The Stolen Singer Part 35

The wagon road stretched alluringly into the sunflecked shade of the grove. A hush like that of primeval day threw its uncanny influence over the world. Jim felt something tugging at his spirit that was unfamiliar, disquieting. He began to whistle just for company, and in a moment, as if at a signal call, Danny came along the path, sedately trotting to meet him.

"Hullo, old pardner! So this is where you are."

Danny said yes, and led Jim into the clearing and up to a pine stump, where everybody sat, quite alone, chin propped on hand. No singing, no book, and--or did Jimmy imagine it?--a spirit decidedly quenched. Her eyelids were red and her face was pale.

"So, dear lady, I have found you. But I was listening for the song."

"There is no song to-day." Agatha's manner resembled an Arctic breeze.

"May one ask why?"

"One can not always be singing."

"No? Why not? I could--_if_ I could."

Agatha was obliged to relax a trifle at Jimmy's foolishness, but only to reveal, more and more distinctly, a wretchedness of spirit that was quite baffling. It was not feminine wretchedness waiting for a masculine comforter, either, as James observed with regret; it was a stoical spirit, braced to meet a blow--or to deal one.

Jimmy was not used to being snubbed, and instinctively prepared for vigorous protest. He began with a little preliminary diplomacy.

"You haven't inquired what I'm going to do with the remainder of my holiday," he remarked.

"I supposed you would return soon to Lynn. Shall we walk back to the house?"

The unkind words were spoken in a rare-sweet voice, courteously enough.

Jim looked at the speaker a moment, then emphatically said "No!"

"It is quite time I was returning."

"Have you anything there to do that is more important than listening to me for fifteen minutes?"

Agatha did not pretend not to understand him. She turned toward him with unflinching eyes.

"Truth to say, yes, Mr. Hambleton, I have. I don't wish to listen to--anything."

"Oh--if you feel like that! Your 'Mr. Hambleton' is enough to strike me dumb."

"Believe me, it is the best way."

"Again, may one ask why?"

"You are going back to your own people, to your own work. And I to mine."

"But that's the very point. My idea was to--to combine them."

"I guessed it."

Jimmy smiled his ingenuous smile as he suavely asked, "And don't you--er--like the idea?"

Agatha turned her wretched white face toward him. Into it there had come a grim determination that left Jimmy quite out in the cold.

"I have no choice in liking or disliking it," she said quite evenly.

"But there are plenty of reasons why I can't think of it. And you shouldn't think of it any more. I a.s.sure you, you are making a mistake."

She got up as if ready to walk away, her face averted.

"Agatha!"

At the name she turned to Jim, as much as to say she would be quite reasonable if he would be. But her face suddenly flushed gloriously.

"Agatha, dear, hear me. I did not intend to tell you all my secret to-day; not until I should be on neutral ground, so to speak. But I can't let you leave me this way."

"You will have to. I am going back to the house."

Up to this point, James had merely been playing tag, as it were. The game wasn't really on. A little skirmishing on either side was in order. But Agatha's last words were the call to action. They roused the ghost of some old Hambleton ancestor who meant not to be beaten.

Jim squared himself in the middle of the path, touched Agatha's shoulder with the lightest, most respectful finger, and requested: "But I would ask you, as a special favor, to stay a few minutes longer."

Jim's tone left Agatha no choice. She sat down again on the pine stump, but she could not meet Jimmy's eyes. He stood a few feet away from her. When he spoke, his voice was firm and steady, ringing with earnestness. There was no doubt now but that he was in the game for all he was worth.

"Agatha, you shall not turn me down like this. Wait until you know me better, and know yourself better. You've had no time to think this matter over, and it involves a good deal, I admit. But we have lived through a good deal together in these few weeks. I'm here; I'm here to stay. You can't say now, dear, that you care nothing for me--can you?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You shall not turn me down like this."]

"What is the use of all this, I ask! You will always be my friend, my rescuer, to whom I am eternally grateful."

Jimmy emitted a sound halfway between "Shucks" and "d.a.m.n" and swung impatiently clean round on his heels.

"Grateful be hanged! I don't want anybody to be grateful. I want you to love me--to marry me. Why, Agatha," he argued boyishly, his hopes rising as he saw her face soften a little, "you're mine, for I plucked you out of the sea. I had to have you. I guess I knew it that Sunday, only it was 'way off, somewhere in the back of my brain. You're a dream I've always loved. Just as this old house is. You're the woman I could have prayed for. I'll do, I'll be, anything you wish; I'll change myself over, but oh, don't say you won't have me. Agatha, Agatha, you don't know how much you mean to me!"

Before this speech was finished, James, according to the good old fashion, was down on his knees before his lady, and had imprisoned one of her hands. Stoic she was, not to yield! Her eyes had a suspicious moistness, as she shook her head.

"You will always be the most gallant, unselfish friend I have ever known. But--"

"But--what?"

"Marry you I can not."

"Why not?"

"I can not marry anybody."

Then Jimsy said a disgraceful thing. "You kissed me once. Will you do it again?"

At this impudence, she neither got angry nor changed her mind--a bad sign for Jimmy. She put his hand away, saying, "You must forgive me the kiss."

Jimmy jumped to his feet with another inarticulate sound, every whit as bad as an oath, and stood before her.

"Agatha Redmond, will you marry me?"