Told in the Hills. Marah Ellis Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ it was not taken. The visitor stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat, and surveyed his host with a good deal of contempt.

      Yet he was a fine, manly-looking fellow, almost as tall as his visitor, and fairer in coloring. His hair was a warmer brown, while the other man's was black. His eyes were frank and open, while the other's were scowling and contracted. They looked like allegorical types of light and darkness as they stood there, yet something in the breadth of forehead and form of the nose gave a suggestion of likeness to their faces.

      The younger one clouded indignantly as he drew back his offered hand.

      "Why, look here, old fellow, what's up?" he asked hastily, and then the indignation fled before some warmer feeling, and he went forward impulsively, laying his hand on the other's arm.

      "Just drop that," growled his visitor, "I didn't come here for that sort of thing, but for business—yes—you can bet your money on that!"

      His host laughed and dropped into a chair.

      "Well, you don't look as if you come on a pleasure trip," he agreed, "and I think you might look a little more pleasant, considering the occasion and—and—everything. I thought father would come down sure, when I wrote I was married, but I didn't expect to see anyone come in this sort of a temper. What is it? Has your three-year-old come in last in the fall race, or have you lost money on some other fellow's stock, and what the mischief do you mean by sulking at me?"

      "It isn't the three-year-old, and it isn't money lost," and the dark eyes were watching every feature of the frank young face; "the business I've come on is—you."

      "Look here," and the young fellow straightened up with the conviction that he had struck the question, "is it because of my—marriage?"

      "Rather." Still those watchful eyes never changed.

      "Well," and the fair face flushed a little, "I suppose it wasn't just the correct thing; but you're not exactly the preacher for correct deportment, are you?" and the words, though ironical, were accompanied by such a bright smile that no offense could be taken from them. "But I'll tell you how it happened. Sit down. I would have sent word before, if I'd suspected it myself, but I didn't. Now don't look so glum, old fellow. I never imagined you would care. You see we were invited to make up a yachting party and go to Key West. We never had seen each other until the trip, and—well, we made up for the time we had lost in the rest of our lives; though I honestly did not think of getting married—any more than you would. And then, all at once, what little brains I had were upset. It began in jest, one evening in Key West, and the finale of it was that before we went to sleep that night we were married. No one knew it until we got back to New Orleans, and then I wrote home at once. Now, I'm ready for objections."

      "When you left home you were to be back in two months—it is four now. Why didn't you come?"

      "Well, you know I was offered the position of assistant here to Doctor Grenier; that was too good to let go."

      "Exactly; but you could have got off, I reckon, to have spent your devoted father's birthday at home—if you had wanted to."

      "He was your father first," was the good-humored retort.

      "Why didn't you come home?"

      There was a hesitation in the younger face. For the first time he looked ill at ease.

      "I don't know why I should give you any reason except that I did not want to," he returned, and then he arose, walking back and forth a couple of times across the room and stopping at a window, with his back to his visitor. "But I will," he added, impulsively. "I stayed away on account of—Annie."

      The dark eyes fairly blazed at the name.

      "Yes?"

      "I—I was a fool when I was home last spring," continued the young fellow, still with his face to the window. "I had never realized before that she had grown up or that she was prettier than anyone I knew, until you warned me about it—you remember?"

      "I reckon I do," was the grim reply.

      "Well, I tried to be sensible. I did try," he protested, though no contradiction was made. "And after I left I concluded I had better stay away until—well, until we were both a little older and more level-headed."

      "It's a pity you didn't reach that idea before you left," said the other significantly.

      "What!"

      "And before you turned back for that picture you had forgotten."

      "What do you mean" and for the first time a sort of terror shone in his face—a dread of the dark eyes that were watching him so cruelly. "Tell me what it is you mean, brother."

      "You can just drop that word," was the cold remark. "I haven't any relatives to my knowledge. Your father told me this morning I was the only one of the name who was not a gentleman. I reckon I'll get along without either father or brother for the rest of my life. The thing I came here to see about is the homestead. It is yours and mine—or will be some day. What do you intend doing with your share?"

      "Well, I'm not ready to make my will yet," said the other, still looking uneasy as he waited further explanations.

      "I rather think you'll change your mind about that, and fix it right here, and now. To-day I want you to transfer every acre of your share to Annie."

      "What?"

      "To insure her the home you promised your mother she should always have."

      "But look here—"

      "To insure it for her and—her child."

      The face at the window was no longer merely startled, it was white as death.

      "Good God! You don't mean that!" he gasped. "It is not true. It can't be true!"

      "You contemptible cur! You damnable liar!" muttered the other through his teeth. "You sit there like the whelp that you are, telling me of this woman you have married, with not a thought of that girl up in Kentucky that you had a right to marry. Shooting you wouldn't do her any good, or I wouldn't leave the work undone. Now I reckon you'll make the transfer."

      The other had sat down helplessly, with his head in his hands.

      "I can't believe it—I can't believe it," he repeated heavily. "Why—why did she not write to me?"

      "It wasn't an easy thing to write, I reckon," said the other bitterly, "and she waited for you to come back. She did send one letter, but you were out on the water with your fine friends, and it was returned. The next we heard was the marriage. Word got there two days ago, and then—she told me."

      "You!" and he really looked unsympathetic enough to exempt him from being chosen as confidant of heart secrets.

      "Yes; and she shan't be sorry for it if I can help it. What about that transfer?"

      "I'll make it;" and the younger man rose to his feet again with eyes in which tears shone. "I'll do anything under God's heaven for her! I've never got rid of the sight of her face. It—it hoodooed me. I couldn't get rid of it!—or of remorse. I thought it best to stay away, we were so young to marry, and there was my profession СКАЧАТЬ