CHAPTER XVI
LUCY COMES TO A DECISION
Slowly Lucy drove homeward, her dreams of rosy wall papers and gay chintzhangings shattered. Thrusting into insignificance these minorconsiderations, however, was the thought of Martin Howe and what he wouldsay to the revelation of Ellen's cupidity.
She would not tell him about the will, on that she was determined. Shewould not mention it to anybody. Instead she would go promptly to workpacking up her few possessions and putting the house in perfect order.Fortunately it had so recently been cleaned that to prepare it for closingwould be a simple matter.
As for herself and Martin, the dupes of an old woman's vengeance, both ofthem were of course blameless. Nevertheless, the present twist of Fate hadentirely changed their relation to one another.
When she had defied her aunt and voiced with such pride her love for theman of her heart, it had been in a joyous faith that although he had notmade similar confession, he would ultimately do so. The possibility thathe was making of her affection a tool for vengeance had never come intoher mind until Ellen had put it there, and then with involuntary loyaltyshe had instantly dismissed the suggestion as absurd. But here was adifferent situation. She was no longer independent of circumstances. Shewas penniless in the world, all the things that should have been hershaving been swept away by the malicious stroke of a pen. It was almost astragic to be married out of spite as out of pity.
She knew Martin's standards of honor. He would recognize, as she did, thejustice of the Webster homestead and lands remaining in her possession;and since the will stipulated that he must personally occupy theseproperties and could neither sell, transfer, nor give them to theirrightful owner, she felt sure he would seize upon the only other means ofmaking her freehold legally hers. Whether he loved her or not would notnow be in his eyes the paramount issue. In wedding her he would feel hewas carrying out an act of justice which under the guise of affection itwould be quite legitimate to perform.
This solution of the difficulty, however, cleared away but the minor halfof the dilemma. Had she been willing to accept Martin's sacrifice ofhimself and marry him, there still remained the wall,--the obstacle thatfor generations had loomed between the peace of Howe and Webster and nowloomed 'twixt her and her lover with a magnitude it had never assumedbefore.
Martin would never rebuild that wall--never!
Had he not vowed that he would be burned at the stake first? That he wouldface persecution, nakedness, famine, the sword before he would do it? Allthe iron of generations of Howe blood rung in the oath. He had proclaimedthe decree throughout the county. Everybody for miles around knew how hefelt. Though he loved her as man had never loved woman (a miracle whichshe had no ground for supposing) he would never consent to such acompromise of principles. The being did not exist for whom Martin Howewould abandon his creed of honor.
She knew well that strata of hardness in his nature, the adamantine willthat wrought torture to its possessor because it could not bend. Even theconcessions he had thus far made, had, she recognized, cost him a vitalstruggle. On the day of her aunt's seizure had she not witnessed thewarfare between pity and hatred, generosity and revenge? The powers oflight had triumphed, it is true; but it had been only after the bitteresttravail; and ever since she had been conscious that within his soul Martinhad viewed his victory with a smoldering, unformulated contempt. Even hisattentions to her had been paid with a blindfolded, lethargicunwillingness, as if he offered them against the dictates of hisconscience and closed his eyes to a crisis he would not, dared not face.
It was one thing for her to light-heartedly announce that she loved MartinHowe and would marry him; but it was quite another matter for him to reacha corresponding conclusion. To her vengeance was an antiquated creed, aremnant of a past decade, which it cost her no effort to brush aside.Martin, on the contrary, was built of sterner stuff. He hated with thevigor of the red-blooded hater, fostering with sincerity the old-fashioneddogmas of justice and retribution. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for atooth" was a matter of right; and the mercy that would temper it was notalways a virtue. More often it was a weakness.
To be caught in Ellen Webster's toils and own himself beaten would, Lucywell understood, be to his mind a humiliating fate.
Only a compelling, unreasoning love that swept over him like some mightytidal wave, wrenching from its foundations every impeding barrier, couldmove him to surrender; and who was she to arouse such passion in anylover? She was only a woman human and faulty. She had indeed a heart tobestow, and without vain boasting it was a heart worth the winning; sheheld herself in sufficient esteem to set a price on the treasure. But wasit jewel enough to prompt a man to uproot every tradition of his moralworld for its possession?
Sadly she shook her head. No, Martin would never be lost in a mood of suchover-mastering love as this for her. If he made a proposal of marriage, itwould be because he was spurred by impulses of justice and pity; and nomatter how worthy these motives, he would degenerate into the laughingstock of the community the instant he began to carry out the terms of thewill and reconstruct the wall. She could hear now the taunts and jests ofthe townsfolk. Some of them would speak in good-humored banter, some withpremeditated malice; but their jibes would sting.
"So you're tacklin' that wall in spite of all you said, are you, Martin?"
"Ellen Webster's got you where she wanted you at last, ain't she,Martin?"
"This would be a proud day for the Websters, Martin!"
There would even be those who would meanly assert that a man could be madeto do anything for money.
Ah, she knew what the villagers would say, and so, too, would Martin. Howhis proud spirit would writhe and smart under the lash of their tongues!Neither pity nor love for her should ever place him in a position of suchhumiliation.
Before he was confronted by the choice of turning her out of doors, ormarrying her and making himself the butt of the county wits, she mustclear his path from embarrassment and be gone. She had a pittance of herown that would support her until she could find employment that wouldrender her independent of charity. Her future would unquestionably belonely, since she must leave behind her not only the man she loved but thehome about which her fondest dreams centered. Nevertheless, she had neverlacked courage to do what must be done; and in the present emergency thepride of the Websters came surging to re-enforce her in her purpose.
Nobody must know she was going away--nobody. There must be noleave-takings and no tears. The regrets she had at parting with all sheheld dear she would keep to herself, nor should any of her kindlyacquaintances have the opportunity to offer to her a sheltering roof asthey had to old Libby Davis, the town pauper.
Laughing hysterically, she dashed aside the tears that gathered in hereyes. Would it not be ironic if the Webster mansion became a poor farm andshe its first inmate?
As for Martin--a quick sob choked her. Well, he should be left free tofollow whatever course he ordained. Perhaps he would scornfully turnEllen's bequest back to the town; perhaps, on the other hand, he wouldconquer his scruples, rebuild the wall, and become rich and prosperous asa result. With an augmented bank account and plenty of fertile land, whatmight he not accomplish? Why, it would make him one of the largestland-owners in the State!
A glow of pleasure thrilled her. She hoped he would accept the legacy; sheprayed he would.
Then, even though she were lonely and penniless, she would have thesatisfaction of knowing that what she had forfeited had been for hisbetterment. There would be some joy in that. To give over her ancestralhomestead for a pauper institution that was neither needed nor necessary,and was only a spiteful device of Ellen's to outwit her was an emptycharity.
Having thus formulated her future action, Lucy hastened to carry out herplans with all speed. Before Mr. Benton imparted to Martin the terms ofthe will, before any hint of them reached his ears, she must be far fromSefton Falls; otherwise he might anticipate her determination and thwarther in it.
How fo
rtunate it was that there was so little to impede her flight! Allshe owned in the world she could quickly pack into the small trunk she hadbrought with her from the West. Not to one article in the house had sheany claim; Mr. Benton had impressed that upon her mind. Even the familysilver, the little dented mug from which her father had drunk his milk hadbeen willed away.
However, what did it matter now? Sentiment was a foolish thing. Therewould never be any more Websters to inherit these heirlooms. She was thelast of the line; and she would never marry.
Having reached this climax in her meditations, she turned into thedriveway and, halting before the barn door, called to Tony to come andtake the horse. Afterward she disappeared into the house.
All the afternoon she worked feverishly, putting everything intoirreproachable order. Then she packed her few belongings into the littlebrown trunk. It was four o'clock when she summoned the Portuguese boy fromthe field.
"I want you to take me and my trunk to the station, Tony," she said,struggling to make the order a casual one. "Then you are to come back hereand go on with your work as usual until Mr. Howe or some one else asks youto do otherwise. I will pay you a month in advance, and by that time youwill be told what you are to do."
Tony eyed her uncomprehendingly.
"You ain't leavin' for good, Miss Lucy?" he inquired at last.
"Yes."
"B--u--t--t--how can you? Ain't this your home?"
"Not now, Tony."
The bewildered foreigner scratched his head.
The girl had been kind to him, and he was devoted to her.
"I don't see----" he began.
"By and by you will understand," said Lucy gently. "It is all right. Iwant to go away."
"To go away from here?" gasped the lad.
Lucy nodded.
"Is it that you're lonely since Miss Ellen died?"
"I guess so."
Tony was thoughtful; then with sudden inspiration he ventured the remark:
"Mebbe you're afraid to stay alone by yourself in the house nights."
"Maybe."
"You ain't seen a ghost?" he whispered.
"I'm going away because of a ghost, yes," Lucy murmured half to herself.
"Then I don't blame you," exclaimed Tony vehemently. "You wouldn't ketchme stayin' in a house that was haunted by spirits. Where you goin'--backout West?"
"Perhaps so."
She helped him to carry the trunk out to the wagon and strap it in; thenshe got in herself.
As they drove in silence out of the yard, not a soul was in sight; nor wasthere any delay at the station to give rise to gossip. She had calculatedwith such nicety that the engine was puffing round the bend in the trackwhen she alighted on the platform.
Hurriedly she bought her ticket, checked her trunk, and put her foot onthe step as the train started.
Waving a good-by to the faithful servant, who still lingered, she passedinto the car and sank down into a seat. She watched the valley, beautifulin amethyst lights, flit past the window; then Sefton Falls, flanked bymisty hills, came into sight and disappeared. At last all the familiarcountry of the moving panorama was blotted out by the darkness, and shewas alone.
Her eyes dropped to the ticket in her lap. Why she had chosen thatdestination she could not have told. It would, however, serve as well asanother. If in future she was to be forever cut off from all she loved onearth, what did it matter where she went?
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