Madge Morton's Secret Part 9

With a stiff little nod to the others Phil walked proudly to the door.

She was followed by Lillian and Eleanor. Three minutes later Flora Harris and Alfred Thornton stood alone in the pretty banqueting room.

Her revenge had cost her far more dearly than she had antic.i.p.ated.

CHAPTER X

ADRIFT ON CHESAPEAKE BAY

"Alfred Thornton, you must do it." Flora Harris spoke under her breath.

Half an hour had pa.s.sed since she and Alfred Thornton had left the hotel.

The young man was about to say good night to her at her gate after having stubbornly refused to execute a certain commission for her.

"I can't do it," he protested. "If I were you, I'd let Madge Morton and her crowd alone. I did not believe to-night, until the last minute, that you would do as you had threatened. You didn't distinguish yourself by it."

Flora Harris shrugged her thin shoulders in the darkness. "Don't pretend to be shocked," she sneered, "and never mind lecturing me. Are you going to help me or are you going to play the coward at the last moment?"

"I have given you my answer. I'm not going to change it, either,"

repeated the youth sullenly, edging away from Miss Harris. "I think Miss Morton and her friends have had trouble enough. I don't wish to do anything that might possibly endanger their safety."

"Oh, very well," rejoined Flora angrily. "You know the alternative. If you won't do what I ask of you, I shall tell my father that you have been down here as a hired spy to find out about Jimmy Lawton's invention. I shall tell him that you offered Jimmy thousands of dollars for his patent, and advised him to sell out to you, and then to tell the Government that he had failed with his model. It would ruin not only your reputation, Alfred Thornton, for me to tell this story about you, it would probably do your father a great deal of harm. It would be a serious thing for your father if certain persons were to find out that he was trying to steal a valuable invention from his own country."

"You wouldn't tell, would you, Flora?" Alfred Thornton wiped his forehead nervously with his handkerchief, though it was a cool night.

"Whew, if only I'd never let you find out what I was after!"

"You couldn't help yourself," retorted Flora airily. "You needed me. I would have done a great deal more for you, too, if you had not developed such a liking for Madge Morton. You thought you were managing so cleverly that I would not notice. Of course, I am not angry with you, but I think you ought to do something to make amends for being so deceitful."

Alfred Thornton flushed and hesitated.

"You see, Alfred, it is like this," went on Flora, taking advantage of his hesitation. "You must help me get the 'Merry Maid' away from our neighborhood. I believe I told the truth about Madge Morton's father.

But if my father or grandfather ever learn of what happened to-night, they will be furious with me. I overheard my grandfather telling the story to my father the other night. When he mentioned the name of Captain Robert Morton, I remembered hearing Miss Butler telling Mrs.

Curtis when the 'Merry Maid' girls were here before that Miss Morton's father had been an officer in the Navy, and that his name was Captain Robert Morton. Miss Butler is Miss Morton's cousin, you know. They live in the same house. When I heard that I put two and two together and took a chance on saying what I did. Now that you know the whole story you can easily see why I am anxious to have the 'Merry Maid' anch.o.r.ed as far from me as possible. If you will cut the rope of the houseboat and let the silly old craft drift away somewhere, the girls will be so busy with getting it back here that by the time they have done that their vacation will be over, and in the hurry of packing they won't have much chance to make a scene. I think my scheme is very clever."

Alfred Thornton looked overhead. It was a dark night. The stars had disappeared. Black clouds were gathering in the east.

The young man realized that he could do as Flora Harris demanded of him with very little danger of detection. The houseboat was moored along the beach by means of a heavy anchor tied with a thick rope. As an additional safeguard the stern hawser had been hitched about a post several yards up the beach out of the line of the tide. It would take a very few minutes to cut these ropes. What took place afterward he would not wait to see. He therefore reluctantly gave Flora the desired promise.

When the houseboat party boarded Tom's motor launch for the ride to the "Merry Maid" after Madge's tragic scene in the dining room they were strangely silent. Even Miss Jenny Ann, who had not been with the girls, did not know what had happened. A glance at Madge's face was enough to reveal to her that it had been serious. The little captain sat white and cold as a statue. She looked like the ghost of the radiant girl who had crossed the bay a few hours before. She shed no tears, and seemed rather to resent any expression of sympathy. When Eleanor took her cousin's cold hand, Madge held it loosely for a minute, then allowed it slowly to slide from the grasp of her icy fingers.

When Tom Curtis helped her out of his launch he had the courage to whisper: "Of course, dear girl, we are all with you. Don't you worry.

Just leave matters to me. I'll see that Flora Harris doesn't escape censure. I am going to inform her father of her conduct to-night."

Madge smiled a faint good night to Tom when he took her limp hand in his own.

Once the girls were on the deck of their own boat she turned quietly to their chaperon.

"Miss Jenny Ann," she murmured, "the girls will tell you what happened to-night. I can't talk of it now. May I lie down on the couch in the living room? Will every one please leave me alone?"

The three other girls and Miss Jenny Ann sat for a while on the deck of their pretty boat. Eleanor kept her head buried in her chaperon's lap.

She cried a little, partly from sympathy with Madge and partly from amazement and horror at the story she had just heard.

Very quietly Lillian told what had happened.

"Madge is right," Miss Jenny Ann concluded at the end of Lillian's recital. "We must not talk to her of this insult to her father. It is enough to let her know we do not believe it."

The little party did not linger out on deck after the story had been told. It was midnight and chilly. The wind was blowing over the water, lashing the waves to a white foam. As Miss Jenny Ann retired to her cabin the thought came to her that they had lingered too long aboard their houseboat. It was getting late in September. Any day they might be overtaken by an equinoctial storm. She wished that they had brought more coal and fresh water aboard the houseboat, and that the provisions in the larder had not run so low. She wondered if the boy who attended to their marketing, and carried things to and from the sh.o.r.e, would come down to them in a heavy rain.

Miss Jenny Ann did not attempt to go to sleep. She put on her dressing gown and lay down in her berth to think over their situation and decide what had best be done.

The other girls were soon asleep. But in a little while Miss Jones heard a faint sound. It came from their sitting room. Some one called her name. It was Madge.

Miss Jenny Ann went softly in, to find Madge still lying on the sofa, a little leather book clasped in her hands.

"I wish to tell you a story, Miss Jenny Ann," began Madge solemnly. "I have never told it to any one else, but I have come to the place where I feel that I ought to talk things over with some one I can trust. I know of no one else, not even Phil, to whom I would rather tell it.

Would you like to hear it?"

"My dear, my dear," said Miss Jenny Ann tremulously, "I know of no one else whose confidence I should so prize as yours. But are you sure that you wish to tell me?"

Madge nodded. The hands of the two met in a strong, steady clasp, then Madge began the story of her discovery in the attic of the secret drawer and its contents, and of how the vow she had made that day had been broken in what promised to be the hour of its fulfillment.

After she had finished she lay back on the couch, staring out the cabin window. Knowing Madge as she did, the chaperon still sat beside her in sympathetic silence. She recognized the n.o.bility of Madge's sacrifice.

The girl's words: "He is an old man. I can not bring this humiliation upon him. My father would not wish it," rang in her ears.

"I think you are right, Madge," Miss Jenny Ann said at last. "In fact, I am sure you are. But it is very bitter for you."

"But don't you believe my father would wish me to keep his secret?"

asked Madge anxiously.

"Yes, I believe he would," responded the chaperon, after a brief hesitation.

"And I shall do it," vowed Madge. "But some day, Miss Jenny Ann, perhaps the man who is really to blame for all my father's suffering will come to a realization of his own unworthiness and clear my father's name. I can't believe that Father is dead. I always think of him as being alive, and that some day I shall see him."

"I hope with all my heart that you will," said Miss Jenny Ann fervently. "Now you mustn't grieve any more, dear. You must go to sleep. It is long after midnight."

The chaperon bent down to kiss Madge good night.

"Good night, Miss Jenny Ann," said Madge. "I shall go to see Mrs.

Curtis in the morning and apologize to her for leaving the party so suddenly. I seem destined always to be making apologies."

But for reasons which she could not foresee, Madge's apology was to be delayed indefinitely.

The night had grown pitch dark when Alfred Thornton crossed the bay. He had engaged a fast-going sea launch for his use during the evening of their play, and as his boat rushed along through the sea, which was rapidly growing rougher, he debated in his mind as to whether he was acting wisely.

Alfred Thornton was not a high-minded youth. He was often dishonorable and unscrupulous in his dealings with men, but he thoroughly disliked the hateful task ahead of him. Yet he moved doggedly toward it. He must save his own and his father's reputation, perhaps his fortune! There was no reason for him to believe that Flora Harris would spare him unless he did what she had demanded. He had that evening seen how far the spirit of revenge could lead her.