The Hollow of Her Hand

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE SECOND ENCOUNTER

  Booth trudged rapidly homeward after leaving Hetty at the lodge. Hewas throbbing all over with the love of her. The thrill of conquestwas in his blood. She had raised a mysterious barrier; all the morezest to the inevitable victory that would be his. He would delightin overcoming obstacles--the bigger the better,--for his heartwas valiant and the prize no smaller than those which the ancientknights went out to battle for in the lists of love. He had heldher in his arms, he had kissed her, he had breathed of her fragranthair, he had felt the beating of her frightened heart against hisbody. With the memory of all this to lift him to the heights ofdivine exaltation, he was unable to conjure up a finer triumph thanthe winning of her after the manner of the knights of old, to whomopposition was life, denial a boon.

  It was enough for the present to know that she loved him.

  What if she were Hetty Glynn? What if she had been an artist'smodel? The look he had had into the soul of her through those pureblue eyes was all-convincing. She was worthy of the noblest love.

  After luncheon--served with some exasperation by Patrick an hourand a half later than usual--he smoked his pipe on the porch andstared reminiscently at the shifting clouds above the tree-tops,and with a tenderness about the lips that must have surprised andgratified the stubby, ill-used brier, inanimate confederate in manya lofty plot. He recalled all she had said to him in that sylvanconfessional, and was content. His family? Pooh! He had a soul ofhis own. It needed its mate.

  He did not see the Wrandall motor at his garden gate until a lustyvoice brought him down from the clouds into the range of earthlysounds. Then he dashed out to the gate, bareheaded and coatless,forgetting that he had been sitting in the obscurity of trailingvines and purple blossoms the while he thought of her.

  Leslie was sitting on the wide seat between his mother and sister.

  "Glad to see you back, old man," said Booth, reaching in to shakehands with him. "Day early, aren't you? Good-afternoon, Mrs.Wrandall. Won't you come in?"

  He looked at Vivian as he gave the invitation.

  "No, thanks," she replied. "Won't you come to dinner this evening?"

  He hesitated. "I'm not quite sure whether I can, Vivian. I've gota half-way sort of--"

  "Oh, do, old chap," cut in Leslie, more as a command than anentreaty. "Sorry I can't be there myself, but you'll fare quite aswell without me. I'm dining at Sara's. Wants my private ear aboutone thing and another--see what I mean?"

  "We shall expect you, Brandon," said Mrs. Wrandall, fixing him withher lorgnette.

  "I'll come, thank you," said he.

  He felt disgustingly transparent under that inquisitive glass.

  Wrandall stepped out of the car. "I'll stop off for a chat withBrandy, mother."

  "Shall I send the car back, dear?"

  "Never mind. I'll walk down."

  The two men turned in at the gate as the car sped away.

  "Well," said Booth, "it's good to see you. Pat!" He called througha basement window. "Come up and take the gentleman's order."

  "No drink for me, Brandy. I've been in the temperance State of Mainefor two weeks. One week more of it and I'd have been completelypickled. I shall always remember Maine." He dropped into a broadwicker chair and felt tenderly of his nose. "'Gad, I'm not quitesure that the sun did it, old man. It was dreadful."

  Booth grinned. "Do any fishing?"

  "Yes. The first day. Oh, you needn't look at me like that. I'mback in the narrow path." After a moment of painful reflection, headded, "We didn't see water after the first day. I'm just beginningto get used to the taste of it again."

  "Never mind, Pat," said Booth, as the servant appeared in thedoorway. "Mr. Wrandall is not suffering."

  "You know I'm not a drinking man," declared Leslie, a pathetic noteof appeal in his voice. "I hate the stuff."

  "It is a good thing to let alone."

  "And don't I let it alone? You never saw me tight in your life."

  Booth sat down on the porch rail, hooked his toes in the supportsand proceeded to fill his pipe. Then he struck a match and appliedit, Leslie watching him with moody eyes.

  "How do you like the portrait, old man?" he inquired betweenpunctuating puffs.

  "It's bully. Sargent never did anything finer. Ripping."

  "I owe it all to you, Les."

  "To me?"

  "You induced her to sit to me."

  "So I did," said Leslie sourly. "I was Mr. Fix-it sure enough."He allowed a short interval to elapse before taking the plunge. "Isuppose, old chap, if I should happen to need your valuable servicesas best man in the near future, you'd not disappoint me?"

  Booth eyed him quizzically. "I trust you're not throwing yourselfaway, Les," he said drily. "I mean to say, on some one--well, someone not quite up to the mark."

  Leslie regarded him with some severity. "Of course not, old chap.What the devil put that into your head?"

  "I thought that possibly you'd been making a chump of yourself upin the Maine woods."

  "Piffle! Don't be an ass. What's the sense pretending you don'tknow who she is?"

  "I suppose it's Hetty Castleton," said Booth, puffing away at hispipe.

  "Who else?"

  "Think she'll have you, old man?" asked Booth, after a moment.

  "I don't know," replied the other, a bit dashed. "You might wishme luck, though."

  Booth knocked the burnt tobacco from the bowl of his pipe. A seriousline appeared between his eyes. He was a fair-minded fellow, withoutguile, without a single treacherous instinct.

  "I can't wish you luck, Les," he said slowly. "You see I'm--I'm inlove with her myself."

  "The devil!" Leslie sat bolt upright and glared at him. "I mighthave known! And--and is SHE in love with you?"

  "My dear fellow, you reveal considerable lack of tact in askingthat question."

  "What I want to know is this," exclaimed Wrandall, very pale butvery hot: "is she going to marry you?"

  Booth smiled. "I'll be perfectly frank with you. She says shewon't."

  Leslie gulped. "So you've asked her?"

  "Obviously."

  "And she said she wouldn't? She refused you? Turned you down?"His little moustache shot up at the ends and a joyous, triumphantlaugh broke from his lips. "Oh, this is rich! Ha, ha! Turned youdown, eh? Poor old Brandy! You're my best friend, and dammit I'msorry. I mean to say," he went on in some embarrassment, "I'm sorryfor you. Of course, you can hardly expect me to--er--"

  "Certainly not," accepted Booth amiably. "I quite understand."

  "Then, since she's refused you, you might wish ME better luck."

  "That would mean giving up hope."

  "Hope?" exclaimed Leslie quickly. "You don't mean to say you'llannoy her with your--"

  "No, I shall not annoy her," replied his friend, shaking his head.

  "Well, I should hope not," said Leslie with a scowl. "Turned youdown, eh? 'Pon my soul!" He appeared to be relishing the idea ofit. "Sorry, old chap, but I suppose you understand just what thatmeans."

  Booth's lips hardened for an instant, then relaxed into a queer,almost pitying smile.

  "And you want me to be your best man?" he said reflectively.

  Leslie arose. His chest seemed to swell a little; assuredly he wasbreathing much easier. He assumed an air of compassion.

  "I shan't insist, old fellow, if you feel you'd rather not--er--Seewhat I mean?" It then occurred to him to utter a word or two ofkindly advice. "I shouldn't go on hoping if I were you, Brandy.'Pon my soul, I shouldn't. Take it like a man. I know it hurtsbut--Pooh! What's the use aggravating the pain by butting againsta stone wall?"

  His companion looked out over the tree-tops, his hands in histrouser pockets, and it must be confessed that his manner was notthat of one who is oppressed by despair.

  "I think I'm taking it like a man, Les," he said. "I only hopeyou'll take it as nicely if she says nay to you."

  An uneasy look leaped into Leslie's face. He seem
ed noticeablyless corpulent about the chest. He wondered if Booth knew anythingabout his initial venture. A question rose to his lips, but hethought quickly and held it back. Instead, he glanced at his watch.

  "I must be off. See you to-morrow, I hope."

  "So long," said Booth, stopping at the top of the steps while hisvisitor skipped down to the gate with a nimbleness that suggestedthe formation of a sudden resolve.

  Leslie did not waste time in parting inanities; he strode off brisklyin the direction of home, but not without a furtive glance out ofthe tail of his eye as he disappeared beyond the hedge-row at theend of Booth's garden. That gentleman was standing where he hadleft him, and was filling his pipe once more.

  The day was warm, and Leslie was in a dripping perspiration whenhe reached home. He did not enter the house but made his way directto the garage.

  "Get out the car at once, Brown," was his order.

  Three minutes later he was being driven over the lower road towardSouthlook, taking good care to avoid Booth's place by the matterof a mile or more. He was in a fever of hope and eagerness. It wasvery plain to him why she had refused to marry Booth. The iron washot. He didn't intend to lose any time in striking.

  And now we know why he came again to Sara's in the middle ofa blazing afternoon, instead of waiting until the more seductiveshades of night had fallen, when the moon sat serene in the seatof the Mighty.

  He didn't have to wait long for Hetty. Up to the instant ofher appearance in the door, he had revelled in the thought thatthe way was now paved with roses. But with her entrance, he felthis confidence and courage slipping. Perhaps that may explain theabruptness with which he proceeded to go about the business inhand.

  "I couldn't wait till to-night," he explained as she came slowlyacross the room toward him. She was half way to him before he awoketo the fact that he was standing perfectly still. Then he startedforward, somehow impelled to meet her at least half-way. "You'llforgive me, Hetty, if I have disturbed you."

  "I was not lying down, Mr. Wrandall," she said quietly. There wasnothing ominous in the words, but he experienced a sudden sensationof cold. "Won't you sit down? Or would you rather go out to theterrace?"

  "It's much more comfortable here, if you don't mind. I--I supposeyou know what it is I want to say to you. You--"

  "Yes," she interrupted wearily; "and knowing as much, Mr. Wrandall,it would not be fair of me to let you go on."

  "Not fair?" he said, in honest amazement. "But, my dear, I--"

  "Please, Mr. Wrandall," she exclaimed, with a pleading little smilethat would have touched the heart of any one but Leslie. "Pleasedon't go on. It is quite as impossible now as it was before. I havenot changed."

  He could only say, mechanically: "You haven't?"

  "No. I am sorry if you have thought that I might come to--"

  "Think, for heaven's sake, think what you are doing!" he cried,feeling for the edge of the table with a support-seeking hand."I--I had Sara's word that you were not--"

  "Unfortunately Sara cannot speak for me in a matter of this kind.Thank you for the honour you would--"

  "Honour be hanged!" he blurted out, losing his temper. "I love you!It's a purely selfish thing with me, and I'm blowed if I considerit an honour to be refused by any woman. I--"

  "Mr. Wrandall!" she cried, fixing him with her flashing, indignanteyes. "You are forgetting yourself." She was standing very straightand slim and imperious before him.

  He quailed. "I--I beg your pardon. I--I--"

  "There is nothing more to be said," she went on icily. "Good-bye."

  "Would you mind telling me whether there is any one else?" he asked,as he turned toward the door.

  "Do you really feel that you have the right to ask that question,Mr. Wrandall?"

  He wet his lips with his tongue. "Then, there IS some one!"he cried, rapping the table with his knuckles. He didn't realisetill afterward how vigorously he rapped. "Some confounded Englishnobody, I suppose."

  She smiled, not unkindly. "There is no English nobody, if thatanswers your question."

  "Then, will you be kind enough to offer a reason for not giving mea fair chance in a clear field? I think it's due--"

  "Can't you see how you are distressing me? Must I again go throughthat horrid scene in the garden? Can't you take a plain no for ananswer?"

  "Good Lord!" he gasped, and in those two words he revealed thecomplete overturning of a life-long estimate of himself. It seemedto take more than his breath away.

  "Good-bye," she said with finality.

  He stared at the door through which she disappeared, his hopes,his conceit, his self-regard trailing after her with shamelessdisloyalty to the standards he had set for them, and then, with arather ghastly smile of self-commiseration on his lips, he slippedout of the house, jumped into the motor car, and gave a brief butexplicit command to the chauffeur, who lost no time in assistinghis master to turn tail in ignominious flight.

  Hetty was gloomily but resolutely employed in laying out certain ofher personal belongings, preparatory to packing them for departure,when Sara entered her room.

  They regarded each other steadily, questioningly for a short spaceof time.

  "Leslie has just called up to ask 'what the devil' I meant byletting him make a fool of himself," said Sara, with a peculiarlittle twisted smile on her lips.

  Hetty offered no comment, but after a moment gravely and ratherwistfully called attention to her present occupation by a significantflaunt of her hand and a saddened smile.

  "I see," said Sara, without emotion. "If you choose to go, Hetty,I shall not oppose you."

  "My position here is a false one, Sara. I prefer to go."

  "This morning I should have held a sword over your head."

  "It is very difficult for me to realise all that has happened."

  "You are free to depart. You are free in every sense of the word.Your future rests with yourself, my dear."

  "It hurts me more than I can tell to feel that you have been hatingme all these months."

  "It hurts me--now."

  Hetty walked to the window and looked out.

  "What are your plans?" Sara inquired, after an interval.

  "I shall seek employment--and wait for you to act."

  "I? You mean?"

  "I shall not run away, Sara. Nor do I intend to reveal myself tothe authorities. I am not morally guilty of crime. A year ago Ifeared the consequences of my deed, but I have learned much sincethen. I was a stranger in a new world. In England we have been ledto believe that you lynch women here as readily as you lynch men.I now know better than that. From you alone I learned my greatestlesson. You revealed to me the true meaning of human kindness.You shielded me who should not. Even now I believe that your firstimpulse was a tender one. I shall not forget it, Sara. You willlive to regret the baser thought that came later on. I have lovedyou--yes, almost as a good dog loves his master. It is not for meto tell the story of that night and all these months to the world.I would not be betraying myself, but you. You would be called uponto explain, not I. And you would be the one to suffer. When you metme on the road that night I was on my way back to the inn to givemyself into custody. You have made it impossible for me to do sonow. My lips are sealed. It rests with you, Sara."

  Sara joined her in the broad window. There was a strangely exaltedlook in her face. A gilded bird-cage hung suspended in the casement.Without a word, she threw open the window screen. The gay littlecanary in the gilded cage cocked his head and watched her withalert eyes. Then she reached up and gently removed the cage fromits fastenings. Putting it down upon the window sill, she openedthe tiny door. The bird hopped about his prison in a state of greatexcitement.

  Hetty looked on, fascinated.

  At last a yellow streak shot out through the open door and an instantlater resolved itself into the bobbing, fluttering dicky-bird thathad lived in a cage all its life without an hour of freedom. Fora few seconds it circled over the tree-tops and then alighted onone of the branc
hes. One might well have imagined that he couldhear its tiny heart beating with terror. Its wings were half-raisedand fluttering, its head jerking from side to side in wildperturbation. Taking courage, Master Dicky hopped timorously to anearby twig, and then ventured a flight to a tree-top nearer thewindow casement. Perched in its topmost branches he cheeped shrilly,as if there was fear in his little breast.

  In silence the two women in the window watched the agitated movementsof the bird. The same thought was in the mind of each, the samequestion, the same intense wish.

  A brown thrush sped through the air, close by the timid canary. Likea flash it dropped to the twigs lower down, its wings palpitatingin violent alarm.

  "Dicky!" called Sara Wrandall, and then cheeped between her teeth.

  A moment later Dicky was fluttering about the eaves; his circlesgrew smaller, his winging less rhythmic, till at last with a nervouslittle flutter he perched on the top of the window shutter, sonear that they might have reached to him with their hands. He satthere with his head cocked to one side.

  "Dicky!" called Sara again. This time she held out her finger. Forsome time he regarded it with indifference, not to say disfavour.Then he took one more flight, but much shorter than the first,bringing up again at the shutter-top. A second later he hopped downand his little talons gripped Sara's finger with an earnestnessthat left no room for doubt.

  She lowered her hand until it was even with the open door of thegilded cage. He shot inside with a whir that suggested a scramble.With his wings folded, he sat on his little trapeze and cheeped.She closed and fastened the door, and then turned to Hetty.

  "My symbol," she said softly.

  There were tears in Hetty's eyes.

  Leslie did not turn up at his father's place in the High Streetthat night until Booth was safely out of the way. He spent a dismalevening at the boat club.

  His father and mother were in the library when he came in athalf-past ten. From a dark corner of the garden he had witnessedBooth's early departure. Vivian had gone down to the gate in thelow-lying hedge with her visitor. She came in a moment after Leslie'sentrance.

  "Hello, Les," she said, bending an inquiring eye upon him. "Isn'tthis early for you?"

  Her brother was standing near the fireplace.

  "There's a heavy dew falling, Mater," he said gruffly. "Shan't Itouch a match to the kindling?"

  His mother came over to him quickly, and laid her hand on his arm.

  "Your coat is damp," she said anxiously. "Yes, light the fire."

  "It's very warm in this room," said Mr. Wrandall, looking up fromhis book. They were always doing something for Leslie's comfort.

  No one seemed to notice him. Leslie knelt and struck a match.

  "Well?" said Vivian.

  "Well what?" he demanded without looking up.

  His sister took a moment for thought. "Is Hetty coming to stay withus in July?"

  He stood erect, first rubbing his knee to dislodge the dust,--thenhis palms.

  "No, she isn't coming," he said. He drew a very long breath--thefirst in several hours--and then expelled it vocally. "She hasrefused to marry me."

  Mr. Wrandall turned a leaf in his book; it sounded like the crackof doom, so still had the room become.

  Vivian had the forethought to push a chair toward her mother. Itwas a most timely act on her part, for Mrs. Wrandall sat down veryabruptly and very limply.

  "She--WHAT?" gasped Leslie's mother.

  "Turned me down--cold," said Leslie briefly.

  Mr. Wrandall laid his book on the table without thinking to put thebookmark in place. Then he arose and removed his glasses, fumblingfor the case.

  "She--she--WHAT?" he demanded.

  "Sacked me," replied his son.

  "Please do not jest with me, Leslie," said his mother, trying tosmile.

  "He isn't joking, mother," said Vivian, with a shrug of her fineshoulders.

  "He--he MUST be," cried Mrs. Wrandall impatiently. "What did sheREALLY say, Leslie?"

  "The only thing I remember was 'good-bye,'" said he, and then blewhis nose violently.

  "Poor old Les!" said Vivian, with real feeling.

  "It was Sara Gooch's doing!" exclaimed Mrs. Wrandall, getting herbreath at last.

  "Nonsense," said Mr. Wrandall, picking up his book once more andturning to the place where the bookmark lay, after which he proceededto re-read four or five pages before discovering his error.

  No one spoke for a matter of five minutes or more. Then Mrs. Wrandallgot up, went over to the library table and closed with a snap thebulky blue book with the limp leather cover, saying as she heldit up to let him see that it was the privately printed history ofthe Murgatroyd family:

  "It came by post this evening from London. She is merely a fourthcousin, my son."

  He looked up with a gleam of interest in his eye.