The Shield of Silence Part 69

It repelled; it did not attract--but it was pity that called forth a desire to help. Clasping the silent witnesses of the truth in her cold hands Joan spoke:

"No! Aunt Doris and Nancy shall not pay," she said, quietly.

"Who--then?" Thornton felt the ground slipping from under him. The young creature opposite looked so old and hard that she impressed him in spite of himself.

"You and I--will pay!"

By those words Joan took her stand with Thornton, not against him. He winced.

"Think--think what all this means," she faltered.

Thornton did think. He thought back of the girl confronting him with his mother's eyes. The backward path was black and wreck-strewn; it led--where?

"Aunt Doris has told me of--of my mother! You and I owe my mother----"

here Joan choked and Thornton burst in:

"But is it right and decent--that this imposition should be put upon innocent people? That girl--may turn out to be----"

But Joan was not heeding. She paused and looked at the unfinished but perfect work upon the loom!

"It is too late now to consider that," she whispered, brokenly. Then: "Aunt Doris has saved Nancy. You need have no fear.

"Oh! can you not see what a chance you have to--to help this wonderful thing Aunt Doris did?"

"Help? How?" Thornton sunk back in his chair. He was crushed--but in the depths of his soul something was stirring; something that he believed had died when he heard of the birth of the girl across the table who was pleading with him for those who had made her what she was!

"How?"

"Why--by simply--going away!"

Thornton almost broke again into that maddening laugh, but caught himself in time.

"That sounds--devilish easy!" he said, furiously, but the flare of pa.s.sion died at birth, for Joan was saying:

"I have some money of my own--I will send it all to you. I will get money for you--as long as you need it--but after a time you will--not need it! And then"--here Joan stretched out her clasped hands--"I know it sounds almost impossible--but it can be made true--you can come back to us all; help us keep the secret, and--watch with us. You and I owe this--to Aunt Doris; to my mother! It may be your--your--recompense."

Thornton got upon his feet. He held to the table to steady himself, and a subtle dignity grew upon him.

"I am going away," he said, slowly, "until I can think over this infernal business by myself. The time to act hasn't come yet--that's certain. I don't want--your money; not now. If I do, I'll send for it.

If I ever come again it will be to--" he paused, flung his head up--"to see you; to look on at the working out of the d.a.m.ned mess."

He reached out for the locket and case.

"Good-bye," he said, gruffly. "You need not be afraid--not now."

"I am not afraid." Joan rose weakly. "I shall wait for you. I am sure you will come.

"Good-bye; good-bye!"

Outside Thornton stumbled against old Jed.

"The Ship's sailing!" the quavering, foolish words startled Thornton; "you best get aboard, sir, anchor's lifting!" Jed staggered away, grinning and muttering.

Thornton stared after the swaying figure. Then he thought of the Philippines, his old battle ground--he would go back! The idea caught and held him.

On the river road his horse stood nibbling the gra.s.s; a woman was beside it--a lean, stooping woman with a home-spun shawl clutched over her sunken b.r.e.a.s.t.s by one hand, in the other was a ma.s.sive, rusty gun!

She turned and confronted Thornton. She knew him at once, but he merely frowned at her as he eyed the weapon uneasily.

"Who are you?" he asked. The place, the experience were getting to be too much for his shaken nerves.

"That don't matter," Mary raised her deep eyes, they were burning with superst.i.tious intentness; "but I have a message for you--you best heed it. We don't stand for strangers hanging around here. See there!" Mary pointed to The Rock--Thornton's excited fancy caught the wavering outlines of The Ship.

"All that's wise--goes with that." Mary turned away. "You best heed!"

she muttered as Jed had, and slunk off.

Thornton shivered. He had not eaten for many hours; he was weary and beaten.

"My G.o.d!" he muttered as he mounted the horse; "what--a conspiracy! What a hole to get away from. She thinks I'm looking for stills. Stills!" he gave a weak laugh.

Joan stood until she heard the sound of the horse's hoofs on the road, then she turned to the freshly brushed but empty hearth and knelt, shivering.

"Aha, I am warm. I have seen the fire." Her eyes clung to the words as if they were living flames. She was not conscious of thought, but she seemed to _know_ that she had only _seen_ the fire before but that now she was to feel it. A glow was stirring within her--a bright, flaming thing that lighted her way, on before--the long, long splendid way on which responsibility rested like a halo.

She held within her soul all that had gone into her making--she belonged, in a great and demanding significance, to--Doris and Doris's people. Doris's and her own! Her own! She must prove herself--behind the shield; she must make the _real_ her ideal. She must not be afraid. Fear was the only thing that mattered.

Her whole life had been but an outline up to now; she must fill it in!

She must not be afraid to set sail.

Who had said that to her?

"Set sail. Bids--you set sail!"

So engrossed was Joan in the flooding tide of thought, so entirely was she abandoning herself to it, that it was only when she heard Doris speak that she turned.

"Joan, we've brought Clive! We met him on the way."

Joan did not rise. With hands clasped in her lap she faced the little group in the doorway.

Her eyes were filled with the golden light of day--she waited; all her life, she knew, she had been preparing for this moment. She saw Cameron's start of surprise; his wonder and doubt. Then she saw him gathering strength as for the last lap of a hard race.

"So I have found you!" he said, and pushing past Martin and Doris he came across the room with outstretched hands.

Something was calling in the tone which words could not convey, and Joan could not answer. It was like hearing a voice where before there had been but echoes.

"I always knew that I would find you!"

Cameron had reached the girl on the floor; he bent and drew her to her feet. His eyes were laughing; he saw her effort to answer him; her seeking to--understand what _he_ had already learned.