city. She didn't want no help 'long o' him who had deserted her, an' I never pestered her none. Then I--married her. Davy, he backed me up, an' he an' Susan Jane went t' Bay End an' saw us married. Susan Jane kept her visitin' over at the Light till I took her, calm an' easy-like, t' the parson, an' most folks never guessed the real truth. An' then we come over here fur a little while, such a little while! I never seen a more grateful critter than she was. She never seemed t' take int' 'count the joy 't was fur me to serve her an' chirp her up. I fixed the little place fur her, an' I took my traps t' the lean-to so as t' give her plenty o' room, an' by an' by, like it sometimes happens after a stormy, lowerin' day, the sun bu'st through, an' toward the close the glory seemed right startlin'. I can see her face a shinin' now every time I shet my eyes. An' she grew that wise an'

far-seein' that it made me oneasy. 'T warn't nateral, an' she such a soft little thin'!" Billy pa.s.sed his rough hand over his dry, hot lips.

"Then you come, an' she slipped her moorin's."

The two were staring dumbly, sufferingly, at each other. Billy saw the agony he had awakened and his heart sank within him. After a moment of silent doubt, Janet arose and stood in front of Billy, laying her cold hands upon his shoulders. There was no need for her news now!

"My Cap'n," she whispered, with a fervor Billy had never heard in her voice before; "my Cap'n, I am a woman, a woman like my mother. Tell me, as true as heaven, am I your Janet and hers?" Billy's deep eyes pleaded for mercy, but the woman before him would not relent. There was a heartrending pause, then:

"No, ye ain't! G.o.d help us, ye ain't! But He's let me love ye like ye was--an' that's been my reward."

Janet shut her eyes for a moment and clung to Billy. In that s.p.a.ce of time it was given to her to see a way to redeem the past. When she opened her eyes, the misery was gone. She was smiling, and there was no mist between her and Billy. She went beside him and drew his s.h.a.ggy head upon her strong breast as a mother might have done; then she bent and kissed him.

"Dear, dear Cap'n Daddy! I see it all. My mother was wondrous wise when she took you for her pilot. Oh! my Daddy--for you are my father. In all the world there never was such a father! We'll cling close, Daddy, won't we, dear? n.o.body shall ever come between us, promise that, oh, promise it!"

"As G.o.d hears, never!" Poor Billy broke under the load of love and grat.i.tude, and bowed his head upon the table. But the girl, her face glowing with a strange radiance, did not loosen her hold; she bent with him.

Had Billy been more worldly-wise, he might have suspected that this vehemence had root in something beside filial love, but Billy was never one to question a gift from G.o.d. Whenever his simple soul, chastened by suffering and earnest endeavor, took courage, he always thanked heaven and returned to his common tasks. When he looked up now, the old calm had settled upon his face.

"An' so, Janet," he said, "ye can tell me free an' easy 'bout that painter-chap over t' the Hills!" The girl started. "I know all 'bout him," soothed Billy, "an' I don't hold it agin ye that ye let me think it was a woman painter. Them is young folks' ways, an' ye didn't lie, Janet, ye jest didn't tell straight out. But Mark an' me, we had our eyes 'pon ye, an' was lookin' out fur yer interest." Billy paused for breath. "In yer future dealin' with the painter-man, Janet, jest do 'cordin' to yer new light. I ain't goin' t' worry or fret. Ye allus was one t' act clear headed if ye had hold o' facts."

Janet dropped upon Billy's knee and hid her face against his. From such a shelter she could speak more freely; but oh! how different the confession was from what it once might have been!

"It was the first time I ever deceived you, Cap'n Daddy. I hated myself for it. But, Daddy, he never cared for me--in that way, dear! He cares only for his beautiful pictures. He used me to help him with them, it was I who did not know the difference, just at first. Even after I knew, I wanted to have a share, but, Daddy, dear, women cannot help in that way, more's the pity--or mercy! I see it all very, very clearly now; but, dear,"--here a kind of fierceness shook the low voice,--"he is not like--the one who broke my mother's heart! You and I must remember that.

When I wanted to help him, no matter what any one thought, he would not let me! He saved me from myself. I understand it now, and I shall bless him while I live. I--I flung myself at him, Daddy, but he went away because he was too n.o.ble to hurt me!"

"He did that?" Billy held the girl close and smiled radiantly.

"Yes, yes; he did that!"

Billy recalled his and Mark's visit to the hut, and a feeling of shame stilled all further confession. He, as well as Janet, was beginning to understand.

"It seems like the clouds has lifted, Janet, an' I'm thinkin' there'll never be no more 'twixt us."

"Never! dear, dear Daddy!" the girl hugged him to her.

"I ain't been so happy an' care free fur years, Janet. It seems like we've cleared the decks, not fur action so much as smooth sailin'!"

"That's it, Daddy, smooth sailing. Just you and I to the very end!"

"Come, Janet, we must get t' bed. We'll sleep on all this new happiness.

Yer room's ready; 't was her room fust. She said over an' agin that it was a safe harbor. An' so 't is, Janet, so 't is, an' allus shall be fur whatever was hers! Good night, child, an' G.o.d bless ye! If yer only fair-minded ye can see that ye don't get any more storms on yer voyage than is good fur ye."

That night Janet lay wide-eyed and sleepless upon her mother's bed. Her fancy wandered far and her young blood coursed hotly through her veins; but always she came trustfully back to the thought of Billy's patient love and courage; and it gave her heart to face the future, whatever it might be.

CHAPTER XII

The master of Bluff Head had the disconcerting impression borne in upon him that the getting ready for winter at Quinton had a moral and spiritual significance, as well as a physical one. He felt a cold exclusion round about him, as if the good people did not quite know what to do with him. He belonged to the summer. For him and others of his world they had braced for action and thawed out to the extent of making him feel he was not intruding, while occupying his own house. But they resented his prolonged stay and necessary infringement upon their well-earned liberty. Not that Devant imposed his presence upon them--he rigidly observed a decent dignity--and he was more than willing to pay a high price for any service he required; but James B., while accepting large wages, fretted under the necessity of holding to a sure thing, while a vague possibility lay outside.

James B. had learned, in his secret way, that Captain Billy had been told, when he went for the physical examination at Bay End in September, that his heart wasn't up to the requirement. A lesser man would have been dropped from government duty with such a handicap as that, but the physician, knowing Billy and his steady life and good record, pa.s.sed him for another year.

James B., like a vulture, had been hoping for a place on the crew for many a day. The hope gave an excuse for idleness. Eliza Jane knew Billy's symptoms and was willing to countenance James B.'s indifference to other business propositions of a steady nature, while that possibility of the crew was apparent. However, there was no reason why James B. should not turn a penny in a temporary way at Bluff Head, while waiting; and that Eliza Jane insisted upon.

"But," sighed James B. as Mr. Devant stayed on, "if he would only go, then like as not Eliza Jane would let up on me 'bout laborin' while I'm waitin'."

This state of affairs became known to Janet through the tactless remarks of Mark Tapkins. She went at once to Billy to find out exactly what the doctor had said. Billy, from the highest moral position, prevaricated n.o.bly, and left the girl with the impression that the condition of the suspected heart was really very desirable.

"It's this way," he explained, "all hearts is tricky, an' once ye know the tricks, why, there ain't no danger. It's like knowin' the weak p'ints of a vessel, ye ain't goin' t' strain the weak p'ints, once ye know 'em, an' like as not the vessel'll last twice as long as a seemin'

sound boat. Don't ye fret, Janet, James B. can loaf a considerable spell, if it's my goin' he's dependin' 'pon. An' no one more'n James B.

will be thankfuller fur my hangin' on."

Davy's funeral calls had had a beneficial effect upon the community.

More than one woman said afterward that it looked as if Susan Jane's mantle had fallen upon Davy's shoulders.

"He said t' me!"--and Mrs. Jo G.'s catlike eyes glittered,--"he said as how t' his mind a gossiper was like a jellyfish, sort o' slimy an'

transparent, an' when you went t' clutch it, it stung! I asked him right out flat footed what he meant, an' he told me t' think it over!"

More than Mrs. Jo G. thought Davy's words over, and, as a result, turned their attention to getting ready for the winter.

The oyster boats dotted the bay. The wood was piled near the kitchen doors, and the Methodist minister, with a sigh of relief, came down from the mental pinnacle upon which he had endeavored during the summer to attract strangers, and preached sermons from his heart to the hearts of the Quintonites. A donation party was in the air, too, and the needy pastor grew eloquent along generous, ethical lines.

Eliza Jane, in a detached and injured manner, continued to cook up at Bluff Head. The master, feeling that at least he paid for the necessity, ate in peace; but Saxton, who fell between the aristocracy of Devant's ideas and the Quintonite ideal, suffered cruelly from his plebeian position. Only a vague hope of city life and pleasures held him to his position. And Devant was undecided as to what he should do. Thornly had not "looked him up" after seeing Katharine. Indeed, that rigid young man had sailed, within the week, for Point Comfort, and Devant, fearing to meet Katharine alone, had hurried back to Bluff Head, there to be confronted by his Past in a most crushing manner. So unlooked for and appalling was the resurrected ghost, that it had stunned him and left him unable to act. He feared to make a false move and waited for Janet to point out the way. But the girl remained upon the dunes with Billy, and the bay seemed an impa.s.sable barrier between them and Bluff Head.

To go to Billy and demand the sequel to the pitiful story of Mary Andrews's life was out of the question. Mr. Thornd.y.k.e was long since dead, and had left no papers nor books to help any of his clients in their affairs. While he lived, he had served them faithfully, according to his light; but he felt that in dying he cancelled all obligations.

Suppose Mary Andrews had gone to Captain Billy with her secret buried from sight, who was he that he should deal the faithful man at the Station a blow that might end his life--surely, his trust and peace? But Janet! There was the awful doubt. Thornd.y.k.e had said there was a child, had he spoken true? If there were a child, was it that beautiful girl of the Station? Devant's blood ran hotly, as he thought upon his belief in heredity. Might it not be himself, instead of the poor mother, who was accountable for the Pimpernel?

"Good G.o.d!" he muttered; "what would I not do for her? Train that keen mind, so apt and greedy! Fit her for a high place and, in small measure, redeem the brutal past! Give her perhaps--to Thornly!"

This thought stayed him. It might be by that power he would prevail--if only he were sure!

He was standing before the mirror, tying his cravat, as these thoughts ran through his tortured mind. Suddenly his hands dropped at his sides and he strained his eyes at the reflection that met him. First it was the color of the eyes that held and amazed him; then an expression at once familiar and baffling. Was his own face, for the first time in his life, becoming known to him? Or was the face of that girl of the dunes crowding all other faces from his vision? Once, when first Janet's beauty had stirred him, he had noticed her perfect ears set close to her head. The ears were sh.e.l.l shaped and pink. The left ear, near the lobe, had a curious inward curve, unlike the right--a fascinating defect that added to, rather than detracted from, the beauty. It was like a challenge to attract attention. Devant now observed his own left ear.

There, in coa.r.s.er fashion, was the same mark! Through familiarity it had, before, pa.s.sed unnoticed, now it forced itself upon his consciousness like a witness for the truth! Slight as these things were, they turned the strong man weak. He dropped into a chair and rang for Saxton.

"Bring me some coffee," he said; "make it yourself, and make it strong."

"Yes, sir. And if it ain't presuming, I would like to say that there is more than the coffee what is weak, sir. The cookin' here ain't what you're used to, sir. The club table, or that at the hotel, is more nourishing." Saxton had put in his suggestion, and went his way comforted.