The Rose in the Ring Part 51

"Won't you call again?" he temporized. "I don't quite understand. It don't go down very easy, I'll say that. At any rate, you can't see her now, no matter who you are. She was up all night with Miss Braddock, who took sick suddenly. Mrs. Braddock has just laid down for a--"

"Christine sick?" demanded Braddock. The new note in his voice commanded attention. "It--it can't be serious. She was all right when she came in last night. What's the matter with her? Speak up! What does the doctor say?"

"They didn't call a doctor."

He was surprised to see the ominous glare fade from Braddock's eyes.

They wavered and then fell. An uneasy, mirthless laugh cracked in his throat; then his lip quivered ever so slightly--Brooks could have sworn to it. His hand shook as it went up to fumble the square chin in evident perplexity. For a moment Thomas Braddock stood there, reflecting, swayed by an emotion so unexpected that he was a long time in accounting for it. Indecision succeeded the arrogant a.s.surance that had marked his advances. He looked up quickly, suspecting the lie that might have been offered as an excuse to get rid of him.

"Are you lying to me?" he demanded.

"Sir!"

Braddock's mind, long acute, worked swiftly. He went back of the servant's statement with an intelligence that grasped the true conditions quite as plainly as if they had been laid bare before him.

Christine was ill. No physician had been called. He knew what the servant could not, by any chance, have known. He knew why Mary Braddock sat up with her daughter. A doctor? As if a doctor could prescribe for the affliction that beset her! Too well he now understood what had transpired in that upstairs room. A thing of horror had come to rack the soul of that happy, beautiful girl--had come suddenly because the time was ripe. She was suffering because _he_ was near! _He_ understood.

A tense, bitter oath struggled through his lips.

"Well, it's time she knew," he muttered in self-justification. Impelled by a strange anxiety--perhaps it was apprehension--he strained his eyes in the effort to penetrate the depths of the unfriendly hall at the servant's back. His ear seemed bent to catch the sounds of sobs or moans that he knew must reach him if he listened closely.

He again questioned the servant with his eyes, a long, intense scrutiny that confused the man.

Then he turned away.

"All right," he said sullenly, putting his hands into his pockets once more and drawing up his shoulders as if he were cold. "I'll come again.

Tell Mrs. Braddock I was here and that I'll be back in a couple of hours." Another glance through the half-open door, over the footman's shoulder, and he stalked off, his jaw set, his hands clenched in the pockets of his coat. At the foot of the steps he shot a quick, involuntary glance upward, taking in the second story windows. The wondering servant looked after him until he turned the corner below.

Brooks had seen men with the prison pallor in their faces before.

He was not long in apprising Mrs. Braddock of the stranger's visit. She was with Christine when he made the unhappy announcement. If he expected a demonstration of concern or surprise, he was disappointed.

"I will see Mr. Braddock when he returns," said his mistress quietly.

Brooks blinked two or three times, his only tribute to the stupendous shock he had experienced.

Thomas Braddock walked to the Battery. There he sat down on one of the benches and glowered out upon the blue waters of the bay for an hour or more. No muscle moved in his face. He waited with a patience that was three years old.

When David drove up to the Portman place, Mrs. Braddock herself arose from one of the chairs in the narrow stone porch at the top of the steps. She, too, had been waiting, but not for the young man who dashed up the steps.

"He has been here," she said, as she gave him her hand. The tenseness of the clasp revealed the strain that was upon her. He noted the pallor in her cheek, the dread in her eyes. The hot glare of the June sun seemed to bring out gray hairs he had never seen before. He had not thought of her as growing old until now.

"Yes?" he cried anxiously. "Where is he? I tried to get here in time.

Did he--"

"Sit down, David--here, please, behind the bal.u.s.trade. I am waiting out here for him. He went off in that direction. I've been watching for nearly an hour. He is coming back."

She resumed her chair, facing the direction which Braddock had taken.

"You--you sent him away?"

"I did not see him. You must not think, David, that I am afraid to see him. I am nervous, upset, but it really isn't fear.

Christine--Christine knows everything. I told her last night. She is--well, you can imagine, she is very unhappy. Everything looks black to her. I did not hide anything. She is crushed."

"Where is she? I must see her. I can comfort her, Mrs. Braddock. Let me see her before he comes back." He was standing over her, his face working.

"She will not see you, David," she said in dull tones. He started.

"What do you mean? She _must_ see me." "Her father was in the penitentiary." That was all; but it told all there was to tell.

It required a moment or two for comprehension. Then he cried out reproachfully: "Does she think that will make any difference in my--"

She held up her hand. "She knows it won't. That's what distresses her.

I am afraid, David, after all, you have brought your honor to a wretched market. We are what we are, we Braddocks. We can't look beyond our environment. You cannot marry a convict's daughter. It was bad enough before. I should have seen all this. But I was blind only to her happiness. We can't--"

His jaws were set. "Mrs. Braddock," he said, his voice quivering with decision, "I am not going to be put off like this. You may as well understand that, first and last. I love her. I want her. She loves me, thank G.o.d. It won't be so hard to make her understand how impossible it is for anything to come between us. She is going to marry me, Mary Braddock."

A great light leaped into her eyes, even as she shook her head. The words of protest she would have uttered failed to pa.s.s her lips. She reached out as if to clasp his hand, a movement as involuntary as it was instinctive. He had turned and was facing the closed portals behind which his heart's desire was beating all joy and hope out of her poor tormented soul. The tears rushed to his eyes.

"I can't stand it," he cried. "She must hear the words _now_--this is the time for me to go to her and say that I love her better than all the world. Nothing else matters."

In his eagerness he was starting for the door when a sharp cry fell from her lips. He hesitated, struck by the note of consternation in the cry.

A carriage had drawn up at the curb in front of the house. A face appeared at the open window of the vehicle, a never-to-be-forgotten face that brought to mind the African gazelle in Van Slye's.

David turned. For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He stood rigid in the paralysis of stupefaction. Then a cold perspiration started from every pore of his body. He sprang to Mrs. Braddock's side.

She was even then peering down the street, a great fear in her heart, every fiber quivering with alarm.

Colonel Grand was a.s.sisting his daughter to the sidewalk. Already he had lifted his hat and sent a nauseous smile to the woman above.

David's gaze followed hers in quest of a more sinister actor who might even then be coming upon the scene for the tragic climax.

The young man recognized the necessity for quick action. Colonel Grand, whatever his motive for appearing so unexpectedly at the Portman house, must be turned away without ceremony or consideration. At any minute Thomas Braddock might return. A tragedy would be the result; that was inevitable.

David started down the steps, pa.s.sing the rigid, staring woman at the top. He was vaguely aware of Roberta Grand's bow and of the look of annoyance in the Colonel's face. Half-way down he called out:

"Colonel Grand, you must not stay here--not a second longer. I will explain if you will let me ride with you for a couple of blocks."

Grand advanced.

"Young man," he said coldly, "I am here to see Mrs. Braddock on a matter of importance. You will do well to subside."

David flushed angrily. "But Mrs. Braddock does not care to see you.

She--"

Grand came on up the steps, ignoring Jenison, addressing himself to Mary Braddock.

"I have come to discuss Tom with you, Mary," he said. She started at the use of her name, a hot wave of anger rushing over her.

"Go away!" she cried, in low, intense tones. "How dare you come here, Colonel Grand? Go!"

He stopped, raised his hat, shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating manner, and then quickly lifted his free hand to check the approach of the young man who was ominously near at hand.