The Quest of the Silver Fleece Part 77

"Why--Miss Smith!" she faltered.

Miss Smith pointed to a paper. Mrs. Cresswell picked it up curiously. It was an official notification to the trustees of the Smith School of a legacy of two hundred thousand dollars together with the Cresswell house and plantation. Mrs. Gresswell sat down in open-mouthed astonishment.

Twice she tried to speak, but there were so many things to say that she could not choose.

"Tell Zora," Miss Smith at last managed to say.

Zora was dreaming again. Somehow, the old dream-life, with its glorious phantasies, had come silently back, richer and sweeter than ever. There was no tangible reason why, and yet today she had shut herself in her den. Searching down in the depths of her trunk, she drew forth that filmy cloud of white--silk-bordered and half finished to a gown. Why were her eyes wet today and her mind on the Silver Fleece? It was an anniversary, and perhaps she still remembered that moment, that supreme moment before the mob. She half slipped on, half wound about her, the white cloud of cloth, standing with parted lips, looking into the long mirror and gleaming in the fading day like midnight gowned in mists and stars. Abruptly there came a peremptory knocking at the door.

"Zora! Zora!" sounded Mrs. Cresswell's voice. Forgetting her informal attire, she opened the door, fearing some mishap. Mrs. Cresswell poured out the news. Zora received it in such motionless silence that Mary wondered at her want of feeling. At last, however, she said happily to Zora:

"Well, the battle's over, isn't it?"

"No, it's just begun."

"Just begun?" echoed Mary in amazement.

"Think of the servile black folk, the half awakened restless whites, the fat land waiting for the harvest, the ma.s.ses panting to know--why, the battle is scarcely even begun."

"Yes, I guess that's so," Mary began to comprehend. "We'll thank G.o.d it has begun, though."

"Thank G.o.d!" Zora reverently repeated.

"Come, let's go back to poor, dear Miss Smith," suggested Mary.

"I can't come just now--but pretty soon."

"Why? Oh, I see; you're trying on something--how pretty and becoming!

Well, hurry."

As they stood together, the white woman deemed the moment opportune; she slipped her arm about the black woman's waist and began:

"Zora, I've had something on my mind for a long time, and I shouldn't wonder if you had thought of the same thing."

"What is it?"

"Bles and Emma."

"What of them?"

"Their liking for each other."

Zora bent a moment and caught up the folds of the Fleece.

"I hadn't noticed it," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you're busy, you see. They've been very much together--his taking her to her charges, bringing her back, and all that. I know they love each other; yet something holds them apart, afraid to show their love.

Do you know--I've wondered if--quite unconciously, it is you? You know Bles used to imagine himself in love with you, just as he did afterward with Miss Wynn."

"Miss--Wynn?"

"Yes, the Washington girl. But he got over that and you straightened him out finally. Still, Emma probably thinks yours is the prior claim, knowing, of course, nothing of facts. And Bles knows she thinks of him and you, and I'm convinced if you say the word, they'd love and marry."

Zora walked silently with her to the door, where, looking out, she saw Bles and Emma coming from Aunt Rachel's. He was helping her from the carriage with smiling eyes, and her innocent blue eyes were fastened on him.

Zora looked long and searchingly.

"Please run and tell them of the legacy," she begged. "I--I will come--in a moment." And Mrs. Cresswell hurried out.

Zora turned back steadily to her room, and locked herself in. After all, why shouldn't it be? Why had it not occurred to her before in her blindness? If she had wanted him--and ah, G.o.d! was not all her life simply the want of him?--why had she not bound him to her when he had offered himself? Why had she not bound him to her? She knew as she asked--because she had wanted all, not a part--everything, love, respect and perfect faith--not one thing could she spare then--not one thing.

And now, oh, G.o.d! she had dreamed that it was all hers, since that night of death and circling flame when they looked at each other soul to soul.

But he had not meant anything. It was pity she had seen there, not love; and she rose and walked the room slowly, fast and faster.

With trembling hands she drew the Silver Fleece round her. Her head swam again and the blood flashed in her eyes. She heard a calling in the swamp, and the shadow of Elspeth seemed to hover over her, claiming her for her own, dragging her down, down.... She rushed through the swamp.

The lagoon lay there before her presently, gleaming in the darkness--cold and still, and in it swam an awful shape.

She held her burning head--was not everything plain? Was not everything clear? This was Sacrifice! This was the Atonement for the unforgiven sin. Emma's was the pure soul which she must offer up to G.o.d; for it was G.o.d, a cold and mighty G.o.d, who had given it to Bles--her Bles. It was well; G.o.d willed it. But could she live? Must she live? Did G.o.d ask that, too?

All at once she stood straight; her whole body grew tense, alert. She heard no sound behind her, but knew he was there, and braced herself.

She must be true. She must be just. She must pay the uttermost farthing.

"Bles," she called faintly, but did not turn her head.

"Zora!"

"Bles," she choked, but her voice came stronger, "I know--all. Emma is a good girl. I helped bring her up myself and did all I could for her and she--she is pure; marry her."

His voice came slow and firm:

"Emma? But I don't love Emma. I love--some one else."

Her heart bounded and again was still. It was that Washington girl then.

She answered dully, groping for words, for she was tired:

"Who is it?"

"The best woman in all the world, Zora."

"And is"--she struggled at the word madly--"is she pure?"

"She is more than pure."

"Then you must marry her, Bles."

"I am not worthy of her," he answered, sinking before her.

Then at last illumination dawned upon her blindness. She stood very still and lifted up her eyes. The swamp was living, vibrant, tremulous.

There where the first long note of night lay shot with burning crimson, burst in sudden radiance the wide beauty of the moon. There pulsed a glory in the air. Her little hands groped and wandered over his close-curled hair, and she sobbed, deep voiced:

"Will you--marry me, Bles?"