The Night Riders

by Henry Cleveland Wood

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  A pall of swiftly enveloping blackness closed about the toll-house andits surroundings, which had been revealed for one short space.

  The girl started back with a sharp cry, wrung from her in surprise andconsternation at the sudden apparition she had beheld, while the Squire,naturally mistook her perturbation for fear of the storm.

  "Come! don't be afraid, my dear, you are quite safe," he said,soothingly, striving clumsily at the words to slip his arm about herwaist. But she adroitly avoided the movement and retreated toward thedoor of the toll-house.

  "Hurry home!" she cried anxiously, thinking rather of ridding herself ofhis presence, than of entertaining a fear for his safety. "The storm isnear at hand."

  "It's a good deal bluster," answered the Squire calmly, after acritical glance heavenward, "It may not rain at all. I hope it may not,as to-morrow's our wedding--only think of that, chickie, our weddingday!"

  "Hurry home!" repeated Sally, faintly, scarcely knowing what she wassaying, and only desirous of hastening his departure, and riddingherself of his hateful presence--doubly hateful at this moment. Therewas a touch of very entreaty in her voice.

  "I thought you were going to ride with me a little way," remonstratedthe Squire in disappointed tones. "You said you were."

  "No! no!" answered the girl hastily, "it's dangerous--besides, it'sgrowing late."

  "That's scarcely treating me fair," protested the Squire, but hegood-naturedly shambled along the platform, and went to get his buggy."We won't begin to quarrel this early," he added with a laugh, "so--goodnight, my dear! and pleasant dreams to you!"

  "Good night!" echoed Sally, mechanically. She stood motionless until thesound of the vehicle grew faint in the distance, then, with quakingframe, she hurriedly jumped off the platform into the road, and gropedher way to the spot where she had seen the dark, solitary figurestanding fully revealed in that brief, intense light.

  She had heard no sound, save the Squire's clumsy movements, and laterthe rumble of his buggy along the pike, and as she eagerly startedforward, the thought came to her that perhaps she was the dupe of herown vivid imagination--that the motionless figure imprinted on theretina of her eye, as it had been etched on the background of the night,was the creature of her excited brain, and had no part in the darknesswithout.

  "Milt!" she called out softly, inquiringly.

  She strained her ear attentively to the silence. The sound of laboredbreathing near at hand betrayed the presence she sought, and puttingforth her hand fearlessly she touched the substance of the shadow shehad seen.

  "Milt!" she once more called aloud.

  With a gesture of impatience, or anger, she knew not which, he roughlyshook off the hand laid lightly upon him, with the impatient mumbling ofa fierce oath.

  "So, it's true," he said at last; but his voice sounded strange andharsh, and totally unlike the familiar caressing tones she had solonged to hear once more.

  "SO IT'S TRUE," HE SAID, BUT HIS VOICE SOUNDED STRANGEAND HARSH.]

  A deep silence fell between them, and in its strained quiet she couldhear her heart beating loudly in her bosom, as if it were the pendulumof some muffled clock ticking off the dreary moments of a life.

  "Yes," she answered, finally breaking the intense silence, her voicescarcely more than a faint whisper. It seemed that an age had passedsince the question was asked.

  "Sally!" he cried sharply, as if her reply had been a keen knife thrust."You don't mean it!"

  "It is true," she said, simply.

  "And I would not believe it, even though I read it by chance in one ofthe papers from here. I said it was a lie. I really thought it wasone--a wicked lie--a damnable one--I didn't know women," he added, witha bitter laugh.

  "Don't blame me, Milt," she faltered. "I did it for the best."

  "For the best?" he echoed, scornfully, swift anger following close uponhis words. "Is it for the best to wreck my life--my faith in you?"

  "It need not wreck your life, it must not," answered Sally, earnestly."I'm not worth it. Oh! why did you come back?" she asked sorrowfully.

  "I came back to convince myself that it was a lie. I was a fool forcoming, I'll admit that; but women have made fools of men ever since thedays of Eve."

  The two walked on up the road, further away from the toll-house.

  "You should not have come back," persisted the girl. "I hoped you neverwould. I beg you to go away again, this very night. It is best for usboth. Some day you will find a true woman who is worthy of your love,"she added with a sob rising in her throat, but Milt in his anger andresentment failed to rightly interpret its meaning.

  "Then you have been fooling me all the while!" he cried, hot withindignation. "You have made me believe that you cared nothing forhim--that you loathed him, even--well, perhaps you did, but you lovedhis money--you've sold yourself for that."

  "No! no! Milt, don't say that!" cried the girl imploringly. "I may havesold myself to him, but not for money--don't think that of me!"

  "If not for money--for what?" demanded Derr, sternly. "For what else buthis houses and lands?"

  Once again the impulse was strong upon her to confess the truth, yetswift to follow the impulse came the unhappy knowledge that to do thiswould be to seal Milt's fate. If she would save him, she must sacrificeherself. For his sake her lips must remain mute now, and perhapsforever.

  "It _is_ a sale, an outright sale!" persisted Derr. "You really don'tcare for him, you never did. It is only his money you are after--money,not love has won the day, it always will. I might have known as much,but I was simple, and had a simple faith. I didn't understand thefalseness of women's hearts."

  "Would I have risked my life, as I did, to get you out of the clutchesof the raiders that night, if I had cared nothing for you?" asked Sallyin sharp earnestness, unable longer to bear his reproaches in silence.

  "And to what purpose?" demanded her companion. "Why didn't you let themkill me, as they proposed doing? It would have been kinder to have letthem put me out of the way," he added bitterly.

  "Oh, why didn't you stay away, when once you had gone?" she asked. "Itwould have been far kinder to me."

  "I begin to understand now why you were so anxious to have me go," hesaid. "Probably you feared I would make trouble. Did you think I mightattempt to harm your youthful, handsome lover?" he asked, sneeringly."No wonder you only cared to talk of the present, not of the future thatnight we parted. No wonder you parried my questions when I asked if youwould some day come to me. I marveled then at your strange silence, butthe reason is now as clear as day. All the while you were urging me togo away, you were expecting to marry him after I had gone! Confessnow--wasn't your word given to him before I went away?"

  "Yes," acknowledged Sally, "but let me explain a few things you do notunderstand, I"--

  "It is unnecessary," quickly interrupted Milt. "Those things I _do_understand are all-sufficient for me. You wanted me away from here, andyou succeeded in getting me to go--you preferred the Squire's money tomy poverty, and you are on the eve of getting his money, too. Perhapsyou are in league with those rascals who may have meant only to frightenme, and cause me to run away, like a cowardly cur. They might not haveharmed me--I doubt now if they intended to.

  "It is not too late, though, to thwart your plans and his," continuedthe speaker with increasing anger. "You are not yet married to thatbrute, and, by heaven! you shall not be! I swear it! I will kill himfirst--the scoundrel! the hound!" he cried passionately, overswept bythe rage that swayed him, like a tree twisted by the storm.

  "Milt, Milt, don't talk that way! You mustn't harm him! You shall not!"cried the girl, terror-stricken by the passionate utterances of hercompanion.

  Her words were but fuel to the flame. They goaded him into a sort offrenzy.

  "So you beg for him, do you? You don't want him hurt--your lover, yourhusband that is soon to be. By heaven! I'll wring his wrinkled,villainous neck like I would a chicken's, d--n him. He's driven me fromhis
roof, he's taken you from me, but I'll even up old scores at last."

  As the maddened man started up the road, Sally frantically caught holdof him, striving to pacify his anger, to reason with him, to make himunderstand his unjustness toward her, but he roughly shook himself free,and moved the faster.

  "Milt! Milt! come back!" she cried entreatingly, but he made no answer,and hurried on.

  "Milt, listen to me! It's all my fault. I, alone, am to blame. Comeback! For God's sake, don't do anything rash!"

  Again she tried to overtake him, to lay hold of him, but he broke into arun, and left her far behind, crying entreatingly to him through thedarkness.