At the Crossroads Part 58

"All right, don't struggle then. Listen. I'm going away for two weeks.

You promise if Northrup comes home, during that time, to tell him?"

"Yes; yes, dear," the words came pantingly smothered. "All right, and if you don't, I will! I'm not the kind to see a woman sacrifice herself for duty. By the Lord! Northrup shall know from you--or me!

Now kiss me!"

There were the hurried steps--down the side stairs! Then flying ones to the library--the maid was on her way with her message--but Northrup dashed past her, nearly knocking her over.

He strode heavily to the library door, which had been left open, and stood there. A devil rose in him as he gazed at the girl, a bit dishevelled, but lovely beyond words.

For a moment, smiling and cruel, he thought he would let her incriminate herself; he would humiliate her and then fling her off.

But this all pa.s.sed like a blinding shock.

Kathryn had turned at his approach. She stood at bay. He frightened her. Had he heard? Or was it mad pa.s.sion that held him? Had he just come to the house refusing to be announced?

"Brace! Brace!" she cried, her lovely eyes widening. "You have come."

Kathryn stepped slowly forward, her arms outstretched. She looked as a captive maiden might before the conqueror whose slave she was willing to become. As she advanced Northrup drew back. He reached a chair and gripped it. Then he said quietly:

"You see, I happened to hear you and Arnold."

Kathryn's face went deadly white.

"I had to tell him something, Brace; you know how Sandy is--I knew I could explain to you; you would understand." The pitiful, futile words and tone did not reach Northrup with appeal.

"You can explain," he said harshly, "and I think I will understand, but I want the explanation to come in my way, if you please. Just answer my questions. Have you ever told Arnold--what he just made you promise to tell me?"

Kathryn stood still, breathing hard.

"Yes or no!"

The girl was being dragged to a merciless bar of judgment. She realized it and all her foolish defences fell; all but that power of hers to leap to some sort of safety. There still was Arnold!

"Yes," she said gaspingly.

"You mean you love Arnold; that only duty held you to me?"

"Yes."

"Well, by G.o.d!" Northrup flung his head back and laughed--"and after all I have been fearing, too!"

To her dying day Kathryn never knew what he meant by those words.

There was a moment's silence, then Northrup spoke again:

"I don't think there is anything more to say. Shall I take the side entrance?"

Outside, the summer night was growing sultry; a sound of thunder broke the heavy quiet of the dark street--it brought back memories that were evil things to remember just then.

"Good G.o.d!" Northrup thought, "we're coming back to all kinds of h.e.l.ls."

He was bitter and cynical. He hardly took into account, in that hard moment, the feeling of release; all his foregone conclusions, his stern resolves, had been battered down. He had got his discharge with nothing to turn to.

In this mood he reached home. More than anything he wanted to be by himself--but his mother's bedroom door was open and he saw her sitting by the window, watching the flashes of heat lightning.

He went in and stood near her.

"I've about concluded," he said harshly, "that the fellows who keep to the herd are the sensible ones."

The words conveyed no meaning to Helen Northrup, but the tones did.

"Sit down, dear," she said calmly. "If this shower strikes us, I do not want to be alone."

Northrup drew a chair to the window and the red flashes lighted his face luridly.

"Having ideals is rot. Dying for them, madness. Mother, it's all over between Kathryn and me!"

Helen's own development had done more for her than she would ever realize, but from out its strength and security she spoke:

"Brace, I am glad! Now you can live your ideals."

Northrup turned sharply.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Oh! we've all been so stupid; so blind. Seeing the false and calling it the truth. Being afraid; not daring to let go. My work has set me free, son. Lately I have seen the girl that Kathryn _really_ is, looming dark over the girl she made us believe she was. I have feared for you, but now I am glad. Brace, there _are_ women a man can count on. Cling hold of that."

"Yes, I know that, of course."

"Women whose honour is as high and clear as that of the best of men."

"Yes, Mother."

Helen looked at the relaxed form close to her. She yearned to confide fully in him, tell him how she had guarded his interests while he fared afar from her. She thought of Mary-Clare and the love and understanding that now lay between her and the girl whose high honour could, indeed, be trusted.

But she realized that this son of hers was not the kind of man whose need could be supplied by replacing a loss with a possible gain. He had been dealt a cruel blow and must react from it sanely. The time was not yet come for the telling of the King's Forest story.

Northrup needed comfort, Heaven knew, but it must come from within, not without.

At that instant Helen Northrup gripped the arms of her chair and sent a quick prayer to the G.o.d of mothers of grown sons.

"The storm seems to be pa.s.sing," she said quietly.

"Yes, and the air is cooler." Northrup stood up and his face was no longer hopeless. "Are you going to stay in town all summer?" he asked.

"I was waiting for you, dear. As soon as you get settled I must take a short trip. Business, you know. I do enjoy the short trips, the comings home; the feeling of moving along; not being relegated to an armchair."

"Mother, how _did_ you do it?"

"Oh! it was easy enough, once I threw off my own ident.i.ty. Ident.i.ties are so cramping, Brace; full of suggestions and fears. I took my mother's maiden name--Helen Dana. After that, I just flew ahead."