Heart to heart

On the following morning when Maud came down to breakfast she looked so pale and haggard that Alice Devigney’s heart smote her. Yet she dared not say anything, for the colonel was present, and she saw that Maud’s greatest desire was to keep her father in ignorance of the fact that something had gone wrong.

The three chatted gayly over their coffee, Maud forcing herself to be merry. Then, just as they arose, and the colonel prepared to go down to the land office, one of the servants returned from the Lakeview post office with the morning mail.

“Two letters for you, my dear,” said the colonel, handing his daughter the epistles. “Two for you, and three for myself. You will excuse us a few minutes, Mrs. Devigney?”

“Certainly,” returned Alice. “I wish to write a line to Willard, informing him of my safe arrival,” and off she ran to the library.

Colonel Willowby turned to his letters, without questioning his daughter concerning her own; therefore, he did not notice how she started and sank back when the handwriting on one of the envelopes met her gaze.

She glanced at her father; then, as if afraid he might question her, she glided out of the room. In one corner of the hall she tore open the letter and fairly devoured its contents at a glance.

“Oh, Heaven above! Why did she not write before?” she moaned. “I must go at once, no matter what they may think! It would be torture to remain away—a torture I could not bear!”

She thrust the letter into her pocket, along with the other, which, in her excitement, she had completely forgotten. She returned to the dining hall.

“Father——” she began, but he interrupted her.

“I have a letter from Grant Havadale,” he said. “He wants me to come down to the Junction to-day on some of the company’s business. I am afraid I will have to go, and leave you and your friend until late to-night.”

“Business is business, papa,” she rejoined, with a forced laugh. “We will have to get along without you.”

“If I can I will return on the lake boat.” He hurried on, and in a few minutes he was on the way.

He seemed to be growing younger since business matters had taken a brighter turn.

His conveyance was scarcely out of the grounds when Maud sought Alice, who was walking up and down in the sunshine, a light-blue shawl over her shoulders.

“Maud, what a glorious morning! The air is so invigorating.”

“Yes, it is, Alice. But, listen: I have a little bad news. I have received a letter telling me some one is sick at a friend’s house. I fear I must make a call, and leave you alone for a few hours, or until some time this afternoon.”

“Somebody sick? That’s too bad. But don’t inconvenience yourself for me. I will manage to make myself comfortable.”

“Supposing I order John to take you driving or motoring while I am gone? He knows many of the points of interest.”

“Just the thing! And I want to post this note to Willard. I didn’t write but a line. I’ll send a long letter to-night.”

In a few minutes more Maud was in her own room, preparing to go out. She took her purse, opened a casket in her bureau drawer, and filled the purse with money. Then, with a hurried kiss, she said good-by to Alice, and started off on foot, by the road which came up to the rear of the Willowby estate.

Once out of sight, she stopped near a cluster of brush and adjusted a heavy veil over her hat and face, a veil that completely concealed her features, and placed a somewhat faded shawl over her shoulders. Had any one taken the trouble to notice, they would have seen that the skirt she had on was not one of those she was in the habit of wearing.

In the meantime, Alice Devigney continued her walk about the garden, and even took a short turn up the road. Presently John came in sight, returning from Colonel Willowby’s trip.

She explained matters and said she would be ready to go for a drive in half an hour. Then she prepared for the outing.

It was past lunch time when she returned, but a dainty bite was awaiting her, which she relished keenly, for the trip had made her hungry. As she finished her last charlotte russe, she looked out of the window, and saw Henry Cross ride up on horseback. She came out to greet him.

“I hope you can go,” he said. “It is such a glorious day.”

“Go where?” she asked.

“Why, out on the lake. Did not Miss Willowby get my note this morning?”

“I don’t know,” returned Alice; and then she told of Maud’s going off to visit some sick person. The young man was greatly disappointed; he had hoped to give both of the ladies an afternoon of pleasure. At Alice’s invitation, he came in and made himself comfortable.

They were soon on very friendly terms. She spoke of life in Chicago and other Western cities, and he told her much of New York and of the towns and villages about the lake. Then they descended to personalities.

Mrs. Willard Devigney was naturally a shrewd young woman, and it was not long before she guessed the truth—that Henry Cross was in love with Maud. She smiled to herself at this, and it became her instant desire to help matters along. By doing so she imagined she could atone in part for the suffering she had caused Maud the night before.

She openly praised Maud for her goodness of heart and her other virtues, and she found Cross willing to believe all that she said. The time passed quickly and pleasantly.

It was nearly six o’clock when Maud returned. She came in the side door, and spent a few minutes in her own room before making her appearance below. When she did appear before Cross, her face had lost much of the troubled look of the early morning.

“I am so sorry I had to disappoint you,” she said, taking his hand. “But the truth is, I did not open your letter until I had left home. I hope you have had a good time here.”

“A very agreeable time, thanks to Mrs. Devigney,” he said gallantly. “And, if you wish, we can go out on the lake to-morrow.”

She at once consented, and after a few pleasant words he took his leave. When he was gone, Alice playfully patted Maud on the cheek.

“I see through it, my dear,” she said softly. “And I think he is a splendid young man, I do indeed.”

“Alice, how can you?”

“Oh, I’m an old married woman, you know—and I want to see others happy besides myself. He is rich, too, isn’t he?”

“I don’t care so much for riches,” and Maud Willowby cast her eyes down.

“But you love him—or at least you highly esteem him.”

“But, Alice——” Maud hid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Think of—of——”

“Now, Maud, don’t be a fool. I wouldn’t let the past ruin my whole future, no, indeed! Why, you were going to marry that Chester——”

“Don’t, don’t! Oh, Alice, no more on that subject unless you want me to leave you right away!”

“All right, I won’t say another word. But don’t be a goose, dear. If he loves you—and I can see that he does—and you love him, why, I’d marry him, and I wouldn’t bother my head about what’s past and gone.”

Maud uttered a deep sigh. She seemed to be on the point of speaking, of making some confession, but she changed her mind.

None too swiftly did the evening pass for her. She wanted to be alone, to communicate with her own thoughts, but the presence of Alice in the house rendered this impossible. She was glad when the last good night was said; but nature was now rebelling against the loss of sleep the night previous, and before she was aware she was sound in slumber.

Yet toward morning she began to tumble and toss in a bad dream, and just at daylight she started up with a groan of agony.

“And they say he committed suicide,” she muttered. “Oh, how blind!”

Then she was wide awake, and leaped to her feet with a dreadful shiver, the cold perspiration standing out upon her forehead. She shook so that for fully ten minutes she was unable to make the first move toward dressing herself.

But by breakfast time the horror of that dream was gone, and she was once more herself. She suggested a horseback ride into town, and the animals were soon saddled and waiting at the door. The ride lasted almost until noon, and put more color into her cheeks than anything else could have done.

At the appointed hour Henry Cross came to take the three out on the lake. But just previous to his arrival Alice Devigney pleaded a headache, and at the last moment excused herself. Maud was not altogether pleased at this, knowing it was a ruse; but Alice was firm, and, as a consequence, the two went off alone, Henry Cross inwardly thanking fortune that headaches did occasionally come to some women.

It was an unusually warm day for that time of the year, and the sun shone forth from a cloudless sky. The surface of the lake was as smooth as glass, the best possible condition for a motor boat.

Everything was in readiness, and soon, under the guidance of an old man who took care of the boat, Cross’ craft was speeding through the water rapidly, while Maud and her escort sat in the stern, the girl wrapped in a comfortable coat sweater.

Their course was down the lake and toward the opposite shore, where numerous islands were situated, some having upon them hotels and boarding houses. They stopped at one of the islands for refreshments, and took a walk to a grassy bank overlooking the lake.

He was very attentive, and when she stumbled as they were passing over a little hollow, he was quick to catch her about the waist and support her from falling. His arm lingered a trifle longer than was absolutely necessary, but she did not resent it, and this made him bolder. He led the way to a rustic seat placed beneath a shady tree. His very silence was suggestive. He looked at her fair hands as they rested in her lap, and rapturously seized one of them.

“Maud,” he whispered, and his voice trembled with emotion, “Maud, don’t think me too bold or impetuous. I cannot keep silent longer. Don’t you remember the happy days of the past when first I revealed to you the passionate ardor of a devoted heart? I love you still, Maud, more ardently than ever I loved you even when I thought you were lost to me. You won’t refuse me now, will you, darling?”

He paused and bent down, that he might gaze into her lovely eyes, so shaded with those long, sweeping lashes.

“Oh, Harry! Yes, I know, but—but——”

“I know what you are going to say—that I am too hasty—that I haven’t given you time enough to recover from the shock that——”

“No, no, it is not that! But you do not know me thoroughly, Harry. I want to—to—I ought to be candid with you, but I cannot—I really cannot.”

“But you love me, Maud? Oh, Maud, light of my life, give me hope, for I am so heart-hungry.”

He had placed his hand gently under her rounded chin and raised her face to his own. She could not escape him; she had not the heart to try. She gave way to the bliss of the moment.

“Yes, I love you, Harry. I have loved you through it all.”

“Maud, my own!” and he attempted to clasp her to his bosom, but she held him off.

“Now you know something of how bad I can be,” she went on. “I loved you, and I—I——”

“Never mind what you did, my darling! It is enough to know that you love me. Thank Heaven for that love!” and now, despite her resistance, he rapturously pressed her to his breast, heart to heart. “Mine—mine at last!”

She did not answer. The past was completely forgotten, the future ignored. She acknowledged him the master of her heart. No matter what might come between them henceforth, both would know the joy and pain of having loved.