The Camp Fire Girls in After Years Part 17

Without a word or a sign Angelique heard the entire story through, although she was secretly raging with indignation against Kenneth and wondering how Faith could possibly be so much under his influence that she seemed to have no mind or will of her own.

Moreover, even after Faith had ended her story and sat evidently waiting for some comment from her companion, Angel could think of nothing to say that would be sufficiently circ.u.mspect. For if she even so much as breathed a word against Kenneth, Faith would probably be exceedingly angry and rally to his defence at once. So the little French girl sat motionless on the side of the bed, staring rather stupidly at the wall opposite her.

By and by, however, Faith leaned over and put her arms about her.

"Tell me, Angel, just what you would do if you were in my place?" the girl pleaded. "Really, I am so miserable I can't decide."

Angel looked at her earnestly. "Do you really mean that?" she queried.

And when Faith bowed her head, she answered decisively:

"Why, if I were you, I should simply write to Kenneth Helm tonight and say to him that he was either to allow you to tell Rose and Doctor Barton of your engagement or else you would consider your engagement broken."

Faith caught her breath and then her cheeks flushed.

"Would you mind getting me some paper and the pen and ink out of my desk?" she returned quietly.

And Angel, almost dazed by the quickness with which the other girl had accepted her suggestion, at once walked over to her desk. But the drawer of the desk which contained the paper had stuck and as she had only one hand (the other held her cane) she had to tug and tug at it before it would come loose.

Then of course it behaved in the usual fashion. For suddenly the entire drawer plunged forward and every single thing it contained scattered over the floor. There were letters and papers and ribbons and photographs and pens and pencils and powder puffs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHE SPRANG OUT OF BED HERSELF THE NEXT MOMENT]

"Oh, I am so sorry, Faith dear! I am the most awkward person in the whole world," Angel apologized. "But if you'll just forgive me I'll clear up in half a minute."

Faith smiled a little restlessly as her friend stooped to her task.

However, she sprang out of bed herself the next moment, for Angel had picked up a package from the floor which had a blue paper and a rubber band about it and was also marked with the Governor's official seal.

Faith tried to jerk the letters from her friend's hand.

"Put those down at once, Angel!" she commanded angrily. "Why don't you do as I tell you? Those papers are not mine; I am keeping them for Kenneth Helm. He told me they were of the most private nature possible and that no one was to be allowed to see them."

However, even after this stern injunction, the French girl did not give up the package of letters. Instead, without Faith's being aware of her intention, she kept edging nearer and nearer toward the door which led into the hall and so farther along to Betty's and Governor Graham's rooms. She remembered that they had also gone up-stairs together after dinner. And her hope was that they had not yet left the house.

Then suddenly she turned, and running faster than she ever had since her lameness she got out of Faith's bedroom and was on her way to her desired destination.

Moreover, for the moment Faith made no effort to follow her, for she believed Angel to have lost her senses.

Why should she desire to run away with Kenneth Helm's private papers?

Faith could even now hear Angel's cane tapping its way rapidly along the hall.

Then she ran to the door and stuck her head out, calling the other girl to return. She didn't quite dare follow her, for she had on only her night-dress and dressing gown and the servants or Governor Graham might probably see her.

For another half hour Faith had to remain in anger and suspense. Of course, she dressed as quickly as possible and went to Angel's room, but Angel was not there, neither could she be discovered in either of the children's nurseries or in any room on the ground floor.

At last in desperation Faith knocked on Mrs. Graham's sitting room door.

It was Betty herself who answered the knock, although Faith caught a glimpse of Angelique Martins standing with the Governor under a rose-colored electric light and thought they both looked unusually cheerful.

Moreover, it was Betty and not Angel who returned to the bedroom with Faith.

Just as carefully and as kindly as she could Betty then explained the importance of Angel's discovery to her guest. She said that it was very hard indeed for them to believe that Kenneth Helm had stolen these letters, since Governor Graham had felt every confidence in him.

However, if Faith declared that Kenneth had given her the letters for safe-keeping, there was nothing else for them to believe. He must have demanded a larger sum of money for the papers than the other men were willing to pay him. Therefore, it had evidently been his intention to keep them until the last moment in order to accomplish his end.

Of course, this statement of Betty Graham's at the time was only a surmise on the part of her husband, notwithstanding it turned out to be the correct one.

For Kenneth Helm finally confessed the truth himself in the face of the evidence which Governor Graham held against him. His only excuse was the dangerous and disastrous one that he had longed to grow rich sooner than he could with the everyday grind of a business career.

So, after all, Faith Barton wrote her letter on the same evening she had intended. Betty's and Angel's and Governor Graham's suspicions of Kenneth, besides the facts themselves, were more than enough to convince her judgment, especially when her heart had been having its own misgivings for some time past.

It was in entire meekness of spirit and yet in thanksgiving that Faith Barton decided upon breaking off her engagement, which she was glad never to have acknowledged to any one save Angelique Martins. Angel, she knew, would never betray her. Nevertheless, before Faith had been at home twenty-four hours she had confessed the entire story to Rose Barton and together they had wept over her fortunate escape.

CHAPTER XXIII

FINIS

POLLY O'NEILL was on her sister's front porch reading a letter from Doctor Sylvia Wharton. It was now spring time.

Sylvia had written that Bobbin was getting on at school in the most amazing fashion. Not only could she now p.r.o.nounce Polly's name but hundreds of others, and she could certainly hear better than she had several months before.

Nevertheless, Polly let the letter slide out of her hand and the tears came to her eyes. She was not sad, however, only so extremely glad for Bobbin's sake and for her own.

"After all, perhaps I am not so entirely selfish a human being as some persons believe me," she announced to herself with a shrug of her shoulders. "For at least one little girl in this world does not think so, and never shall."

Then Polly closed her eyes and fell to dreaming. She was not really asleep, only resting. She had had rather a hard struggle after Mollie's fire and her own unfortunate part in it. That wretched cold she had taken settled on her lungs immediately afterwards and she was now only strong enough to lead an ordinary existence. There was no thought of her acting again until the next fall.

She was not yet feeling particularly vigorous, so now although she plainly heard the sound of a man's footsteps approaching the veranda, she made no effort to open her eyes. It was probably Billy or one of his farm men. If a question should be asked of her then would come the time for answering it.

Nevertheless, she had not expected that the man would walk deliberately up to her and then stand in front of her without saying a word.

Miss O'Neill felt annoyed and her cheeks flamed with the two bright spots of color always characteristic of her. Notwithstanding, she opened her eyes coldly and calmly, haughtily she hoped.

The intruder did not flinch. He merely continued gazing at her and still without speaking.

But Polly's flush burned deeper, although she also said nothing.

"I had to come, Miss Polly," Richard Hunt announced at last.

Polly motioned to a chair near by. "You were good--to trouble," she returned slowly. "It has been four months since I saw you last and asked you to come; and since then I have very nearly died."

Then she smiled and held out her hand with the utmost friendliness.

"Forgive me," she begged. "I am glad to see you at any time. I am afraid I am behaving like the preacher who reproaches the members of his congregation for not doing their duty and attending service on the very Sundays when they have shown up."

But Richard Hunt would not be frivolous.