The Opened Shutters Part 49

For the first time it occurred to him that she might be unbalanced. In that revealing Look which he had surprised a while ago she seemed to have given herself to him. He had been strangely conscious of proprietors.h.i.+p in her, a sort of responsibility for her, ever since. By his strategy he had secured her unconsciousness of discovery, and thus given himself time.

She kept her eyes fixed on the sh.o.r.e they were approaching, and he continued to regard her furtively, from time to time.

"We can get into the Basin now, can't we, Benny?" she called to their forgotten boatman.

"Easy," he responded. "Suppose ye'll be comin' out afore eight o'clock."

"Well,--Mr. Dunham will," responded Sylvia slowly.

"And Miss Lacey also, of course," added John. According to the programme laid down by the Idea, Sylvia had an unfulfilled engagement on Hawk Island. She had yet to administer to him the contents of the black bottle, reinforced by the ingredient contained in the flat white bag. How with any consistency could she remain at the Mill Farm?

John flung back his head in a silent laugh and pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead. The boat sailed toward the Tide Mill and under its cold shadow into the smiling, alluring Basin.

It seemed to Sylvia that months had pa.s.sed since last those white birch stems had leaned toward her and waved green banners of welcome. "Ah.

Listen!" she exclaimed. A tuneful jangle as of melodious bells fell on the quiet air, and then, like the clear tones of a silver flute, this phrase:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bar of music]

"What is it?" whispered John, meeting Sylvia's eyes suddenly alight with joy.

"My hermit thrush," she murmured. "Listen!"

Again the sweet tangle of sounds; again the clear, perfect phrase, followed by melodious little bells. Dunham and Sylvia, motionless, continued to gaze into each other's eyes, and the girl's rapt smile stirred the man, for it was kin to the one he had surprised.

The boat glided silently toward the sh.o.r.e. Again the sweet flute sounded from the woods. "It is my welcome home," said Sylvia softly.

CHAPTER XXVII

MISUNDERSTANDING

A figure was standing on the bank watching the boat's approach. It was Judge Trent. His hands were clasped behind his ample black coat, but instead of the usual shade to his eagle eyes a flat earth-colored cap, with an extraordinarily broad visor, gave his sharp face the effect of some wary animal that peers from under the eaves of its home.

The young people waved their hands as they recognized him.

"Come back, have you?" he said, without moving. "It's about time."

"Were you listening to that dear thrush?" asked Sylvia, as she jumped from the boat.

"I was, and have been for half an hour. The fellow's staying powers are something marvelous."

The speaker brought a hand around from his back, prepared to meet his niece, whom he scrutinized without a change of expression. She possessed herself not only of the hand, but his arm, and deliberately kissed his cheek.

"I hope you received my letter about the boat, Uncle Calvin. You don't know how happy you made me."

Dunham noted the surprised start, and received the frowning look which the judge sent in his direction. The rose leaf of Sylvia's face remained close to the parchment folds of the lawyer's cheek.

"Well, it was about time I made you happy, wasn't it?" he replied.

"I ought to stay here now," said Sylvia, "and row you about, instead of going back to Hawk Island."

"Oh. You're going back to Hawk Island?" The girl thought she detected a note of disappointment in the brusque tone.

"I'm not sure. I haven't decided," she returned.

"She is going back," observed Dunham affably, "with me in about an hour."

Judge Trent glared at the speaker. Both Sylvia's hands being clasped about his arm, he was holding himself with conscious and wooden rigidity. This was his own flesh and blood, however, and she was clinging to him, and Dunham might be hanged for all he cared.

"My niece will decide that, and not you," he returned with surprising belligerency.

"h.e.l.lo!" thought Dunham, amused. "Is Arcady getting on the legal nerves?" "We're a house party," he explained firmly. "We've come over here for some clothes. We shall be obliged to start back in about an hour because we have to take you with us, and we don't want to keep you out too late."

"Hey?" asked the judge.

"Yes," said Sylvia. "Edna asked us to bring either you or Thinkright back with us."

"Now that's very untactful of you, Miss Sylvia," objected John.

"Supposing she did say either of them. Don't you know, first come, first served, and moreover that Judge Trent is company?"

"Yes, I've no idea that Thinkright would leave the farm over night at this busy time, anyway," replied Sylvia. "Where is he? I must see him before I decide. I'm really not sure about going back. Perhaps, Uncle Calvin, it will be best for you and Mr. Dunham to go without me."

The lawyer's steely gaze was sunk in the soft blue depths of hers. In this mood she reminded him of his last parting with Laura. No woman since that day had clung to his arm.

He grunted a dissent. "John and I see enough of each other as it is,"

he returned.

"The idea of any one seeing enough of John!" was the thought that flashed through Sylvia's mind. What she said was, "Would you really rather I went too, Uncle Calvin?"

The sharp eyes under the visor saw the expression in Dunham's face at the caressing tone.

"Oh, suit yourself, of course," he replied briefly, "suit yourself;"

but he carefully made no motion of his rigid arm which should discourage Sylvia from leaning upon it, and the three moved off toward the house.

Minty Foster suddenly appeared, dragging herself shyly between the trees. "I seen yer comin' past the mill," she said. Her usually stolid face was so eloquent of satisfaction at meeting Sylvia again that the girl dropped her uncle's arm, and, stooping, kissed the red cheek.

"Don't you want to go and see if Benny won't give you a sail while he's waiting for us, Minty?" she suggested.

"Y' ain't goin' back, are yer?" protested the child, round-eyed.

"I'm not quite sure," replied Sylvia. Each new, trifling incident rea.s.sured her, and went to lighten her heart. Here was home and welcome, whatever had been her mistakes abroad.

Minty ran on to the waterside, and the three resumed their walk. The chime of little joy-bells and the silvery flourish of melody continued to come from woodland depths.

"What a pity we haven't time to find that darling hermit!" said the girl. "He must be near. Once I succeeded in discovering him, and I sat so quietly he didn't mind me, even if he saw. He was on the very topmost twig of a pine, so little and so brown against the vast blue.

Uncle Calvin, I'm so glad you bought the Mill Farm!"