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THE PRISONER OF
ORNITH FARM





THE PRISONER OF
ORNITH FARM
BY
FRANCES POWELL Case
AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON"
“Ne faites jamais couler les larmes, Dieu les compte."
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1906
Vis


THE.:,,ORK
PUBL... TARY
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published, March, 1906
e ecce
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK


THE PRISONER OF
ORNITH FARM





THE PRISONER OF ORNITH
FARM
“An' that's the end of the story,” said my nurse
in her comfortable voice, "an’ it's glad I am that little
Prosherpina got safe home to her poor mither! Now,
my lammie, do you run about a bit. You've sat long
enough for one while."
We were seated close under an old stone wall, Katie
and I, on the broad stretch of grass that bordered one
side of the country road. On the other side was more
grass, then flat gray rocks, and below these a curving
beach of cobblestones. The little waves plashed so
softly upon the rough shore, they but made a rhythmic
accompaniment to Katie's pleasant voice; and while
I watched them I could almost believe that I saw
Proserpina's friends, the sea-nymphs, peeping up at
me from beneath the clear green water.
Then I fell to thinking of my mother. Had she
seen the mermaids? Had she stayed with them
awhile before going to heaven? For the fate of
many who go down to the sea in ships had befallen
my bright young mother. The yacht-Mary's Hope
-upon which she and my father had set sail for the
West Indies, four years before, had never been heard
from. The Hope, one of the life-boats of the doomed
vessel, had found its way ashore. But it came alone,
and empty; so told no story, save the pitiful one of
shipwreck.
For theith them
upone hat, young motto the sea in


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
tes.
Hope was my mother's pet name for me, since she,
too, was a Mary, and had no wish to give up her name
even to her little daughter. And I, of course, had to
be christened Mary. There had always been a Mary
Carmichael ever since the first had been chosen by
the Queen as one of her four Maries.
“There was Mary Beaton, Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael aut me",..
So runs the old ballad in which we Carmichaels
believe.
I looked wistfully at the sea—was I wrong to love
it when it had treated my parents so cruelly? Be-
cause of their fate I might never bathe in its cool
green waves, or sail upon its shimmering blue sur-
face. Aunt Caro said that the sea would bring me
misfortune. A great fortune-teller, a gypsy, had
bidden her guard me from it until after I had passed
my twenty-first birthday. After that there would be
no danger, but before ?
Aunt Caro's guardianship ceased when I should
become eighteen, since then I was to marry Max
Errol. This arrangement had been made by my
father and Mr. Errol when I was born. If Max or
I objected, when the time came (when I should be
eighteen and he twenty-five), we might break the
agreement. The two fathers were close friends, and
their lands—on the Hudson—"marched,” as the
Scotch say; so their wish was perhaps but natural.
My aunt, widow of my father's only brother, took
her duties as guardian very lightly; as, indeed, she
took everything, from the bringing up of her four
boys, my cousins, to the ordering of her household.
She was a handsome, dark-eyed creature, liking to
see all those about her comfortable and happy—if she
were not obliged to bestir herself in order to accom-
plish this. She gave us all our own way, and when
2


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
her sons took undue advantage of their freedom she
shed a few placid tears, and told them not to forget
that she was a widow.
"Your dear father thought you would take care of
me," she would say in plaintive remonstrance, “but
I don't see how you can, if you grow up reckless and
imprudent !"
As they were really good boys they seldom let their
wild spirits carry them too far. They felt responsible
for their mother's comfort; she was so amiables0
helpless.
"So selfish !" Katie grumbled, under her breath.
But this I set down to Katie's jealousy. For gentle
as was my' aunt's authority Katie resented it, she
having been my mother's nurse before she was mine.
I adored my handsome aunt. I liked the way in
which she treated me, always talking to me as if I
were grown up. She gave me all I asked for-save
only a bathing-suit and a boat. And we were by the
salt water so much! Aunt Caroa New England
woman by birth-loved the New England coast.
Every summer our stay by the sea grew longer; and
every summer my desire to bathe in it, and sail upon
it, grew more intense.
On that particular afternoon, in late September,
eighteen hundred and seventy, I had a great long-
ing to be in one of the white-sailed boats off shore.
Aunt Caro, with the boys, was out sailing. How-
ever, I was to be eight years old to-morrow, I said
to myself, striving for consolation, and eight from
twenty-one left-how much? Why was it that read-
ing was such an easy matter, and arithmetic an im-
possibility ? When I was twenty-one I would bathe
all the morning and sail all the afternoon; and Katie,
poor Katie, who now must always stay ashore because
of me, should bathe and sail too.
I looked with great affection into the strong face
Tonery summer mitense. aftert


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of my dear nurse; then wondered, for the hundredth
time, why she would strain her hair back so tightly
from her forehead. Every hair seemed in danger
of snapping. Should I speak to her of the future
joys in wait for us, upon my twenty-first birthday?
But my eyes fell upon the volume in her lap, and I
forgot the sea. It was a blue book, with gilt letter-
ing: “Tanglewood Tales.” I read the title lovingly.
I knew all the tales by heart. Sometimes Katie read
them to me, sometimes I read them to myself. For
two years I had read easily. I felt very old; I should
be eight on the morrow! How old was Proserpina
when Pluto had carried her away from her mother,
from the kind sea-nymphs, from the flowers and the
sunshine? It must have been so very awful, that
descent underground !
I stood up and looked across the low stone wall
into the meadow behind us; a wide-spreading meadow,
with a grove of dark pines in a distant corner. On
its farther side—it seemed very far away—tall spears
of golden-rod, growing in a clump, were swaying to
and fro in the sea-breeze. They looked very splendid.
The sun, hanging low in the west, sent glowing shafts
of light through the masses of yellow bloom, turning
them into burnished gold. Never had I seen golden-
rod so magnificent. I thought of the gorgeous flower
that had tempted Proserpina away from her com-
panions. I climbed over the wall.
"Don't go far, my lam'," warned Katie, who was
knitting busily, "keep near hand the fence.” And
she fell to counting her stitches, “One-two-
three ”
I did not answer. I intended to disobey. I wanted
the golden-rod; it seemed as if it nodded to me from
the distance. I walked slowly toward it. If only
it did not grow so near that dark mass of pines !
Then, looking in wonder at the beauty of the stately
4


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
golden shafts, I forgot to be afraid. Was the plant
enchanted ? 'If I were to put my arms about its
three tall spears and pull, what would follow? How
foolish I was! Eight years old to-morrow, and pre-
tending-
But what if the earth were to crumble away, and
the hole grew larger and larger, and deeper and
deeper, and
I gave a great tug, expecting strong resistance from
deeply embedded, close-clinging roots. Instead, they
came away with such ease that, having braced myself
to encounter opposition, I lost my balance, staggered
back, and would have fallen had not some one deftly
caught me just in time.
"Pluto!" I gasped in childish terror, as I glanced
quickly up into the strange face bent close over mine.
"Pluto ?” a rather harsh voice repeated inquiringly,
as the owner of the face a tall, powerfully built man
- set me gently upon my feet, and looked at me with
amused interest. "Ah," as his keen gray eyes noted
the sprays of golden-rod that I still held tightly to
my breast, "I understand! I have often heard of
the beautiful Persephone, and of what befell her when
she was gathering flowers. I only wish that I were
Pluto, lovely child, and that I had all the gold and
silver mines in the country at my disposal.”
He thrust his hands deep down into his pockets
and stared at me moodily. I examined him with
half-frightened curiosity. I wished that I had been
good, and remained near my nurse. The stranger
must have been carrying his hat in his hand and have
dropped it when he caught me, for he was bare-headed.
He had very thick brown hair-much ruffled by
the breezea brown mustache, and a long slightly
aquiline nose. His light gray eyes had an odd
greenish glint in them as he watched me. Thinking
me still afraid, he smiled. His teeth were very white
Pluto, lovelyring flowers.nl of what befell heard of
his hands try at my dispos the gold and


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
if you'll say the bit piece—begin, now! Give here
the flowers, an'act it out-singin'.”
Glad to escape rebuke for my sin of disobedience
thus easily, I gave her the golden-rod and began to
sing—to a tune of my own making—this doggerel:
“One white foot-buy a horse,
Two white feet-try a horse.'
I ceased singing and pretending to mount an ani-
mal of whose good points I was doubtful, put the
imaginary steed through a variety of paces, then took
up my song again:
“Three white feet-look well about him.”
I puckered my brows, lifted each foot of the horse
carefully, passed a testing hand down the legs as
though fearing to discover spavin or other defect, and
so on to the end.
The stranger applauded, apparently as much as-
tonished as delighted. Katie beamed with pride.
"Four white feet-go without him,"
I sang in solemn recitative; then, breaking into a
lively measure:
“Four white feet, and a white nose
Cut off his head and throw him to the crows."
“An' that's the way we say it,” said Katie, in her
odd mixture of Scotch and Irish-an inheritance
from Irish father and Scotch mother—"but the bairn
knows the common givin' of the poetry. Go on, my
lam.”.
I docilely repeated another version of the old
belief:


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“One white leg, inspect him;
Two white legs, reject him;
Three white legs, sell him to your foes;
Four white legs, feed him to the crows!”
"Not but what that's all nonsense,” I said, as,
after courtesying my thanks for the praise given me,
I again took possession of my golden-rod. “Dexter's
changed all that, you know. Dexter is just four years
older than me.”
“Tell about Dexter now," coaxed Katie, taking it
for granted that my childish accomplishments must
interest this outsider as much as they did her.
I looked at the stranger inquiringly. Would he
think me a chatter-box? But the expression in his
gray-green eyes gave me a strong desire to continue.
"Dexter," I went on, "was born and bred in our
county. Sire, Hambletonian; mother, little black
mare, daughter of American Star.” (The boys saw
to it that I should not hear—and so learn—the rough
parlance of stable and race-course.) “Color, rich
brown; four white feet, and a blaze in the face;
fifteen hands and an inch high—'a big-little one.'
He won in his first race, by half a dozen lengths,
against- "
Here loud shouts and the tooting of horns from
the shore told us that the sailing party had returned,
putting an end to my recitations. Katie bade me say
good-bye to the stranger. Moved by a friendly im-
pulse I was a friendly child—I offered him a sceptre
of golden-rod. He broke off, however, but one of its
tiny yellow fronds, and, putting this carefully away
in a leathern case that he drew from his breast pocket,
he gave me in return a small hard something, folded
in a bit of paper. This he said I must keep until he
came to ask it back again.
"I will not say good-bye,” he spoke very gravely,
"but.au revoir. I cannot say good-bye—to 'Hope.»


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
He shook hands with me, bowed civilly to Katie,
and, walking quickly to the grove of pines, disap-
peared in its black depths.
“Whatever is it, my lam'?” asked Katie, scanning
with eager curiosity the folded paper in my small
palm.
I opened it. It was a piece of an English coin-the
half of a broken sixpence.
"Give it me quick, then,” said my nurse in great
haste, "till I run till him wi' it. It'll no do, takin'
money fra strangers. An' whativer will Mr. Max
say? A broken saxpence !”.
But I held the bit of coin fast. "I shall keep it,”
I said imperiously.
"No, no," pleaded Katie, “a prisint from a stranger,
my lammie, a- ”.
I interrupted her. "A stranger ?" I said. “Why,
Katie, you told him everything?"
“So I did, so I did,” she assented, in great per-
turbation, “an’ I'm not knowing why! He had a
way wi' him—and a compelling eye. But, quick,
give here the money, my child. It's not for a Car-
michael to be given charity, like a beggar.”
“Nonsense !" I cried indignantly. "What could I
buy with a broken sixpence? I shall keep it.” I
backed away from her, putting the piece of coin into
my small pocket.
Without another word my nurse walked away
toward the road, beside which we had sat, at a great
pace. I followed, sorry that she was displeased, re-
gretting that I had taken my own way, yet oddly
fascinated by my new possession. Why was it more
important to Katie because it happened to be a six-
pence, I wondered ?
Katie climbed over the wall in such haste that
several of its loosely piled stones followed her in
a noisy avalanche. She paid no heed, but continued
10


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
her way toward the small dock—a mere strip of
planking upheld by iron stanchions forced in between
the rocks—where Aunt Caro had just disembarked
with the boys. I had to run at last to catch up with
her.
"Are you very angry with me, Katie ?" I asked,
looking anxiously up into her stern face.
She did not answer, but taking my hand in hers
pressed it firmly—a caressing pressure as she hur-
ried along.
The boys rushed to meet us. The twins, lads of
thirteen, Wild Will and Sam the Cool (these nick-
names because of their widely differing natures),
came first. Between them they carried a basket,
heavy with fish, the spoils of the day. Dodging
around them, giggling, fisticuffing, lashing each other
with long banners of the beautifully ruffled sea-weed,
were the two younger boys, nicknamed respectively
"Lord” Ronald and "King Jamie. Max walked
with Aunt Caro, carrying her wraps.
The twins set their basket down with a thump
before us. Lord Ronald and King Jamie instantly
offered me their sea-weed, and were dismayed to find
that their wild use of it had damaged its beauty.
Will's quick eye noted Katie's wrathful look.
“Why weep ye by the tide, ladye ?” he inquired.
Then, wringing his hands, he lifted up his voice in
a howl of lamentation, in pretended sympathy.
"May this appease the angry goddess,” said Sam
smoothly, as, selecting a large fish from the basket,
he deposited it, with an air of abject humility, in the
dust at her feet.
"What have you been up to, Hope ?” asked the
younger boys in an excited whisper, draping their
sea-weed across my shoulders.
Here Aunt Caro, with Max, coming up, Katie her-
self gratified their curiosity.
11


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Mrs. Carmichael, ma'am," she began firmly, "it's
ashamed of myself I am.”
“Dear me !" ejaculated Aunt Caro, looking fright-
ened, “what has happened, Katie ?"
"I met a stranger," said Katie solemnly, "an' I
had a gabbing fit."
A deep silence, broken only by the soft plash, plash
of the waves upon the beach, followed this strange
announcement.
“Yes, ma'am," continued poor Katie, "a gabbin' fit.
He were a jantleman, an'ast no questions, but he had
a way wi' him and a compelling eye. 'Fore God, I
tell’t him everything I knew. An' he gave the
child "
She ceased speaking, looked down at me, then re-
peated in a lowered voice: “An' he gave the
child— ”
It seemed as if she dared not finish her sentence
for fear of getting me in trouble. My heart suddenly
swelled with sympathy. .
"It was all my fault,” I said, pushing myself in
front of her, “and Katie has done nothing wrong.
I ran away from her into the field and she had to
come after me. He gave me the half of a broken six-
pence. I am to keep it till he comes for it.”
Wild Will burst into a shout of laughter, delighted
laughter. I was glad some one was pleased—but mis-
chief was apt to please Wild Will. Sam the Cool
lifted his eyebrows until they almost vanished in
his dark hair. The younger boys each stood first on
one leg, then on the other, as if the uncertainty of
coming events deprived every attitude of comfort
and stability. Aunt Caro flashed an amused glance
at Max.
“You had best accustom yourself, Max dear,” she
said softly. "It was bound to begin some time.
Lovely little Hope !"
12


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Max stepped forward. “What did this man look
like, Katie ?” he asked pleasantly, in his kind voice.
“The jantleman,” said Katie, with a strong accent
on the word, "was, I judge, near hand twenty-sivin;
he had a compellin' gray eye, a big masterful nose,"
and she gave a full description of the stranger's ap-
pearance. "He looked cast down like, as though the
world had gone wrong wi’ him, an' he was greatly
ta’en wi' Miss Hope.”
“Give me the sixpence, Hope," said Max gravely.
“I'll find out where the man is stopping, and give
it back.”
"No," I said defiantly, "no, Max."
Max was handsome. He had a fine figure, clear-
cut features, hair as fair as my own, and very in-
telligent gray eyes—there was no green glint in them,
I thought, as I faced him. The boys admired him
greatly, more because of his skill in all athletic sports
than for his cleverness as a scholar. He was a very
fine scholar.
"If you will give me the half sixpence," he con-
tinued, "you shall have Sergius Boris Best”-his
wolf-hound—“for your very own.”
I shook my head.
“Poor child !” murmured Aunt Caro, "her first
scalp.”
Max went on speaking; he acted as though we two
were quite alone.
"If you will give me that man's sixpence, you
shall ride Gray Griffith”—his favorite saddle-horse-
“whenever you choose.”
I laughed out. "If I coaxed, you would let me ride
him without that,” I said.
Max flushed deeply. No one spoke. The moment
was recognized as a very solemn one by Katie and
the boys. Aunt Caro was happy; the scene enter-
tained her, and she loved to be entertained.
13


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
But if I was a wayward child, I had a warm heart
of my own, and seeing that Max looked really pained,
it melted. I drew the half sixpence from my pocket
and held it out to him.
“You may have it for nothing, Max," I said.
Max sought everywhere for the stranger, but in
vain. He could not even learn his name, nor where
he had been stopping. Aunt Caro took possession of
the half sixpence, and it was put carefully away—to
be returned later.
Katie never forgot the incident, and for a time
spoke of it so often that it became one of my
memories.
“You mind the day I had the gabbin' fit?” always
prefixed the story.
14


II
was enot yet come tably hot becamat made my bill his
"Do you bide here, thin,” said Katie, "an' I'll run
till the house an' fetch your whup. And do you keep
the bit cloak about you."
I sat down on a rock, under the dark pine near us,
and told Sergius Boris Best, my companion, to lie
down and rest while Katie was gone. The tall wolf-
hound had grown old, he was now ten; and my short
curls had grown long—I was fourteen. Although it
was early June, when the steady warmth of summer
had not yet come to the coast of New England, the
day was uncomfortably hot because of a fiery land
breeze-a really burning wind that made my cheeks
feel feverishly hot, and obliged old Serge to loll his
pink tongue very far out indeed. The scarlet flag
on top of the large tent, discernible through a distant
screen of firs, stood straight out in the breeze, showing
to great advantage the piebald horse on its field of
red, and the big white letters below, C. F. (Car-
michaels' Folly).
I contemplated both tent roof and flag with great
complacency; then, disobeying my nurse, flung off
the long cloak of sapphire-blue silk that shrouded me
to my feet and, standing up, transferred my admir-
ing gaze to my own frock—what I could see of it.
My short skirts were very full and very many. They
were of white gauze, the outer one glittering with
spangles—tiny silver stars. The waist was cut low,
the sleeves short. Starting from the left shoulder a
long spray of morning-glories crossed the front of the
corsage, wound itself about my slim waist, and fell
to the skirt's edge. Its trumpets, pale blue and
15


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
and very right, I thought, that the boys should bow
down before one who was, in every way, their supe
rior. In my case, however, it was different. I was a
girl-place aux dames! Let Max kneel, if one of
us must. So I held my head up as proudly as King
Jamie, who had won this sobriquet because of his
haughty carriage, and smiled no more graciously
upon Max than upon all.
Before Sergius Boris Best had reached the scat-
tered pines that stood between my resting-place and
the distant tent, his heart failed him, and, turning,
he bounded back to make sure that it was quite safe
to leave me. I caught his dear head gently between
my outspread hands; I kissed his long, kind nose,
first on one side, then on the other.
"I love you,” I said tenderly, “but you must mind
Max. Remember, you are a very great person, in-
deed—and the great must never fail us. Your grand-
father was just Sergius Boris; your father, Sergius
Boris Better; but you, my darling” (I slid my arms
around his neck), "are Sergius Boris Best. So when
Max whistles, go!"
Quite understanding, proud of his name, delight-
ing in my praise, the dog trotted resolutely away and
disappeared among the trees. Left alone I spread my
discarded cloak upon the rock and seated myself
very carefully, fearful of crushing my gauzy skirts
and marring their filmy beauty. Then I began to
listen to the river, and forgot my bravery. It was such
a fascinating little river! To a child brought up
on the banks of the stately Hudson it seemed but
a big brook. A light-hearted, wayward, babbling
stream, either rippling gayly inland with the tide-
its constant companion-or lamenting noisily when
this playmate, summoned home, rushed tumultuously
seaward. It was then that one heard both tide and
river roaring angrily as they gained their freedom,
17


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Por Caro be strip on lines of potente of the easted the mans
and the wide stretch between the banks just below,
by forcing their waters through the narrow rock-
edged chasm over which hangs the ancient bridge of
chains, the oldest suspension bridge in New England.
Moaning Pines, the neglected country seat that
Aunt Caro had lately leased for a summer home, was
but a narrow strip of acres between the high-road and
the river. Its stretches of rough grass were separated
from the country road by a tangle of trees and under-
brush, while on the river side it boasted a mag-
nificent ledge of rocks. And it was in the many
crevices of these rocks that the grove of stately pines,
which had given the place its name, had found firm
foothold. The house was roomy and comfortable,
commanding a pretty view of the ever-restless river.
As it was several miles distant from the sea, Aunt
Caro felt that in taking it she was keeping me suffi-
ciently far from my hereditary enemy. For her
belief in the gypsy's warning remained unshaken,
although Mr. Errol and Max argued against, and the
boys alternately scolded and laughed at, her super-
stitious fears. I was not allowed to learn to swim or
to row—even boating upon fresh water being denied
me. The boys would have preferred spending their
summers at their home on the Hudson, since in winter
they were obliged to leave it for school and college.
And it was to quiet their discontent that Aunt Caro
had consented to the purchase of the circus tent, that
they might indulge in their favorite some said
foolish-amusement.
Years before, when I was but five years old, Mr.
Errol, who was in sympathy with this fad of ours,
had had a large rotunda built on his place. It had
been supplied with a heating apparatus, dressing-
rooms for the youthful performers, and luxurious
seats for the very small audience. Only relatives
Seats: Join the personal andmittee only when
and intimate friends were admitted, and each year
18


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
the circle was more closely drawn. This was because
I was a member of the troupe, and as I grew older
Max disapproved more and more of my being seen
by any save the favored few.
Mr. Errol and the old ring-master whom he had
engaged to train us had been foolishly proud of the
ease with which I learned my “business." But since
I was supple, fearless, and had inherited the odd
instinct that enables its possessors to manage horses
for instinct one might read sympathy, I think-
there were really very few difficulties to be overcome.
Then, too, I strove hard to acquire skill; defeat was
galling to me. To this day I can remember my
misery of shame when the piebald-an old circus
horse, well accustomed to the vagaries of beginners
continued his routine-like canter around the ring,
leaving me, a tyro, dangling high in air. I was per-
fectly safe, for I was fastened, by means of a stout
leathern belt and long strap, to a horizontal bar.
This, so long as I kept my footing on the piebald's
padded back, gyrated, with the iron ring to which
it was attached, around the central pole. But what
was safety of limb to a proud child whose vanity was
hurt? It was not many times that my awkwardness
thus put me to shame. I took great pains, and soon
excelled—to the delight of kind Mr. Errol and my
teacher.
Max said that I must give up playing circus when
I was sixteen. He was ring-master when at home.
When he was away a steady, cool-headed old groom
took his place. This was because Wild Will and I
sometimes forgot that we were only playing, and took
risks that made Mr. Errol stand up on his chair and
roar out remonstrances, and sent Katie's apron over
her head through fear of seeing us killed. Then it
was that the ring-master called us to order. As our
superior officer, we obeyed him because of early
19


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
training—when deaf to the voices of the family.
Aunt Caro never distressed us by joining in these
foolish alarms. She had full faith in our ability
to take care of ourselves.
On that hot June morning we were to have a dress
rehearsal. In the afternoon a grand performance was
to be given in honor of Mr. Errol and Max, who had
just arrived on a visit to Moaning Pines.
It seemed to me that Katie took a long time to
find my whip. To amuse myself I began to sing-
for, like some birds, I was born a singer. As I was
very happy and free from care (ignorant of evil,
and guarded from such hateful knowledge by the
tender love of those who formed my world), I natu-
rally chose to sing of sorrow, and to weave a melody
of minor cadences for the heart-broken words that I
sang.
Because I was Mary Carmichael I had been taught
the greater part of the long ballad of Mary Hamil-
ton. But the six verses that told the reason for her
tragic death I was not to hear until I was grown up.
Until then I must only know that her fate had been
a cruel one, and so Katie in her ever-varying dia-
lect-declared:
“An awfu' dishgrace to that graceless Queen Mary
o' Scots, wha lost her own head later, glory be an
thanks to good Queen Bess, wha, God bless her, were
but a bit fond thin of passin' the pleasant word wi’
all men—wi’out first marryin' one an' thin t'other.
An' if (wearyin' o' thim) she did cut the heads
from off some twa or three greedy lords wha were
lookin' for being made king (an' not payin' compli-
mints an' the like for the sake o' true love alone),
why not, I asks? Sure she was but a woman thin,
when all's said an' done! An' to know a man has
laid a fair word on his lip but to land it out for his
ain glory (through hopes of so gainin' a kingly crown
20


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“O happy, happy is the maid,
That's born of beauty free!
It was my dimpling rosy cheeks
That's been the dule o' me;
And wae be to that weirdless wicht
And a' his witcherie.”
by the a the littipathy
sufficient
Again I ceased my song. A robin, a very young
robin, had alighted upon a low branch of my pine.
I held myself motionless, fearing to terrify the little
fluffy thing. It was learning to fly. I thought of
my own first flight across the silken banners-held
by the nervous boys as I rode around the ring—and
watched the little tyro on the branch with the kindly
protecting sympathy of the finished professional.
Presently it gathered sufficient courage for a new
effort, spread its awkward wings, and attained a
neighboring stretch of grass where its mother hopped,
twittering instructions.
I returned to Mary Hamilton and, skipping many
verses, sang:
“Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The nicht she'll hae but three;
There was Mary Beaton, Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me.”
The song suddenly took possession of me, swayed
me. I sang Mary Hamilton's appeal to the mariners
as though it were my very own. There was heart-
break in the inflections of my clear soprano.
“O a' ye mariners, far and near,
That sail ayont the faem,
O dinna let my father and mither ken,
But what I am coming hame.”
The world seemed very silent when, with the
cessation of my song, I swung back into every-day
life. Then the heavy shadow under the pines sud-
denly took shape, detached itself, and I forgot Mary
22


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Hamilton in my interest in the tall, powerfully
built man, who came quickly toward me across the
grass. The stranger carried his hat in his hand, and
his thick brown hair was roughened by the wind as
he strode along. That he knew me, and was very
glad to see me, was evident, for in his eyes there was
an expression of unmistakable delight, and from be-
neath his heavy brown mustache his white teeth
gleamed in a pleased smile of recognition. Although
I was sure that I had seen him before, I could not
remember when or where. I blushed with mortifica-
tion as I realized that I could not call this old ac-
quaintance by name. To make up for my forgetful-
ness I stepped forward to meet him, holding out my
hand and smiling a welcome:
"How do you do?” I said graciously, trusting to
hide by this cordiality my lack of memory. "Did you
leave your boat below? Aunt Caro will be so glad to
see you.”
Dropping his hat the stranger took my outstretched
hand in both his own, but alſ he said was: “Hope !"
I had a sudden unaccountable desire to draw my
hand away, accompanied by an odd sensation of
dread, as I met his steady gaze—his gray eyes had
a greenish glint. The next moment I could only
wonder at this foolish feeling, which vanished as
quickly as it had come. Then I remembered my gay
circus toilet, and turned to get my cloak. The
stranger, divining my wishes, gathered up the silken
mantle and hung it over my shoulders.
. “So you don't remember me!” he said, and his
deep, rather harsh voice had an intonation of regret.
“It was foolish of me to expect it-you were only a
baby then."
I blushed again; this time at being found out.
"I am so sorry to have forgotten," I said. “Won't
you please tell me your name ?"
wuickly as it hand turnishes, gothicers.
23


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
For answer he drew a flat leathern case from his
breast pocket and took from it a miniature which he
handed to me. It was the picture of a child; a child
with hair like rings of gold and large blue eyes.
The little creature's eyebrows were dark and deli-
cately arched; the saucy little nose had an upward
tilt; the rosy lips had gay, upward-curving corners.
A very sunshiny little face, indeed. The frame of
the miniature was of gold, and the design an odd one.
It was as if the child had parted tall shafts of golden-
rod and looked out at you from between their yellow
fronds. Under a bit of glass let into the back of
the frame was a tiny sprig of withered golden-rod.
I gazed wonderingly at the miniature, and at the
withered flower. Then lifted my eyes to the stranger's
face. “Pluto!” I said.
There came from the near distance the sound of
bitter-voiced denunciation. Katie was advancing,
making known her woes.
“An' beneath his coat it were all the time, an' he
sayin', 'I'm sure I spied it somewheres, Katie.' An'
leadin' me from room to room an' I niver shuspectin'
nothing-a lam' in his hands! Of all the limbs of
Satan, thin, Master Willie's the worst, an' well
named Wild. An' 'twas only whin I was wellnigh
dishtracted wi' keepin' you waitin' that I spied the
bit whup stickin' out fra' beneath his ridin? jacket,
an' thin only because o' the glint o' the sappheer in
an' thin only it, anche failed to see t
In her angry haste she failed to see that I was not
alone until, red-faced and breathless, she stood close
beside me. But if I had forgotten the stranger,
Katie's recognition was instantaneous, and he re-
membered her. Disregarding her frosty stare of dis-
comfited bewilderment, and the rigid determination
shown in face and figure to ignore past acquaintance-
ship, he stepped quickly forward and shook her un-
24


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
as hen an unwrittene. I was but thbors, who lived not
willing hand. Then, while making civil inquiries as
to her well-being since their past meeting, he took the
miniature that I still held and slipped it back into
his pocket. He did this with such swift dexterity
that Katie, in her embarrassment, noticed nothing.
Indeed her one and only effort seemed to be not to
look at him.
Because of the picture I, too, was ill at ease. I
felt that the man had taken a very great liberty in
painting it, and in carrying it about with him. Yet
as he appeared to be quite unconscious of having
broken an unwritten law, I was at a loss how to ex-
press my displeasure. I was but fourteen. My small
world was made up of county neighbors, who lived all
the year round upon their own estates. I did not
understand—or know how to meet those who had
not always been acquainted with the Yorkes and
Carmichaels. I was given no opportunity, however,
to recover my self-poise or to decide upon what I
ought to do and say.
"Mrs. Carmichael, sir,” said poor Katie, rushing
into embarrassed speech, "will doubtless, thin, be
pleased to see you if you'll but walk till the house.
Miss Carmichael, sir, wud be wishful to accompany
you, but she is expectit elsewhere. An' being but
her maid, an' she needin' an attendint, you'll doubt-
less excuse me ”
"It would give me great pleasure to call upon Mrs.
Carmichael," was the civil response, “but unfor-
tunately I am pressed for time.”
He looked at me for a long moment as if wishing
to add a new picture to his memory, then, bidding
us good-bye, walked rapidly back to the little forest
of pines and vanished within its glooms of shade.
Wid God's help,” said Katie solemnly, “I avoided
his compellin' eye! Did he say aught of the half
saxpence, my bairn ?”
25


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
at without sewaiting beside given it tounken in it
"No," I said briefly.
I had no wish to be questioned. My mind was in
a turmoil in regard to the miniature. Did I confide
in Aunt Caro she would laugh, and talk of conquest.
If I told the boys they would vow vengeance. As for
Max—where might not his anger lead him should he
learn of the stranger's stolen possession! For stolen
it was, since even the picture of one's child face
should be one's own to give or withhold. But surely
I might tell Katie. Her great unselfish love made
her a safe confidante and a wise counsellor. And it
was not fair, I decided, to keep from her what would
interest her so very much. I laid my hand upon her
arm, staying our rapid progress toward the tent, and
told my story.
“Aweel, aweel!” she exclaimed, but not loudly;
and then, closing her lips tightly and staring at me
(without seeing me), she fell into deep thought.
I stood waiting beside her, twisting my whip this
way and that-Max had given it to me-admiring the
play of light across the sapphire sunken in its handle.
I did not trouble further about what to do in the
matter; Katie was thinking for me, that was sufficient.
Presently my oracle spoke--but to herself, not to me.
"An' a painter jantleman, most likely, an' could
ha sold the bit picture (he bein' thin wi’out money
an' needing it sore), for many wud ha' been glad an'
proud to have bought sae winsome a face. But no,
not him! For he's gentle born, as all may see, and
no' just a common artist, like. No, he keepit the bit
bonnie face for his ain silf an' it's luck it's been
afther bringin' him. He lookit grand, dressit in the
best! I canna blame him greatly though, belike, I
ought. 'Tis but the wee winsome face o' a bit bairnie,
when a’s said an' done! An', mayhap, he had lost
a young shister, an' my lam' put him in mind o' her,
and he made the bit picture an' put it forninst his
26


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
lonely heart. No, no”—addressing me at last-
"we'll keep our ain counsel, Miss Hope. I'd not be
afther mentionin' the picture—best not tell every-
thing! Let us not grudge the sad at heart a ray o'
our own sunshine. (Whin”—again communing with
herself—"it's but a weak-like refliction of that same,
afther all; an', I'll be bound, not half sae bonnie as
the child hersel' at the time.") She turned severely
upon me. "You were a beauty thin, Miss Hope
but that's years ago. Ah, mony's the time I said to
you as pritty is that pritty does !”
“Yes," I assented, as we moved on together, "and
you must be glad to be able to stop, you poor Katie.
It's a pity that I should not be as good looking as all
the Carmichaels,” I continued, swayed by a mis-
chievous desire to rouse my dear companion. “They
are a handsome race.”
“An' it's han’some, is it ?" was the sarcastic re-
joinder. “But maybe, thin, you're afther admirin'
crows! An' I wonder at you, Miss Hope. You, wi’
all the beauty o' the Yorkes, to be talkin' of the
black Carmichaels! And finding fault wid your ain
mither's looks! The hair like sunshine, the big blue
eyes, an' skin like the snaw-drift touched wi' the color
o' the wild rose. To say naething of the grace o
figure light as the wind-tossed flower. Ah, she could
dance, could your mither! An' you, the very image
O her, findin' fault wid your appearance; I'm
ashamed for you, thin, Miss Hope. The black Car-
michaels, indeed ”
By two o'clock the land-breeze had died away,
and when, at four, I again walked with Katie to
the tent, a wind from the sea was moaning through
the pines. We could hear the roar of the breakers
sweeping in upon the bar at the river's mouth. I was
glad of this change in the atmosphere, since the cool
27


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
od for the clans were s place near to see us
sea-breeze would enable us to do our best. The heat
in the tent that morning had been oppressive.
Our audience was a very small one-Aunt Caro,
Mr. Errol, and Katie. Their high stand was on the
side opposite our greenroom; they liked to see us
ride in. The brass band had its place near the main
entrance. The musicians were all old men, and had
been engaged for the summer. Each man was sworn
to secrecy in regard to our circus mania. We had
no wish to have Moaning Pines invaded by the popu-
lace of the neighboring villages. As it was, the gay
music, with the heavy boom of the big drum that al-
ways accompanied a tour de force, brought many a
keen-eared boy too near the tent. The grooms often
had their hands full driving off the overcurious.
To please Mr. Errol old circus customs were held
to, but we always introduced some nonsense of our
own devising. The performance that afternoon com-
menced, as usual, by the entrance of our small troupe,
riding two by two with dignified solemnity around
the ring. Then my beautiful chestnut mare, dear
Lady Disdain, showed her paces. We believed that
her waltzing and other feats of skill could not be sur-
passed by the best-trained professional. Later (ar-
rayed in my star-bespangled frock with its floating
garland of morning-glories), I sprang from her back
over the broad blue banners stretched across the ring.
Then the boys held hoops, covered with blue, pink,
and white paper, through which I burst to the accom-
paniment of a mighty clash of cymbals and the boom
of the big drum. Dear Lady Disdain was always in
constant fear lest I might fail to return to her in
safety, after each of these flights aloft. Her ears
were never quiet and betrayed the strain she endured.
Yet she was ever eager to enter the ring, and showed
as great pride in my triumphs as I felt in hers.
Sergius Boris Best, on the contrary, detested the
28


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
entire performance. He spent the time on guard
outside the tent, whence an occasional howl of mel-
ancholy protest came to remind us of his near neigh-
borhood and unalterable disapproval. But sometimes
he had to enter and lend his services. This was when
we played Lord Ronald and Lady Clare, and Mr.
Errol had chosen to demand the little pantomime
for that afternoon.
“It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.”
Poor Serge had to be the doe. He disliked his part
very much. He would have refused to play it, I be-
lieved, had he known what meek animal he per-
sonated.
Jamie, clad in one of Katie's lilac calicoes and
wearing a cap, was Alice the nurse. Lord Ronald
had won his title by taking this rôle when a very
small boy. Max read the poem while we enacted it.
The great wolf-hound played his part well. Years
of practice had taught him the exact moment when,
as the lily-white doe, he must leap up and, dropping
his head in my hand, follow me
"- - all the way.”
He was graceful, gentle, always to be depended
upon. I loved him very dearly. So dearly, indeed,
that when Max, according to his wont, the play being
over, stepped forward to take the "single rose” from
my hair, I denied it him, fastening the flower in-
stead to the collar of my pet. Mr. Errol applauded,
while the dog, holding his head haughtily, supremely
conscious of my favor, stalked proudly from the tent.
Aunt Caro laughed, well amused to see Max look
grave.
29


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"Are you even jealous of Old Serge ?" she ques-
tioned, in her rich contralto.
“Yes,” said Max steadily. “Why did you slight
me, Hope ?”
I smiled and blushed. I thought him foolish, but
his folly pleased me.
“Give him this, Lady Clare,” cried Mr. Errol,
flinging another rose over the railing of his high
stand. “You mustn't snub poor Max, child, when
he's just come home.”
Teasing Ronald sprang forward to catch it. Alice
the nurse, suspecting mischief, flung herself upon
his lordship, tripped upon the unaccustomed skirt,
and went down bearing him with her. The rose was
crushed. I laughed out with delight, made my rev-
erence quickly, and escaped to my dressing tent.
Then, as always, I was sorry to have pained Max,
and determined to behave better in future. Later I
rode around the ring with him—both standing, my
hand upon his shoulder-while he guided our two
bare-backed steeds, Gray Griffith and Lady Disdain.
Max rode superbly, managing the horses so skilfully
that I flitted from one to the other and back again
without difficulty or danger. When at the last we
rode up to the grandstand to receive Mr. Errol's com-
pliments, and the pretty bouquet prepared for me,
I made amends for past ill behavior.
"Max is the best rider of us all,” I announced
positively, nodding gayly at Mr. Errol. “See, I
salute him, and bow the head!”
So saying I kissed my finger tips, and swaying
lightly toward my companion gently patted his cheek.
But Max, to my surprise and embarrassment, caught
my hand and pressed his lips to the place my own
had touched.
"Bravo, bravo !” roared Mr. Errol, with such sten-
torian approval that the horses, alarmed, started
30


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
away in great haste and carried us out of the main
tent.
"Are you angry?" Max asked softly, as he lifted
me to the ground. He did not release me but,
bending his handsome head, strove to look into my
eyes. "Are you very angry, dear little Hope ?
Here a frightful and blood-curdling in-drawing of
the breath through closely shut teeth made us both
start. I shrieked faintly, for close behind us stood
an Indian with uplifted knife.
"Will Carmichael !” exclaimed Max in disgust,
recognizing the painted savage. “What an infernal
nuisance you are !”
“Come, hurry up and change your togs, Hope, my
infant," said the Indian, wagging his be-feathered
head at me and grinning hideously, “or I'll scalp
you where you stand. I want to finish up this non-
sense and get a swim before dinner.”
"No swim for you this afternoon, William," said
Max. "Don't you hear the breakers on the bar ?
There must have been a storm offshore. There's a
very heavy sea on.”
We listened as with one accord. Above the drawl-
ing tones of Sam's voice, as he amused Mr. Errol by
propounding old conundrums and giving new an-
swers, could be heard the angry roar of the surf on the
sand spit at the mouth of the river. The breeze,
rushing inland laden with foam breath, grew wilder
each moment. The tent awnings flapped; we heard
the snap, snap, of the big red flag as it whipped
gayly overhead. A pleasant invigorating freshness
made itself felt everywhere.
“When is a door not a door ?" demanded Sam
lazily in the near distance.
“When it is a-jar, my cool young friend,” came
Mr. Errol's prompt answer.
“Wrong again, sir”-Sam's voice was heavy with
31


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
compassion. “A door is not a door when it is
a-creek.”
"Rubbish !” from Mr. Errol. “You'd better try
again, Sammy."
"I will”—Sam spoke gently—"for I love to please.
When is a door like dear Lady Disdain ?"
“Give it up,” cried Mr. Errol.
“When it's bolted.”
"Hope, Hope,” implored Will, "do hurry up!"
· I ran away to my dressing tent and changed my
tulle and spangles for the simple attire of a stage
country girl—a frock of blue and white striped
cambric, with sun-bonnet to match, and a white apron.
The entertainment was to end with a new pantomime
composed by Jamie. It was entitled :
“A man's a man for a' that,
In Quaker's gray or cleric's hat.”
As I entered, mounted upon my beautiful mare,
I looked about the large tent with happy eyes. I
was excited. Max had shown so much affection. I
was never quite sure that I might always please him
—and I wished to, very much. I dropped the reins
on Lady Disdain's glossy neck and she walked quietly
once around the ring. The tent was pleasant; the
sunshine shut out, the fresh breeze stealing in.
“This fair young creature," read Max from Jamie's
manuscript, “is Doris Day, daughter of a wealthy
ranchman. She is out for a ride upon the prairie;
she seeketh flowers."
I leaned from my saddle, scanning the grass of the
prairie earnestly. I was so busy looking for flowers
that I failed to observe a handsome youth in clerical
garb (Jamie), who rode up and joined me. He had
hardly done so when Sam, dressed as a Quaker in
the old-style costume-flapping gray coat and broad-
brimmed beaver-came up on the other side. Doris
that I Jamie), who en Sam, dressmay coat and Doris
32


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
look that the paint and strange dress gave my cousin's
dark face (transforming its cheerful features into
the aspect of a red devil), filled me with an unreason-
ing terror. I screamed in real fear, and giving the
mare her head urged her toward the grandstand.
Delighted, and not at all comprehending the state
of my nerves, the savages gave chase and headed
me off. Sam the Cool, an onlooker, awaiting his cue
in the entrance to our greenroom, understood better,
and rode in, followed by Jamie, hoping to mend
matters. They only made things worse, however,
since they pursued the Indians who were pursuing
me, and the race grew dangerous. Max could not
ply his whip because the horses were already nearly
crazy with excitement, neither could he catch the
bridle of my mare without risk, since those follow-
ing might then run me down before they could stop
their mad pace. He stormed and commanded in
vain; no one heeded. Mr. Errol, adding his voice to
the general clamor, pounded upon the railing of the
stand, entreating, expostulating, scolding. Katie sat
back in her chair, her apron over her head. Aunt
Caro, a red spot on either smooth cheek, applauded;
and the band, thinking this the time for much noise,
clashed out a wild hunting chorus. The air was
filled with the dust of tan bark, uprising from flying
hoofs.
Crouching low in my saddle, or swaying first far
to one side, then as far to the other, in my efforts to
evade Wild Will, my foremost pursuer, as he made
desperate efforts to seize me, I circled the ring like
a hunted creature on the now frantic mare. Sud-
denly a streak of sunshine flashed across my face and,
an instant later, a fierce sound cut through the up-
roar like a knife—the war-cry of the old wolf-hound.
It startled me back into my senses. I realized that
we were but playing. The dog was in deadly earnest.
to one siid Will, m. seize me,
frantic
34


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
My foolish fears were forgotten in my anxiety
as to what might be taking place outside. Why had
the sunlight dazzled me? The tent had no opening
on that side. Something must be done, and at once.
I ceased my endeavor to escape my wild cousin,
and as he leaned toward me, his eyes glittering, his
cheeks ablaze under their war-paint, I flung myself
into his outstretched arms. Surprised, he clasped
me close, half his fierceness already quelled by the
necessity of managing the frightened pony-unac-
customed to the double burden.
I threw my arms about Will's neck, I put my lips
close to his cheek. “I'm tired, Willie,” I cried. "I
give up."
He shouted his triumph to those who followed;
laughing gayly, half in exultation over the victory,
half in amusement at the lengths to which his
imagination had carried him. The band stopped
playing the hunting chorus and struck up the march
to the strains of which the horses were accustomed
to make the grand entrance. This quieted them better
than voice or rein. Lady Disdain trotted snorting
into the side tent, where the grooms easily handled
her. My captor would have carried me to the grand-
stand, there to receive congratulations upon his
prowess, but I quickly told him of my fear that Serge
was in trouble. This fear was added to by seeing
that the servants, who had been deputed to keep guard
outside had, attracted by the uproar, come into the
tent. Max hastened out, and the boys, dismounting,
followed. Mr. Errol, calling me to him, began to
scold me gently for yielding to such childish panic;
while Katie, pretending to approve this chiding,
tenderly smoothed my disarranged hair. I submitted
to both reproof and caresses, listening intently to what
was going on outside. Where was my dog?
There came a loud exclamation, followed by a
schile Katie, hed my disarr listening inte dog?
35


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
silence that was unnatural. I broke away from my
nurse and ran swiftly to the side of the tent whence
the sound of the boys' voices had come. As I ap-
proached I saw that there was a long slit in the canvas,
and realized that it must have been through this that
the sunshine had flashed. I parted it and looked out.
Stretched upon the grass but a short distance from
me lay the old wolf-hound. I knew that he was dead.
My cry of anguish brought Mas quickly to me.
The boys, with eager kindness, ranged themselves
between me and my darling, striving to hide the cruel
truth. I paid no heed to Max or to them. Weeping
bitterly I made my way to my faithful old companion,
and gently lifted his beautiful head upon my lap.
The rose that I had fastened to his collar had been
broken from its stem in the death struggle, but its
pale pink petals were unhurt. It lay, fresh and
fragrant, beside him on the grass.
It was supposed that the overcurious intruder,
who had cut the canvas that he might see our wild
race, had been caught in the act by the dog. Furious,
the old hound must have sprung upon the eaves-
dropper, who, seizing him by the throat, had killed
him with one sledge-hammer blow of the fist. Be-
cause of the strength necessary to make such an act
possible, suspicion fell upon the blacksmith of the
neighborhood and his assistant. But they were able
to prove an alibi, and the murderer of Sergius Boris
Best could not be found. That he had used his fist,
and not a knife, was the only comfort Max and the
boys had to offer me. The dog, they said, had died
painlessly.
We buried my old playmate under the moaning
pines, in a spot where he had loved to stretch himself
on hot summer noons.
“Grieve nae mair for poor Serge, my lam”," said my
warm-hearted nurse, her pleasant voice not so steady
36


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
as usual, "for you'll meet him again, one time. (His
murderer walks accurst-his doom will fall.) For
it's I that believe that the grand old hound, wha died
doin' his duty bravely, wull be granted to stand at
heaven's gate to welcome his little Hope Carmichael
—when she's called till her mansion there !”
37


III
n, and informally eventeenth
It was early June, and the morning of my betrothal
day. For I was seventeen, and it had been thought
best that Max and I should be formally engaged —
if I were willing. In a few months my eighteenth
birthday would arrive when-according to the plans
made years before we were to be married. Max
made no secret of his wishes, although, because it was
in the bond, he had never told me outright that he
loved me. But if all the members of our household
knew how Max felt, no one, not even Katie, could be
sure of my ultimatum. I had thought it only fair
that Max should chose for himself, and not be tied
down by old arrangements made when we were chil-
dren. And, in order to give him a sense of complete
freedom, I had pretended to care no more for him
than for my wild cousins. At first pride had sug-
gested this rôle, then the love of justice, and lastly,
when it became evident that Max had eyes for me
alone, I fear a wayward spirit prompted my manner
of affectionate indifference. Although I loved him
very dearly, and secretly thought that no one might
compare with him, I enjoyed the admiration I re-
ceived from others; amusing myself, in childish
fashion, to the top of my bent. Aunt Caro, disap-
proving, in her gentle way, of the early marriage
arranged for me, managed so that I might have a
little gayety by allowing me, so soon as I was sixteen,
to go to the few balls and parties given in our neigh-
borhood. Mr. Errol scolded, and Max remonstrated,
in vain. Aunt Caro amiably insisted that I must
have early what all my friends would get later, a
38


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
season of girlish pleasure. And for once she had
Katie on her side.
"An' it's glad I am, Mrs. Carmichael, to see you
batin' the divil around the bush !” said my once nurse.
“ 'Twould be a shame, thin, I'm thinkin', did our Miss
Hope settle down marrit and a' wi'out a few hearts
achin' o'er the pain o'it. Sure't will do Mr. Max nae
harm to fight for her favor—as did mony a gran'
young jantleman for her mither's, when she were the
beautiful Mary Yorke. An' I'm no sayin' but what
you yoursel', Mrs. Carmichael”—Katie spoke with
good-natured condescension—"may ha' had ane or
twa wearin' the willow for the sake o' your dark een.
For some do, I know, prefer a black eye to a blue.
(God, maybe, undershtandin' why, He choosin' to
mak' baith kinds !)”
Poor Katie! It was a trial to her that I had so
small a world to conquer. It was only in summer
and during the winter holidays that any entertain-
ments were given. The conquests made by my blue
eyes were not so many as my doting nurse boasted,
although sufficient in number to make Max uneasy.
I later regretted my waywardness. But I was a
wilful, overpetted child.
Mr. Errol, with Max, and my two guardians-
precise legal gentlemen—had arrived at Moaning
Pines the evening before. The betrothal was to be
very formal. I rather dreaded the solemn ceremony,
but not so much as I feared what must precede it-
Max's informal declaration. Nervous excitement
over this kept me awake half the night. I could not
understand why. It seemed absurd that what I had
looked forward to all my life, my real engagement
to Max, should so affect me. That he was excited was
natural enough and, so I thought, quite as it should
be. I could see that Aunt Caro and Katie enjoyed
his doubt and anxiety, while themselves too uncertain
uxor this informal" as I feareaded the betrothal", Moanina
39


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of what my decision might be for entire ease of
mind.
At first, being quite unaccustomed to lying awake,
I found pleasure in the strange sounds and silences
of the late night. The perfect quiet, broken now and
again by the fitful sighing of the pines and the far-
off moan of the breakers on the bar; and at times, as
the hours slipped past, the eerie cry of some uneasy
night bird jarring through the soft, melancholy ca-
dences of murmuring sea and whispering firs. But
as the night wore on the loss of sleep began to tell
upon my unwontedly excited nerves. Old tales of
weird happenings, stories of ghosts, hobgoblins, and
werewolves, followed each other in quick succession
-like moving figures in a magic lantern-across
my tired brain. When toward dawn I fell into a
heavy slumber, it was nightmare ridden.
I thought that I was in the life-boat once named
for me, the Hope, that had drifted ashore to tell of
shipwreck when I was a tiny child. A thick fog
hung heavy upon boat and billows—great oily-look-
ing sea swells, over which the Hope slipped helplessly,
whither I did not know.
I was not alone. In the prow there crouched a
young girl, richly but oddly clad. For she wore a
quaintly fashioned gown of blood-red satin, and
around her graceful throat a high, stiff ruff. In her
beautiful eyes there was a look of great anguish and
the terror that a child might show were it about to
be done to death. As I stared at the lovely white
face, showing ghostlike in the murky light, I felt so
great a pity that I forgot my own peril. As I would
have asked her who she was, she began to sing:
“I'll no put on the dowie black,
Nor yet the dowie brown,
But I'll put on the robes o' red
To sheen thro’ Edinbruch town.”
40


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Then I knew that I was looking at Mary Hamil-
ton.
She continued singing, but she changed the words
of the verse that she sang, and I grew faint with
dread:
“Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The nicht she'll hae but two;
There was Mary Beaton, Mary Seaton;
And there was me--and you."
And then, in spite of myself, I was obliged to join
in—to sing with her:
“O a' ye mariners, far and near;
That sail ayont the faem,
O dinna let our kinsfolk ken
But what we are coming hame.”
I dreamed that, rebelling against this fate, I
seized the ponderous oars—unseen till then—and
thrusting them through the rowlocks began to urge
the boat landward, guided by the low muttering of
the surges on the beach. It was with exultation that
I found I could row with ease. The heavy craft sped
over the oily billows like an arrow, and soon I saw
lights upon the distant stretch of sand toward which
we were hastening. These were great bonfires shoot-
ing up snaky tongues of flame. Dark shapes fitted
about, feeding the fires. I thought that the boys,
my cousins, were waiting there for us—that we should
soon be safe. But Mary Hamilton, lifting her white
arms in warning, cried out that these were wreckers,
and the friendly blaze but a lure.
I thought that I made a desperate effort to turn
the boat, and failed. The next instant I was telling
my beautiful companion not to fear, since, safe be-
neath the dark water, my fair young mother lay
sleeping. We would go to her, and be at rest. But
Mary Hamilton looked at me strangely, pityingly.
41


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“I am dead," she whispered; “my weird is dreed.”
A great horror came upon me, a loud roaring
filled my ears. The boat was among the breakers,
surrounded by the wreckers. “Mother!" I cried,
“O mother !” and awoke.
Katie was bending over me, her kind face full of
anxiety.
“There, there, my heart's bairn,” she said sooth-
ingly, "dinna greet! Sure the ugly dream's gone
now. An' look what I found forninst the treshold
o your door!” She laid a great sheaf of the beauti-
ful purple iris on my pillow. “And this bit paper
tied till it. Open it, thin, an' read.”
I blushed as I recognized the handwriting, and, to
please my dear nurse, read the verse I found written
there, aloud:
“O flower de luce, bloom on, and let the river
Linger to kiss thy feet!
O flower of song, bloom on, and make forever
The world more fair and sweet.”
“Flower o' song!" said Katie, looking at me fondly,
"an' it's right well he's named ye. Yis, Flower o'
song and our ain bonnie bird ! 'Fore God, an' it's
thankful all should be that you'll bide at hame, in
the home nest, instead o'marryin' some stranger lad
wha would be afther carryin' away our Hope. See,
thin, what Mr. Errol himsel sends ye for the ceree-
mony of betrothal-he brought it wi' him last
night.”
She opened a box that lay on a chair near the door,
and taking from it a mass of lace, shook it out. I sat
up in bed, my eyes wide with admiration.
"Yis," announced Katie proudly, “woven specially
for Miss Mary Carmichael, wi' a pattern o’her ain
flowers rinnin' here an' there an' everywhires t'rough-
out. Mornin'-glories !-a many of thim. But 'tis
42


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
like a spider's web, or the work o' the frost on our
winder panes! Fair lovely—an' no mistake! To
be worn over a slip of white satin, or blue, if your
fancy pleases.” She held up the wonderful flower-
woven gossamer and gazed meditatively at it, her
lips pursed up. "Belike," she continued, musingly,
“belike Mr. Errol—whá is a wily though gran’-
hearted jantleman—just said to himself that it wud
do nae harm to mak' sure o’ your answer till Mr.
Max by prisintin' you wi' this. A gown that the
Fairy Queen hersel' might be fine and proud to wear.
A kind o’lure, I'm thinkin', till our Flower o’song !
For mark my words, my bairn, the men be iver the
same. Yis, rich or poor, gentle or simple, good or
evil, they strive iver to gain their way wi' us poor
women i the same fashion-wi' gifts and flattery,
flattery an' gifts! You'll mind, thin, the Serpent
an' poor witless Eve? 'Twas him gave her thim
apples. (In his ain fashion-wi’ specious words o'
guile; not havin' arms nor hands he couldna just
break' 'em offen the Tree.) Mr. Errol kens weel a
Yorke wouldna tak’ a gift falsely. Sure he knows
that an' you accept it, it means ‘yis.' But there's ane
thing he doesna ken and that I, God forgi'e me, was
near hand forgetting, and that is that the Yorkes—
ride straight.”
Katie lifted her head proudly and, looking me in
the eyes, said steadily: "I ken now what I might ha'
knowed lang syne, if I hadna been an old foolish
body. If ye hadna been for sayin' 'yis,' Mr. Max
would ha' been let to know it before this day. An'
he up by four the morn, Tummas says, saddlin'
his ain horse an' ridin' the country o'er for hours !"
A delighted smile, which she strove in vain to re-
press, irradiated her strong face. "I'm thinkin' he's
no so easy as to what the day'll bring forth! Aweel,
aweel, it does a young man no harm to be a bit
43


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
anxious an' downhearted. I'd no be in too great a
hurry, my lam', to mak him o'er proud o' himsel'.
But wha am I, thin, to be givin' counsel to the
daughter of Miss Mary Yorke! Born Carmichael
you are, Miss Hope, and I'm no gainsayin' it; but
fra’ the crown o' your golden head to the soles o’ your
bonnie feet ye are just a Yorke. Wi' a knowledge
o'hearts and horses in your blood that taches you
how to win the ane an' manage the ither! And now
you'd best get up or you'll be late till your breakfast
—an' that wud niver do wid Mr. Errol and the twa
strange jantlemen here "
Wild Will, dominated as always by a spirit of
mischief, saw to it that Max had no interview with
me that morning. He was by my side constantly,
showing an unswerving devotion that amused Mr.
Errol and delighted Aunt Caro. Prompted by their
wild brother, Ronald and Jamie followed suit, over-
whelming me with their audacious laughter-provok-
ing attentions. But Max, careless as ever of on-look-
ers, put an end to their nonsense after luncheon
when he asked me before them all-to spend the
afternoon with him. We were assembled upon the
veranda. The silence that fell upon the gay little
company told me that my answer would mean every-
thing to them. Mr. Errol, Aunt Caro, the two
lawyers, and my four cousins watched me with
breathless interest, forgetting their manners in their
eagerness to hear my reply.
I felt the hot color sweep across my face from brow
to chin, my heart beat to suffocation. Unconsciously,
I rose to my feet. Then, true to the traditions of
the Yorkes—rode straight. Although I could not,
somehow, raise my voice much above a whisper, I
am sure my answer was distinctly heard. Max,
stepping quickly forward, took my face between his
strong hands, and, after gazing deep into my eyes


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
as light or het ta was calle party enou
as if to make sure that my heart had spoken, kissed
me on the lips.
“I thank God that it is yes,” he said simply.
That was our real betrothal. But in the evening,
to please dear Mr. Errol, we went through with the
formal ceremony, just as it had been planned for us
years before. I wore the beautiful lace frock over
its slip of white satin. About my throat Aunt
Caro clasped my mother's string of pearls; the boys
gave me a morning-glory fashioned of sapphires
for my hair; and Max placed a splendid sapphire,
set in diamonds, upon my finger-my betrothal
ring.
We were a gay little party enough when, all for-
mality ended, I was called upon to sing. Each asked
for his or her favorite ballad; my guardians-grown
as light-hearted as we-called for many.
“And now, Hope, my little daughter," said Mr.
Errol, smiling upon me fondly as he emphasized my
new title, “sing 'Angels, ever bright and fair,' and
then we old folks will have had our share of your
evening."
I sang Handel's soul-lifting melody; sang it
gravely, with a solemn ecstasy thrilling through the
words, through the swinging cadences. But this was
because, born a singer, I unconsciously lent myself to
the interpretation of the thoughts, the feeling, the
inspiration of the composer. In reality I was so
very happy that I did not in the least realize what
I was singing. I was a trifle awestruck when I
thought how different all might have been had either
Max or I chanced to care for some one else. I looked
with deep affection at the family group surrounding
me. What a fortunate girl I was, I thought, and
sang:
“Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me, to your care.”
45


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of the heard, caed both burned
Max and I lingered long on the veranda. It was
nearly twelve when I stole softly into my room.
Katie, tired out by the day's excitement, had fallen
asleep on the lounge where she had sat down to wait
for me. I did not wake her, but set about preparing
for the night without her help. I unclasped my
pearls, took the morning-glory from my hair, and,
first pressing my lips to the sapphire-September's
jewel—that gleamed upon my hand, slipped it off.
There was no light save moonlight in the room. I
put my trinkets down softly upon the dressing-table,
then moving quietly to the window, leaned far out.
The moon hung low in the west; in a half hour
she would be gone. No wind was stirring and the
pines, their tops softened into velvet by the moonlight,
were unwontedly silent. It was as if they were listen-
ing to the soft voice of the sea, that in the deep si-
lence of the night made itself heard, calling, calling.-
And presently this call was answered both by tide
and river, that together, as by one impulse, turned,
hastening to obey.
A desire to see their waters flowing swiftly sea-
ward, shimmering under the moon's rays, took pos-
session of me. Accustomed to following my impulses,
and thinking it could do no harm were I to yield to
this one although never before had I been out alone
at so late an hour- I crept noiselessly from the room,
stole downstairs, and opening one of the drawing-
room windows, went out into the night. As I left the
veranda and crossed the short lawn between the house
and the little wood of pines, I looked back. The
upper windows were gayly lighted; there was plenty
of time to run to the river's edge and back before the
house was dark. I felt quite safe; the river was but
a stone's throw away. But I shivered a little as I en-
tered the black shadow of the trees. I had forgotten
to bring a wrap and my gown was open at the throat.
and presen night made it the sea, thif they weroonlight,
hond me to run to the gayly lighted the back. The
46


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
W
I lifted the train from my arm, where I had thrown
it to keep it from the dewy grass, and drew it over
my shoulders; then hastened along the path, slippery
with pine needles and hardly discernible under the
gloom of the thick branches. How fragrant the cool
air was, sweet with the wholesome odor of the pines
and the crisp salt tang of the sea !
The spot toward which I was hastening was where
a little dock had been constructed, just two planks
upon rough supports, leading out into the water.
Here a heavy dory was always kept, used only by the
workmen on their errands to the town below. I walked
out upon the dock, wishing that its few boards were
longer. If only I might look down upon the rush-
ing river, darting now like a silver arrow seaward.
The dory had not been pulled close beside the small
pier; only its bow was drawn in and rested against
the planking, the body and stern projected into the
stream. I thought that I might allow myself the
pleasure of stepping in and, seated far aft, be almost
in the space of hurrying moonlit water. Near
enough to enjoy its charm, while out of reach of its
strong, dangerous currents. To suppose that a boat,
simply because it was a boat, would bring me into
danger, was but foolish superstition. Foolish, yet
sweet, since it meant that my kinsfolk loved me very
dearly. But I was alone, no one to see and worry
over me, I would just step into the clumsy tub for a
moment. Then I paused, unwilling to do what might
mean disloyalty.
I was turning away when I saw something gleam-
ing in the water, just beyond the dory. Something
that floated—now seen in a stray moonbeam, now
but a dark patch upon the ripples. I forgot every-
thing save my desire to see the flowers or water-weeds
that lay cradled so near. I sprang quickly into the
boat, and making my way to the stern, looked over.
H
47


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
from me the stream trying fort to
delighth
To my surprise I found the object was fastened to
the boat by a rope of braided rushes. I recognized
Jamie's handiwork, and, wondering what he had
tethered so carefully, undid the knotted end and
pulled in my prize. As I drew it along the surface
of the water I saw that it was a wreath, woven of
ferns and the purple flower-de-luce. A sudden rush
of tears blinded me, for I knew Jamie intended it
for the grave of Sergius Boris—Best.
I strove to find my handkerchief, and in my care-
less haste turned too quickly; the chain of rushes
slipped from my hand, and wreath and slender rope
fell back into the stream. Conscience stricken, I
leaned far over the stern trying to regain Jamie's
treasure. I made a desperate effort to grasp the
wreath, succeeded, drew back aglow with delight.
I would refasten the chain—then hurry home. With
dripping fingers I tied a clumsy knot and rose to leave
the boat.
But it was no longer beside its little pier, under the
shadow of the moaning pines. Who had last used
it had forgotten to fasten it securely, and my effort
to reclaim the flowers had set it free. Already there
was a space of black water between its prow and the
landing-place. As, realizing the need for instant
action, I hastened forward, preparing to spring ashore,
the swift tide caught the clumsy craft, swung it
sharply around, and in another instant it was in
mid-stream, borne along like a feather toward the
narrow passage beneath the old chain bridge, whence
came the roar of the torrent as it rushed seaward.
The quick turn of the dory as the swirl of the mad
current seized it would have thrown me down, per-
haps overboard, had it not been for my circus train-
ing. Although because of this I kept my poise for
the moment, I dared not trust to my feet, but hastily
crouching down made ready for the coming rush
48


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
beneath the bridge. The low moon illuminated but
faintly the miniature rapids. Did the boat pass these
in safety it might drift ashore below, where the
stream in broadening gained placidity. Above the
bridge, as it tore along, it seemed like a wilful wild
creature, and the noise of its hemmed-in waters a
snarl of threatening protest. On one side a giant
boulder lifted to the bridge its slippery shoulder, as
support—a mimic precipice. On the other, rocky
ledges fretted the hurrying water into froth. I braced
myself for the jar of sudden shipwreck—and was
swept beneath.
The dory passed so close to the boulder that a fern,
which had found foothold in some unseen crevice,
drew its graceful leaves—wet with spray-caress-
ingly across my cheek. My ears were deafened by
the sound of the brawling water. The chill was in-
tense. Then the boat was out again in the waning
moonlight, and I sighed with relief, thinking the
worst danger past.
There were no oars in the boat. These were always
kept concealed under low-growing bushes near the
little dock. For a few moments after passing under
the bridge I was at ease about myself, but anxiety
for those at home began to harry me. If Katie woke
to find me gone she would be almost crazed with
terror. And the boys—and Max? As these thoughts
began to crowd my mind, and imagination painted
vivid pictures of what might even now be taking
place at Moaning Pines, I scanned the shores with
eager eyes to see if the boat were approaching either
side of the river. But as the stream grew quieter
the land receded, and soon lengths of gleaming water
separated the northern from the southern shore.
The dory, swung this way or that as the current
willed, was now and again turned completely around.
But whether it floated stern forward or bow on, it
49


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
kept in mid-stream and drifted steadily eastward
toward the ever-calling sea.
Presently houses began to show dark against the
sky to the south. The boat would soon be opposite
the old seaport town. The sight of these distant
irregular outlines, silhouetted against the horizon,
brought me to a sudden, to a dreadful realization of
my helplessness. I had been so sure that the dory
would float ashore on the sedgy meadows. My chief
fear had been of the walk back, alone; my greatest
anxiety, for the terror of those at home. Now,
I drew in my breath carefully, following the in-
structions of my singing teacher as never before,
then with all my strength called for help. Again,
and yet again, I cried out, flinging my voice far.
Then I sat silent-listening. And from the ware-
houses on the river's edge warehouses neglected,
long disused, since the commerce of the old town was
dead—the echo of my appeal was flung back to me,
musical, mocking. There followed the deep silence
of the night, broken only by the lapping of the water
against the drifting boat and the voice of the sea
from the bar.
Although accustomed all my life to facing danger,
to the taking of risks in the ring and when riding
cross-country with my reckless cousins, I had never
been in such peril before alone. And while a run-
away horse had never daunted me, a runaway boat
was something I did not understand. I felt com-
pletely helpless—ignorant, desolate. Once more I
lifted my voice in long-sustained cries for help, and
again the echo only returned from the sleeping
town. Then I heard, far to the northward, an an-
swering cry. But even while my heart was throbbing
with the joy of reawakened hope, I knew that the
shrill sound came from the brazen throat of a loco-
motive. Another instant and the night express, the
50


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
hroad rivers, hast I did not playing straearyingly, the
windows of its cars alight, swept across the long rail-
road bridge beneath which I had but just drifted,
and rushed on through the town.
I struggled to regain courage, telling myself that
Max and the boys would soon come. I scanned the
broad river with such intensity that my vision
blurred. At last I did not know what I saw or what
I did not see, imagination playing strange tricks with
my tired eyes. I called for aid unwearyingly, per-
sistently, until great sobs choked me dumb. The
moon had set, only the stars remained. I was far past
the town. I could not see the long sand bar that
stretched almost across the river's mouth, but each
moment I heard more clearly the rhythmical beat of
the waves as they broke upon its farther shore.
The channel between the end of this sand spit and
the northern bank was very narrow, and close by the
low yellow dunes a ramshackle summer hotel had
been built. As I neared this I made a desperate
effort, overcame my sobbing, and cried out once more.
My voice sounded unnatural, so weak, so forlorn.
No answer came. If the boat would but approach
either bank I might, I thought, jump ashore. I
stood up on the seat, poising myself lightly as when
riding, and prepared to spring. But the dory, like
some dull live creature, kept obstinately in the
middle of the short channel. The long swell of the
ocean caught it, slid it outward.
I sank down lower, lower. Flinging my arms
across the seat I pillowed my weary head upon them
and fell to crying hopelessly, like a frightened child,
for Katie for Max.
The far-off rote of the surges on the shore roused
me. I was already a long distance from the land.
I sat up and looked about me. The stars had grown
dim. I could see but a short distance; the black
51


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
water and the horizon line merged. My pretty frock
was wet to the touch, my bare throat like ice. I
drew the pins from my hair, and although it, too,
was damp, its soft warmth as it fell about my shoul-
ders brought comfort. In a very short time the
darkness increased, the stars disappeared, and all
the world was blotted out from me by a heavy fog.
I had been certain of being seen and rescued
directly daylight came, so many fishing smacks
haunted the coast, besides the chance steamers and
trading vessels. But their presence now added to my
peril. By and by I heard the hoarse note of fog-
horns uttering their cries of warning. They sounded
now far away, again so near that I called out in
answer. Once or twice I was sure that I had been
heard. There came the sound of voices, men's voices,
of talking close at hand. I listened intently, miser-
ably, feverishly, till at last I was convinced that my
own wild heart throbs, and the slap, slap of the
waves as the dory slid heavily over them, were the
only sounds to be heard.
My eyes ached with staring into the blackness,
colored lights danced before them. My throat was
dry, parched, I had cried out for help so long. My
head was on fire, yet I shivered with the cold.
Strange fancies began to take possession of my tired
brain. I thought of Mary Hamilton—was she, even
now, seated in the prow? How had my mother felt,
I wondered, as she sank beneath the dark water?
Had her last thought been of me, her baby? I com-
menced the prayer for those who go down to the sea
in ships, the prayer that–because of my mother's
fate--I had been taught to say morning and evening
since I could first lisp the words.
"O eternal God," I whispered piteously, “who
alone spreadest out the heavens, and rulest the raging
of the sea- "
52


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
inpeared, turning torgetfulness. Bleep, came to bring
I became silent. Sobs choked me. Katie, my
Katie, was even now praying thus for me. But pres-
ently I was able to repeat devoutly that appeal in-
tended for those in immediate peril, beginning:
“O most powerful and glorious Lord God, at whose
command the winds blow, and lift up the waves of
the sea and who stillest the rage thereof "
So the night wore on. No sleep came to bring
even a moment's forgetfulness. But before the dawn
appeared, turning the impenetrable black veil of fog
into a luminous gray shadow, I had fallen into a
half stupor. From this I was roused at sunrise by
a chill breeze from the east that rent the vapor, driv-
ing long mist wreaths before it and disclosing stretches
of pale blue water. I sat up, staring dully, and saw
close above me, almost upon me, the slippery side of
a vessel. I strove to rise; my brain reeled and I
could not. I moistened my parched throat and cried
out; my voice sounded hoarse and low. But, as if
in answer, two men leaned over the gunwale and
looked down. They seemed to fear me, for they drew
back, muttering to each other and making the sign
of the cross. The dory was slipping, slipping
past-
I held out my arms imploringly. “Help, oh,
help!" I wailed.
The men were now joined by another, a tall man,
with rough brown hair and keen gray eyes. I
recognized him, and crying “Pluto!” rose to my feet,
only to fall forward unconscious.


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
lously clean. The glass of the port-hole was open,
its curtain drawn, making a dull green twilight,
pleasant to weary eyes. Upon a small lounge sat a
woman, darning a coarse woollen sock. She was
short, and squarely built; her flat face swarthy, her
black hair shiny and very straight. I saw that she
was part Indian, a half-breed, and I remembered
the men who had looked at me over the side of the
vessel before I fell. I realized where I was, and won-
dered how long I had been lying there. I spoke.
“Are you taking me home?” I asked, and I tried
to sit up. But pain and the swinging motion made
me giddy. I sank back.
The woman did not answer. She stared at me
stolidly for a moment, then left the cabin. Disap-
pointment brought the big tears. I closed my eyes
tightly, forcing them back. I must be brave. But
the tears were so tiresome, coming thick and fast.
And I had no handkerchief! I felt childishly ag-
grieved at this lack. Katie always tucked one under
my pillow. As, because of this fancied neglect, sobs
began to rise, my want was supplied. A handker-
chief, fragrant with cologne, was placed in my hand,
and I felt a firm touch upon my wrist. I dried my
eyes hastily. The man whom I called Pluto was
beside me and was feeling my pulse. I was very
glad to see him. He seemed an old friend. I looked
up gratefully.
*“You are taking me home ?” I said.
He smiled kindly, and strove to soften his harsh
voice as he answered in the affirmative. “Yes, dear
child,” he said.
“And I do not know your name," I murmured.
My voice was strangely weak; it annoyed me.
"My name is Rollis Lannion,” he said.
“Aunt Caro-and-
“I have telegraphed her," he interrupted. “I sent
55


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
a man ashore at once to get word to her of your
safety. And now you are not to worry, but just lie
still and dream of pleasant things- of birds and
flowers." He smiled again, and I caught myself
wishing that his teeth were not so big and white.
"Your fever is gone," he continued, "and I have
some nice broth for you. See, here it is !”
The woman entered, carrying a tray on which was
a bowl of blue china filled with the steaming liquid.
Mr. Lannion took a napkin from the tray and him-
self spread it carefully over me; then he fed me,
spoonful by spoonful. The broth was very nice, of
chicken, with rice in it. I could take but little, and
he looked grave over my inability to swallow easily.
I made a great effort to hide my lack of appetite, since
it seemed to distress him.
“Just one spoonful more," he urged coaxingly,
when I at last refused. (He held the spoon close
to my lips, as though he would persuade a captious
child.) "Just one little sip-it is so good. I had
it put in this pretty bowl for you—with its blue
pagodas and quaint figures.”
"No," I said, pushing it away gently, "no. It is
nice, and you are kind—but I am so tired. When
is Aunt Caro coming? And—and Katie ?"
The woman had remained in the adjoining cabin
-the main cabin-while her master cared for me.
She now re-entered and carried the tray away. Mr.
Lannion taking my hands in his, began to stroke them
gently. There was something very soothing in his
firm touch; something rhythmical in the slow even
movement. His hands were large and powerful, long-
jointed, the knuckles developed, the finger tips square.
Because of my own athletic training, I noted his
splendid physical condition. He was sinewy, vigor-
ous, superbly muscular-not a spare inch of flesh on
him, as the boys would have said.
gentlyon taking my hand carried master cared to cabin
was somethi his, began to away. Mr
56


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
As he continued to stroke my hands and wrists
I grew oddly dreamy. His gray eyes looked steadily
into mine, but this did not embarrass me. No, I
stared reflectively up at him, as he bent over me,
wondering at the greenish glint in those strangely
narrowing pupils. Were they narrowing—or did I
only imagineah!
I started violently. A thought stung me back into
the consciousness I was so rapidly losing.
“Jamie's wreath ?” I questioned eagerly. "Lost ?”
“Yes," was the brief answer.
“I am so sorry,” I wailed, “so sorry, so very sorry."
Again my tears began to flow.
Mr. Lannion dried my eyes gently. He looked
distressed. He called to the woman, speaking in a
language that I did not understand—the patois of
the French-Canadians. She brought a bottle of
cologne and with this he bathed my forehead, while
he tried to comfort me.
“You shall have as many wreaths of flowers as
you wish,” he said, "only you must not fret, but try
to sleep, and grow well and strong. Loison shall sing
to you—an Indian lullaby.”
He spoke to the half-breed, and she commenced to
chant strange unfamiliar words in a plaintive minor
key. Mr. Lannion again stroked my hands and
wrists firmly, steadily, keeping his gray-green eyes
fixed upon mine. Soon the chanting seemed to come
from a great distance; the strange eyes looked upon
me from out of a mist. I slept.
The fever did not return, and as I was a healthy
young creature sound, wind and limb-before two
days had passed I felt quite myself again. I was
not allowed to leave my berth, however, and Mr.
Lannion persisted in treating me as though I were
still ill. As I was shy about questioning him in re-
gard to my return home, not liking to be a weari-
57


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
some as well as an unlooked-for passenger, I said
nothing of my homesickness until the evening of the
fourth day. Then my patience gave way.
Mr. Lannion had come to pay me his usual even-
ing visit. He had seated himself upon the little
sofa near the open port-hole and looked through it
as he talked to me. The sea was in gentle humor.
Gay little waves rippled across its moonlit surface.
The vessel moved quietly, the breeze being only strong
enough to fill its sails.
"There is just enough wind to-night,” said my
companion. “You will be gently rocked to sleep.
I fear you would never make a good sailor, even if
you spent a year afloat.”
“Why am I still here?” I asked impetuously. “It
seems to me we are a long time in arriving at Moan-
ing Pines.”
"I am taking you to Boston," was the quiet an-
swer. “We shall be there very soon.”
“Why_” I began, and then stopped. If my kind
host had been on his way to Boston when he picked
me up, I ought not to expect him to retrace his
journey. Yet surely we had had more than sufficient
time to reach Boston.
“This boat does not belong to me,” Mr. Lannion
went on when I failed to continue speaking; "it
has only been lent me by a friend. He is to take
possession when we get to New York; he is mak-
ing the journey from Canada by train. He ex-
pects to cross the ocean in her; she is perfectly
sea-worthy.”
“Aunt Caro and—and the others” (I did not like
to mention Max) “will meet me in Boston ?" I in-
quired eagerly. “But you telegraphed them to do
so, of course!"
“Of course," was the brief answer.
“Shall we arrive in a few hours ?" I asked. “I
58


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
am afraid that they must be very anxious. Haven't
we been a long time on the way ? I spoke nervously.
I began to feel strangely ill at ease.
Mr. Lannion rose, and coming to my side laid his
hand upon my forehead. "If you begin to fret," he
said reprovingly, "your fever will return. Try to
wait patiently; there's a dear little girl.”
"I don't wish to be disagreeable when you have
been so kind,” I said apologetically. “Forgive me,
please. Of course I will wait.” I wished to cry, the
tears were uncomfortably near.
Mr. Lannion brought a camp-chair and placing it
beside my berth sat down. Then he would have
taken my hands in his, but I drew them away. I
had no desire to be treated like a sick child and
soothed to sleep.
"I thank you for your visit,” I said, “but I think
I will say good-night.”
He smiled tolerantly. “You poor little thing," he
said gently, "your nerves are on edge from dulness.
I wish you understood Loison’s patois. If you did
you might amuse yourself talking to her—not that
she is very amusing. Should you like to go on deck
for an hour? Loison shall roll you in blankets and
I will carry you up."
“Yes," I said eagerly, “but I prefer to dress first.
Ask her to bring me my things, please.”.
“I am so very sorry,” said Mr. Lannion. “I really
hardly know how to tell you what has happened. It
is so annoying, yet so ridiculously unbelievable!
The truth is these people are idiotically supersti-
tious—they thought bad luck attached to your pretty
clothes. Loison made them up into a bundle, weighted
it, and threw it overboard."
I laughed, then remembered that my lace frock
had been Mr. Errol's gift, and became grave. Mr.
Lannion watched me keenly. He looked anxious,
59


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"It does not matter," I said hastily, unwilling to
distress my rescuer by letting him see my regret.
"I shall have plenty of new things here for you by
to-morrow night,” said Mr. Lannion.
I stared at him in surprise. “You are very kind”
-I spoke a trifle stifly—“but my aunt and my maid
will have thought of all that; they will bring what
is necessary." Then, thinking I had perhaps ap-
peared ungrateful, I added: “They will realize my
need of a travelling dress, Mr. Lannion, but I thank
you for your thoughtfulness all the same."
He went to the port-hole and stood looking out.
“What about going on deck ?” he asked. “Will
you try it ?”
I thought he felt hurt, and not wishing to be un-
gracious, I accepted his suggestion. “I should like
it very much," I said. "I suppose we shall see the
lights of Boston soon. Are we entering the harbor ?
Is that the reason there is so little motion ?"
He did not speak for a moment; then he said, as
if he had not heard my questions: “On second
thoughts, I think you had better not make the effort
to-night. You are still weak.”
There came a sharp knock at the door and he was
called away, and again I began to wonder over the
length of time spent in making so short a trip. It
was unaccountable; so unaccountable that I grew
alarmed as I pondered. It was not like Katie to
submit to being parted from her bairn so long. And
easily as Aunt Caro took most things, she must be dis-
turbed by my present situation. The more I thought,
the more bewildered I became. I longed to question
Loison who had returned and was now seated by the
open port-hole, but she understood only enough Eng-
lish to take my orders. Should I send for Mr. Lan-
nion and ask him to tell me plainly why we had been
so long on the way?
60


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
My feelings toward Mr. Lannion puzzled me.
When he was present I believed in him. Some-
thing about him-his splendid physique, perhaps
gave me confidence. I had been guarded and cared
for all my life and he took charge of me in the way
to which I had ever been accustomed. Now that I :
had commenced to analyze my feelings—a task quite
new to me-I could not account for the sensation of
distrust that assailed me in his absence. This had
been previously so vague that it had passed un-
noticed. I strove to push it away as ungrateful; it
but returned with renewed strength. A hundred
ways in which Max and Katie might have got to
me rushed into my mind. In a few moments my
imagination had conjured up and overcome every
obstacle that could have arisen to keep them. At last
I was sure that something was being hidden from
me some awful tidings of disaster.
"I want Mr. Lannion,” I said imperiously. "Please
tell him to come quickly.”
Loison rose and looked at me stolidly, but she did
not leave the cabin. I repeated my order, speaking
very slowly. I thought that she did not understand.
She came to the berth and arranged my covering
gently. There was an odd look of pity in her usually
expressionless eyes. Moved by a sudden impulse
by gratitude for her faithful care-I patted her
swarthy cheek, smiling up at her.
“Good Loison !" I said softly, "you have been so
kind. I hope to give you something pretty when my
aunt comes for me. Do you understand me, Loison ?
You are to choose what you will have." I repeated
my words in French, taking great pains to speak
clearly. “Do you understand how much I wish to
thank you, Loison ?” She nodded. “And now call
Mr. Lannion, please.”
She eyed me strangely for a moment; she looked at
61


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
the door, then back at me. She opened her lips, as
if about to speak, then closing them firmly, left the
cabin. Presently Mr. Lannion entered.
“What can I do for you ?” he inquired.
I wondered why he never called me by my name.
I asked him. “Have you forgotten my name, Mr.
Lannion ?" I spoke irritably.
“A foolish little question from a very weary little
girl," was the good-tempered answer. “But you are
over-excited. I will bring something to put you to
sleep.”
"I wish to remain awake,” I said, with childish
imperiousness. "I want to be ready for Aunt Caro
and—and Max” (I colored hotly) “when they arrive.”
· "Plenty of time for a nap first," said Mr. Lan-
nion composedly. “You will want to feel strong and
bright to go ashore.”
He left the room, returning in a few moments
with what he said was a sleeping draught. I was
already ashamed of my distrust. He was so good-
natured, so friendly, so kind. Yet I hated to drink
the mixture he held persuasively to my lips. What
if I slept too long? I pushed the glass away.
“No, no," I insisted, "I don't wish to sleep heavily.
I must not keep them waiting."
The gray eyes looked steadily into mine, and I
suddenly wished to please, to be obedient.
"That is a good child,” he said approvingly, as I
meekly swallowed the stuff. “And you may sleep
peacefully, for there is no man living who would
not be willing to wait-for you."
This pretty speech amused me and made me feel
at ease. Such foolish, affectionate admiration was
the atmosphere to which I was accustomed. I
smiled.
"You treat me like a child,” I said. "First the
bitter medicine and then the sugar! But you have
62


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
been good to me, and my people all will thank you.
Good-night."
I awoke at sunrise. The curtain of the port-hole
was drawn, but I knew that the day was fine, for the
reflection of the sunlit water danced upon the ceiling.
Loison was sound asleep on the lounge. I lay still,
fearing I might wake her should I rise and peep out.
Then to my dismay I noticed that the schooner was
still under way; it rushed along briskly, with steady
keel. I watched Loison with nervous eagerness, wish-
ing that she would wake. Surely in another moment
the sails would be furled and the anchor dropped !
I strained my ears, listening breathlessly whenever
the soft pad, pad, of a sailor's quiet footfall sounded
overhead. But I heard only the customary noises,
the creaking of the cordage, the flapping of the
sails, the occasional hoarse commands of the captain,
and the ripple of the water along the sides.
All my doubts of the past evening swept back, and,
forgetting the sleeping Loison, I slipped from my
berth, ran to the port-hole, drew aside the curtain
and looked out. It was a very beautiful morning.
Too beautiful, since so clear a sunrise betokened
clouds before night. The water was ruffled by a
breeze from the east, and the vessel ran before it
gayly. By afternoon, I thought, the sky would be
gray, and the breeze might develop into a gale. To
the south I saw land—then Loison's hand was upon
my shoulder, and she drew me away in grave, though
ent, disap Loison ?'y berthind, readjus not to get hiri.
“Boston, Loison ?” I asked, pointing landward, as
she led me back to my berth.
But she shook her head and, readjusting the cur-
tain, gave me to understand that I was not to get up
again. I did not disobey. My mind was in a whirī.
If we were not approaching Boston, then where were
63


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
discomf listening for ith me atestion. Heftast I sent
we? Not at sea, surely; that, the motion of the vessel
betrayed. Directly I had had my breakfast I sent
for Mr. Lannion to ask this question. He told Loison
that he would be with me at once. I waited and
waited, listening for his coming with ever-increasing
discomfort and impatience. But the moments grew
into hours, the boat still sped onward, impelled by
the fast freshening breeze, and it was not until eleven
o'clock that he tapped at my door. He made no
apology for his tardy answer to my summons.
“You must have an early luncheon,” he said, after
bidding me good-morning. "Loison tells me that
you woke before dawn. And you must try to sleep
all the afternoon, so that you may feel strong and
well when we land to-night."
"To-night!" I exclaimed in relief. “Oh, I am
so glad. And at what time, Mr. Lannion ?""
"Quite late," he said. He drew up a chair and sat
down. "I have a confession to make,” he continued,
"and I hope that you won't be displeased. I have
full warrant for what I am doing from”—he looked
away for an instant, hesitating—"from the highest
authority.”
“Aunt Caro and—and Mr. Errol ?” I asked,
meaning Max.
“We were in Boston harbor the night that you
had fever,” he said, not answering my question di-
rectly, "and it was thought best not to move you. I
could not wait, so I was permitted to keep you with
me. The little voyage has done you good.”
"I do not understand," I said, bewildered. “Did
they come on board ?”
"No, they were not in Boston. Everything was
arranged by telegrams."
"By telegrams !" I exclaimed. "But where are
they to meet me, then ?”
“They are lending you to me for a little while,"
64


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
said Mr. Lannion. He looked at me very steadily
as he spoke. “I am taking you home with me. I
hope that you may not object to going."
I was silent. I was weak, and disappointment
brought the tears to my eyes. Of what was Aunt
Caro thinking, to allow me to visit the home of this
stranger ? And it did not seem possible that Max
would consent to this separation. We were but just
engaged.
Mr. Lannion watched me closely. “It is a visit
of charity," he said, his harsh voice tuned to a low
key. “There is a young girl living with me who is
bedridden—my cousin's wife. She is but twenty-
three, yet she may never hope to run about again.
It is thought that she cannot last the year out. I
hope that you will not grudge her a little of your
sunshine. To have you with her will brighten, cheer
her more than I can say.”
I swallowed hard to keep back the lump that
had, somehow, risen to choke me. Of course if I
could do anything for a poor suffering girl-still-
yet-
“Katie?” I questioned in faltering tones.
"Your maid?” said Mr. Lannion hastily. "Yes,
you will have your maid.” He did not notice my
distress, apparently. "Here is Loison with your
broth. Shall I feed you? No? You prefer not?
Very well; but I shall remain until you have drunk
every drop.”
The disappointment, though great, had not robbed
me of my appetite, and the thought that I should
see Katie and of course Max-that very night
gave me comfort and steadied me. Indeed I was so
hungry that I took all the broth. Mr. Lannion's
rather grim face softened as he watched me.
"I have been but a dull companion, I fear," he
said, and he sighed. "Men of thirty-seven must seem
65


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I was happy. I had suddenly realized that Max
could at once find his way to Ornith Farm. And I
promised myself to do all that I could to cheer the
suffering invalid. I might in this way make some
small return for Mr. Lannion's kindness.
Presently I wondered at the drowsy feeling that
was creeping over me I had felt very wide awake
but a moment before my head was heavy with sleep
—very heavy-


I slept long, not waking until night had come.
The vessel was darting forward like an arrow. The
water hissed against the sides as we rushed along.
A gray twilight filled the little cabin. The glass of
the port-hole was closed, to keep out the keen east
wind that followed so sharply, but the curtain was
pushed aside. Loison was not with me. I felt as
dull and heavy as when I had fallen asleep, quite
unrefreshed by my long nap. I lay still, staring
dully into vacancy, my mind torpid. An hour or
more slipped by before my customary alertness began
to return, and when Loison entered I did not speak,
as usual. By and by I became aware that the odd
gray light was caused by the moon, shining dimly
through a veil of clouds. Then I realized the late-
ness of the hour, and a rush of delightful excitement
roused me.
"Loison," I cried, sitting up in my berth, “Loison,
we must be nearly there!" Then I sank back, un-
accountably sick and giddy.
The woman came quickly to my side and bathed
my temples with ice-cold water. This refreshed me,
and I thanked her gratefully. “Kind Loison !” I
said.
Presently she brought me a cup of black coffee,
which she made me drink. I did not wish it, feeling
a distaste for anything of the kind. Her real anxiety,
however, made me swallow the strong stuff rather than
distress her. She arranged my pillows with affec-
tionate solicitude, and, seating herself beside my
berth, began to chant her strange lullaby. I sang the
68


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
pathetic melody with her, weaving through it trills
and swinging cadences as they floated into my
mind. But soon I was dreamily chanting the old
ballad of Mary Hamilton, setting its tragic words
to the plaintive minor of Loison's slumber song.
We sang softly, very softly, Loison and I, our united
voices blending with the song outside, the shrill
whistle of the pursuing wind, the sharp hiss of the
water as the vessel's prow cut through it, and the
insistent creak of the timbers peevishly urging the
sails to do their best.
I sang the ballad through—those verses of it that
Katie had taught me—then Loison, continuing her
chant, recommenced. After a time the vessel's mad
race slackened, soon we slipped along very quietly.
“Rise up, rise up, Mary Hamilton,"
I sang, and as I sang I listened to the sounds with-
out:
“Rise up, and dress ye fine,
For you maun gang to Edinbruch
And stand-
I broke off abruptly and sat up.
"Loison,” I cried, “we are stopping! We must be
close to land!”
The usually impassive half-breed started, and even
in the murky light I could see that it was in alarm.
She leaned forward, and taking both my hands in
hers, murmured what sounded like a prayer. I
scarcely heeded, so absorbed was I in listening for
the dropping of the anchor, the lowering of the sails.
This happened soon, and was done quietly; so quietly,
indeed, that I wondered at the men's skill and silence.
I had fancied that sailors always sang or were noisy
when at work,
69


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
happy, "departing and ashes was caused very gently,
lack of admiration surprised me. I had fancied that
the gay garish colors would please her. She dressed
me as slowly as possible, seizing every pretext for
delay, her dark face growing more melancholy each
moment. At last, however, I was quite ready, my
toilet being completed by a yachting cap as vulgarly
showy as the rest of the suit.
"Dear Loison," I said, and I spoke very gently,
thinking that her sadness was caused by our ap-
proaching parting and ashamed that I could feel only
happy, "dear Loison, I must say good-bye, but I want
your promise to come and see me soon. All my family
will wish to thank you for having been so good to me.
And—but wait a moment !”
I hastened into the main cabin to look for Mr.
Lannion. I had remembered my penniless condition,
and that I must borrow of my host in order to fee
Loison. He was standing by the steps that led up-
ward to the deck, waiting for me. Laying my finger
upon my lips, I motioned to him to remain where he
was, and crossed to his side.
"Hush !" I whispered. “I don't wish Loison to
hear.” And I told him what I had come for. Then
I went quickly to a sofa and sat down; standing was
impossible.
Mr. Lannion looked grave. “You are very weak,"
he said.
"It is nothing," I said hastily, and at once con-
sulted him as to the amount I should give Loison.
"Five dollars ?” I questioned, looking at him ear-
nestly. “Would five dollars be right, do you think?
Or should it be ten?” I puckered my brows; I
thought hard. I had never feed any one. That sort
of thing had always been done by my elders. But I
had heard the subject discussed. To give too much
was vulgar and did harm; so Aunt Caro had said. I
turned to my companion, seeking advice. He was
71


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
watching me in a most singular manner. "I wish
that you would tell me what I ought to give, Mr. Lan-
nion," I persisted. “Five dollars, ten-how much?
She has not only been a good nurse, she has been
kind as well. I like her. How much should I give ?"
"How much ?” he echoed. “As much as you please,
of course. Don't fret about what you ought to give,
but do as you like."
He drew a quantity of money from his pockets as
he spoke, both bills and silver, and, sorting it, made
several piles upon the table. I marvelled at the
swift dexterity of his large hands and their neat
precision of movement, as I stared up at him dis-
appointed, frowning. I was accustomed to having
advice showered upon me. I had never before asked
for it in vain. An over-petted child, I showed my
vexation plainly. I stamped my foot with impatience.
"I think you are unkind, unfriendly!” I exclaimed
pettishly. "I ask for help, and you give me-noth-
“Nothing ?” He pointed at the little heaps of
money and raised his eyebrows, smiling quizzically.
“I call that a great deal, and it is yours.”
"Yes, yes," I said, still more impatiently; "of
course my aunt will wish me to borrow all I need,
but "
I broke off, forgetting, in this necessity for de-
ciding alone, the perfectly useless person beside me.
I would give five dollars. Would Loison prefer to
have it in bills or in silver ? I would not consult Mr.
Lannion again. As an adviser he was not to be re-
lied upon. I selected a two-dollar and a one-dollar
bill, two fifty and four twenty-five cent pieces.
My riddle solved, my conscience accused me of
rudeness; so I smiled as I said, glancing toward the
money still left on the table:
“Tom Tidler's ground! I have picked up my
ing.”
les five othecarily useless necessity
72


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
oy
handful of gold and silver, thank you. I have taken
five dollars."
“Ah, none for yourself !” was his comment. "Per-
haps you had better put a little silver into your own
pocket-I know that it is empty.” And he surveyed
my ugly, unbecoming suit with complacency.
"No, thanks," I said quickly; "Katie will have
brought me some. Do you think we shall find her
at Ornith Farm to-night?” (I could not believe that
she had arrived, yet had failed to meet me at this
landing-place.) Yes?” as he smiled reassuringly,
while he swept the money back into his pockets-
not altogether unwillingly, I thought. “Let us be off
at once! I will run and say good-bye to poor Loison."
My excitement was intense. I was so happy at
the prospect of seeing Max and my Katie—within
a short hour probably—that I was aggravated at the
lack of lightness in my limbs. They ought to have
shared my uplifted feeling. And Loison, whom I
found waiting for my return, looked as dull and heavy
as my body felt. I pressed the money into her hand,
then, yielding to one of my sudden impulses, gently
kissed her on each cheek.
"You have been so good to me!" I murmured.
“I wish you every happiness, dear Loison.”
She looked at me strangely. Were there tears in
her bright dark eyes? They were not so hard as
usual. She wrapped the silver that I had given her
in the two bills, twisting them tight. She opened the
port-hole and holding the little parcel in her open
palm, spat upon it, then dropped it into the waters of
the Sound. I stared in open-eyed wonder, but before
I could voice my surprise, she took a small bottle from
her bosom and motioned to me to remove my yachting
cap. I obeyed, swayed by the fierce excitement that
possessed her. She moistened her finger in the water
that the bottle contained and made the sign of the
773


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
cross upon my brow and breast. And I knew that
it was holy water, and that the poor creature was
striving to guard me from some dreaded evil. I laid
my hand upon her shoulder.
“Loison," I whispered, “why do you do this? Why
do you fear for me?"
She replaced the bottle in her breast and pointed
toward the door: “Loup-garou," she murmured in
smothered tones, and she began a prayer.
“Are you never coming, child ?” cried Mr. Lan-
nion, tapping imperiously, and he entered. He had
a cloak over his arm, and wore an overcoat and a
rough cap. He wrapped the cloak around me. “Pull
your cap on firmly,” he said. "I shall carry you;
you are not fit to walk.” He lifted me in his arms
as he spoke.
“One moment !” I cried; “I must speak to Loison.
I do not wish to be carried.”
I strove to regain my footing; I held out my hands
to Loison. Mr. Lannion paid no heed, but laugh-
ing good-humoredly, bore me swiftly through the
cabin and up the stairs. I looked back, waving a
farewell to the faithful half-breed. I was sorry for
her, and bewildered by her fears.
"Good-bye, Loison !” I cried. “Adieu! Que le
bon Dieu te protège.”
But she had fallen upon her knees and, her face
buried in her hands, was absorbed in prayer.


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
nearer, looked as if they might be the lurking-places
of unpleasant things. On one side, where the point
joined the shore, was a dance pavilion. Its heavy
shutters were closed, the many doors boarded up,
showing that the season of summer gayety was not
yet begun. Meant for pleasure, its barricaded con-
dition gave it a forlorn, deserted look. We did not
land at its dock. Our boat was run ashore below the
steep bank of the point. Hardly were Mr. Lannion
and I on land before the men were off again, making
their swift, almost silent, way back to the vessel.
And—through the odd gray light-I saw that those
on board were already preparing to resume their
journey.
“The carriage must be waiting for us,” said Mr.
Lannion, again lifting me in his strong arms. “The
road is very near," and he started up the bank.
"I don't see why I am so weak, I complained
fretfully. "I have not been ill long, and I have slept
so much.”
"Drugs affect some people in that way,” said Mr.
Lannion. “You will soon regain your strength.”
"Drugs ?" I repeated questioningly. “Why, I have
taken very little medicine, Mr. Lannion.”
“To be sure,” was the hasty answer; "you are
quite right. No medicine to speak of. I did not
think what I was saying. Let us rest a moment here"
(we had gained the top of the little hill). "You can
sit down on this rock—if you wish."
I caught his arm. "Look !" I whispered. “There
is something near that clump of trees.”
As I spoke the dark object detached itself, proving
to be a very tall man.
"What sharp eyes !” exclaimed Mr. Lannion, a
note of relief in his voice. “That you, Jasper ?”
as the man approached. “All well at the farm ?”
The man did not speak but grunted an affirmative.
76


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“This is Solomon Jasper,” said Mr. Lannion, not
as in introduction, but simply announcing a fact.
Solomon Jasper took off his hat and stood in an
attitude of stolid, yet respectful, attention. "He is
to be trusted.” Mr. Lannion spoke slowly, impres-
sively, as if wishing the apparently obtuse Solomon
Jasper to be aware of the compliment paid him.
"I trust him to look after my valuables." He stopped
speaking, and glanced from the man standing rigid
before us—a powerful, soldierly figure—to me, and
back again.
“Mr. Lannion is very fortunate," I murmured,
smiling. I did not know exactly what I ought to
say under the circumstances. “Trustworthy people
are rare, I am told.”
Mr. Lannion leaned over me. “Jasper shall carry
you now—if you prefer,” he whispered.
I was about to say no (I had a dislike to being
cared for by this strange-looking servant), when I
remembered my manners, and, realizing that Mr.
Lannion must himself be weary of the burden, con-
sented to the change. My decision pleased Mr. Lan-
nion. Solomon Jasper, picking me up as though I
were a doll, accepted it stolidly, showing neither
gratification nor distaste.
"Carefully, Jasper," warned Mr. Lannion as we
started. “She has been ill carry her smoothly."
Again Solomon Jasper grunted in response. I
looked up with youthful curiosity into his dark face.
I had thought him a negro, but I now saw from the
shape of his features that he was half Indian. He
was a handsome man, his expression gentle, almost
benevolent. Yet it was manifest, even to my un-
trained perceptions, that I was to him but a pack-
age of which he must be especially careful-a
breakable package, by which his master set great
store. This seemed odd to me, accustomed all my
gratificatiully, Jasperlen ill-canted in Tes Park face.
started.
Solomon Jasper posity into his from the
77


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
reach with the cod mo ang attitude a coachmar
life to being petted by the servants for my own
sake.
Mr. Lannion kept close beside us. It was as if
he had allowed his servant to carry me only to prove
his trust in him. And that Solomon Jasper con-
sidered it both a privilege and a compliment was clear.
He walked with much the same air of proud impor-
tance as does a dog intrusted with his master's
newspaper.
The high-road ran below the hill but a short dis-
tance from where we had landed, and here we found
a carriage, drawn by two powerful black horses. The
coach was handsome, the horses thoroughbred, but
the driver sat like a jockey, not as a coachman. The
careless, easy slouch of his attitude, the way he held
the reins, pleased mea Yorke. I got into the car-
riage with the comfortable conviction that we should
reach Ornith Farm soon, and safely. Mr. Lannion
bidding me curl myself up on the back seat and try
to sleep, placed himself opposite. Solomon Jasper
mounted the box beside the driver, and off we sped
through the night.
The carriage was of the best make; easy-running,
luxuriously cushioned. The horses' gait was delight-
ful—a long free stride. But I was painfully wide-
awake. Instead of trying to sleep, I stared eagerly
from the windows at the changing landscape, showing
dimly through the uncanny gloom. Mr. Lannion
watched me. His eyes seemed to catch what little
light there was and hold it; the gray pupils gleamed
strangely.
Presently we left the level road and began to mount
a hill. The horses took it with a rush; the driver
breathed them at the top. Then up another, and still
again-hills.
"Is it a mountain ?" I asked.
Mr. Lannion smiled. His teeth were as shining
78


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
indting me. arm-house MaMax might beighbors."
as his eyes. “Ornith Farm is at the very top,"
he said. “A broad plateau, not on the summit of
a mountain, but merely the highest bit of this hilly
country. You can see both the Sound and the Hud-
son River from there. The plateau is not very large,
but the farm is sufficiently so—about three hundred
acres. The fields belonging to it slope down to the
west, and there is a good bit of woodland. East of
the high-road-it runs on the verge of the plateau-
the land is little cultivated. The man who owns it
is a poor farmer. His house, over two miles distant,
is the nearest dwelling to mine. I have no neighbors.”
I listened with interest. Max might be able to
board at this farm-house-Max, who was even now
awaiting me. I moved restlessly from window to
window. Mr. Lannion noticed my impatience.
“We are nearly home,” he said.
The country, as we steadily surmounted hill after
hill, had grown more and more open. Few trees
were to be seen and no houses. The fields were
rough with boulders. By and by the road ran beneath
a high board fence. Close inside were many trees.
Their tops appeared above it—a black serried mass.
On the opposite side of the highway-to the east-
a low stone wall allowed the open country to be
plainly seen. It looked desolate enough; the gray
light showing a succession of bare hills, rolling away
into the shadowy distance like the billows that had
so lately threatened to engulf me.
Presently the carriage stopped before a plain farm
gate. Solomon Jasper got down and opened it, the
impatient horses pawing the gravel in their desire
to reach their stable. The driver soothed them with
low-toned remonstrances. His voice was pleasant,
gentle.
“Come, Sol, old man,” he drawled, as Solomon
slowly closed the gate behind us, “don't be too long,
79


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
will you? I guess these horses don't want to linger
much. And hear them puppies whinin' for their
freedom! I calliate they're about wild by now.”
The whining to which he alluded was the deep-
chested baying of fully grown dogs.
“Puppies ? I ejaculated in surprise. “What does
he mean, Mr. Lannion ?”
“Great Danes," my host explained. “They run
loose at night generally, but are chained now because
of our coming. They are rather savage, so I keep
them tied in the daytime. Cooper—the coachman-
has charge of them. They hear us now.”
“Are there many tramps about here?” I asked.
It seemed curious that such lazy creatures should
wish to climb the hills. “Do you need fierce dogs
for protection, Mr. Lannion ?”
“Ķes," was the brief answer. "See, there are the
lights of the house !"
I looked but failed to see the lights he mentioned.
Instead I saw, on either side of the avenue, a row
of tall elms. Between their stately trunks, to the
southward, a stretch of lawns or meadows; to the
north, a confused mass of low bushes and a thick line
of hedge. In another moment we had stopped on a
broad sweep of gravel before a large house. I had
not time to do more than glance at the exterior, when
Mr. Lannion lifted me from the carriage and carried
me up the steps into the hall.
“We must be very quiet,” he whispered, his lips
almost touching my cheek, "and not wake poor
Aileen."
The place was dimly lighted. We had entered
under the stairway. The hall ran the length of the
house, which was built in the simple old fashion,
with two rooms on either side. At the other end was
a glass door leading out upon a veranda—this I dis-
covered later. The doors of the rooms-over-tall
Instead Imenis. Betten of laww bushes ad stopped I had
I looke saw, ove opeen theirs or meado a thick ling
80


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
and made of shining dark wood—were closed. Above
each was a small shield of the same shining wood,
and upon each shield was carved a flight of birds.
Over the glass door ran a scroll—or banner-of
wood upon which was carved, in German text: “Wel-
come to Ornith Farm.”
But in spite of this cordial greeting the hall was
gloomy, for while an old-fashioned design had been
followed, the old-fashioned measurements had been
disregarded. The ceiling was too high and the doors
too tall; giving an air of compression, of narrowness
to the whole. Yet it was really very wide. The
shining tables and settles, ranged on either hand, were
separated by a broad space of the heavily carpeted
floor. (A carpet as soft as moss and as unobtrusive
in its dark green tint.) Perched high above one of
the tables, a great carved eagle stared vindictively
at his own fierce image reflected in the black-framed
mirror hanging opposite. The few pictures, engrav-
ings—all landscapes—had, like the mirror, dark
frames, and but served to increase the dull effect of
the gray painted walls.
I glanced about me with swift, eager scrutiny,
looking for the dear familiar faces that I had so
surely expected to find. But the sombre hall was
empty. Mr. Lannion set me gently on my feet. He
had possessed himself of one of my hands; he held
it firmly.
"Katie," I asked, "Katiewhere is she, Mr.
Lannion ?"
His grasp upon my hand tightened; he put his
arm around me, drawing me to him. Then, bending
his tall head, he whispered gently, soothingly, as
though speaking to a terrified child:
“She could not get here to-night; she is coming
to-morrow, to-morrow morning. Hush,” as great
tears of disappointment welled into my eyes, “hush,
81


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
you must not cry!—no, no, you must go to bed, and
to sleep. Then you will be able to welcome your
old nurse cheerfully—when she arrives.” And he
carried me up the staircase. "If you cry you may
wake poor Aileen,” he said.
I covered my face with my hands, and bowing my
head upon his shoulder, made a desperate effort
to stifle the sobs of homesickness that threatened
to rob me of my self-control. Mr. Lannion hasten-
ing his steps, established me presently in an easy-
chair.
“Get her to bed quickly, Delcie,” he commanded
in low tones. “I will bring something to quiet her
nerves. She is worn out by the journey, poor little
thing."
“Yes, sir," came the answer in a rich sweet voice;
"the young lady shall be in nightly dishabill di-
rectly."
Taught by the boys to consider tears an inexcus-
able weakness, and told by my nurse that Martha
Washington never cried, I had always tried to en-
dure my childish hurts—and woes—with stoicism.
True to this early training, I hurriedly dried my
eyes and smiled kindly at the comely maid—a young
colored woman. Speak I could not. But she under-
stood my wish to greet her civilly, and removing my
flashy cap, said caressingly:
“What luxuriant golden-tressed curls! Let Del-
cievere brush them out soft and comfortingly. There,
there," as Mr. Lannion left the room, “don't injure
those sweet blue eyes with weeping! Delcievere will
bathe them presently."
She spoke quite without racial accent, but with
the pleasant drawl and soft intonation peculiar to
her people. Her odd choice of words and her quaint
manner-she treated me as though I were a little
girl-amused and diverted me. In watching her and
82


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
examining my new surroundings, I found it not so
hard to wait until the morrow for Max—and my
Katie. I had Mr. Lannion's assurance as to their
certain arrival in the morning. I smiled again at
my good-looking attendant, as she began to brush my
hair.
“This is a pleasant room,” I said.
It was a hall bedroom of good size, with two win-
dows opposite the door of entrance. The cottage fur-
niture was pretty, the blue and gray carpet very thick
and soft, and the frieze of the blue wall-paper ex-
tremely curious. This was a blue arabesque on a gray
background that, when looked at quickly, resolved
itself here and there into the number seven. Ex-
amined steadily, the graceful pattern held; the sevens
disappeared, absorbed in the general grouping. I
looked away, then glanced back so quickly that Delcie,
startled, brushed my hair awry. The sevens had all
started out again.
“Yes, I see that they are observable even to a
stranger," was the maid's gentle comment. “The
room is called 'seven up.' Its supposed by some to
be a lucky number, but persons who, like me, studies
Webster's unabridged, soon assimilates contempt for
such fool thoughts. Yes," she continued, gratified
by my interest, "yes, indeed, I do endeavor to
promulgate my vocabulary. And, lawsy me”—with
a sudden relapse into vulgar speech, and giggling
mischievously—“Solomon and Zayma and little
Nanny don't scarcely dare open their mouths when
I'm 'round !” Recovering her dignity she added,
speaking with pitying condescension, "But 'cepting
Solomon (and he's half Injun), they're nothing but
Southern niggers; and us Northern colored ought to
have toleration for their ignorant ways, and set 'em
an example of elegant talking. I wish there was
more here to educate—but Mr. Lannion he won't
I'm 'round!'h pitying condenes, they're not bought to
83


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
have many domestics 'round. We work hard-we do
get double pay, howsomenever!”
I suggested that in a small family, like Mr. Lan-
nion's, few servants were needed. Delcie shook her
head.
"Mr. Lannion's home," she said, "is chock-full of
invalidism and gentlemen friends staying all the
year 'round. Dr. Despard,” she pointed toward the
east wall of the room with her brush, “is in there
afflicted with some incurable misery. Mr. Lannion
occupies the other corner apartment,” motioning
toward the opposite side, "where he's at this moment
compounding a sleep mixture for,” She hesitated,
her eyes met mine in the mirror before which I was
sitting. Her expression was very strange—she looked
frightened.
"Miss Carmichael,” I said, rounding out her sen-
tence for her, and thinking that her sudden alarmed
embarrassment was caused by not knowing my name.
She neither repeated nor used it, but placing the
brush upon the dressing-table, she opened an armoire
and then a chiffonnier, seeking what I needed for
the night. Both receptacles seemed filled to over-
flowing with tawdry finery of the same style as that
which I was wearing. Delcievere began again to
talk.
“Yes, Dr. Despard occupies that corner room," she
said, speaking a trifle nervously, “and Mrs. Despard
the two adjoining. Ornith Farm's almost a mansion.
Three apartments to each side of this upper hall,
yours making the seventh. I've never been to the
third story. (Solomon-and, sometimes, Zayma-
has it in charge.) Not that I care to; no, indeed!
I've not the remotest interest in third-story-no-account
part of dwellings.” And tossing her head with
assumed indifference, she went to fetch the sleeping
draught.
84


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Nonsent my mass and
The clocks throughout the house chimed the half-
hour, half past one, as I laid my weary head upon
my pillow. I felt very miserable; everything seemed
swinging to and fro; it was as if I were still at sea.
When Delcievere held the sleeping potion to my lips,
I pushed it away. I wondered that Mr. Lannion
wished to dose me when he thought drugs weakening.
“Pray imbibe it, like a nice little lady!" coaxed
Delcie. "It's sweet and salubrious."
"No," I said decidedly, "I don't want it. Please
take it away.”
“Lawsy me!” she ejaculated, “where to? Mr.
Lannion says you must."
Over-fatigue, disappointment, and the disagreeable
sensations of dizziness and nausea made me petulant,
forgetful of my manners.
"Nonsense !” I cried, and springing out of bed,
seized the glass and flung the mixture away. “There,”
I said, putting the empty wine-glass down upon the
table, “that's settled. You need not tell Mr. Lannion
if you are afraid. I will, in the morning.”
“My, my!" she murmured under her breath, hold-
ing up her hands in real dismay and glancing fear-
fully toward the door. "Lawsy me, but he'll be
mad!”
"Nonsense !" I repeated, closing my eyes to avoid
seeing the swaying furniture and the shifting sevens
of the frieze, "nonsense.”
The hoarse barking of dogs was now heard close
at hand. The Great Danes had been unchained and
were approaching the house. It occurred to me that
they must be very annoying to the invalid, Aileen.
I said so to the maid who, since my act of insubordi-
nation, had sat in awed silence by my bed.
“Mr. Lannion begged me to be very quiet when
we came in, so that we should not disturb any one.
But those dogs would wake the dead," I said.
85


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“We're all fully accustomed," was the subdued
answer. “Mrs. Lucas would sleep through discharg-
ing catapults, and Dr. Despard slumbers only by
artificial stimulants."
“Mrs. Lucas ?” I inquired.
“Yes,” said Delcie, nodding her head disapprov-
ingly, “Mrs. Malcolm Lucas, called Aileen; and her
marriage was not compounded in heaven-no. Mr.
Malcolm Lucas,” she lowered her voice to a whisper,
“is cousin to Mr. Lannion—but he's also Satan's
sure-enough son. And that's one reason,” she added
confidentially, “why I've decided against matrimonial
alliances. First, it was through fear of Him growing
aged. And an old nigger”—relapsing into plain
speech—“is just the one thing I can't stand. Lawsy,
no! Old niggers do look so for all the world like old
monkeys. Whether," speaking meditatively, "it's
the grizzled hair or the squizzled-up lineaments, I
can't just exactly determine. Anyway, since being
under the same roof with Mr. Malcolm Lucas (he's
abroad now), I've decided ultimately against the state.
And so I shall inform all my gentleman friends.”
There came a gentle tap at the door.
"Mr. Lannion ?" breathed Delcie, with a terrified
look at me.
I closed my eyes in answer to her unspoken appeal,
and peeping through my lashes saw her open the door,
finger on lips.
"Hush !" she whispered in a tone of respectful
entreaty. "Pray hush, sir. She's just floating
slumberward.”
“She took what I sent ?" asked Mr. Lannion. His
voice had a keen note of anxiety.
"She disposed of every superfluous drop, sir," was
the answer.
"Don't forget that you are to remain with her,"
he commanded.
86


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“No, sir,” said Delcievere meekly, and closing the
door with an air of intense relief, she returned to my
side.
Presently she began to sing—in sweet low tones—
the hymns of our church. And in spite of the east
wind's keening cry, and the baying of the dogs, I
soon fell asleep.
87


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Katie might come early. I must be ready to meet
them. I glanced at the clock—it was half past nine !
Distressed to find it so late, I made haste. I disliked
being again obliged to wear clothes not my own, and
struggled against this feeling. I must not be un-
grateful.
The yachting suit had disappeared, but the gown
Delcie had chosen was no less ugly. A thin summer
silk, plaided in the same garish shades of blue, and
trimmed with a quantity of beaded passementerie.
Because of Max's coming, this tawdry frock annoyed
me doubly.
I was again at the window, scanning the threaten-
ing heavens, when Delcie knocked. She was pleased
to find me up and dressed, and said that she would
fetch my breakfast at once. I inquired eagerly about
the time that I might expect Katie, and learned that
Mr. Lannion had himself gone to the station for her.
"Mr. Lannion will not return before mid-day,"
said Delcie, in her sweet drawl, “and Mrs. Lucas
anticipates the agreeability of the favor of a visit
from-” She hesitated, then, turning to leave the
room, added : “After breakfast, of course.”
"My name is Carmichael," I said, astonished at
her lack of memory. And I repeated, “Carmichael,
Miss Carmichael, Delcie.”
She smiled vaguely, and saying something about
bringing breakfast directly, slipped away. When she
returned and, later, found fault with my want of
appetite for I was yet too giddy to care for food —
she was still unable to remember my name, and
showed much skill in avoiding the necessity of
using it.
"I'll call Master Rodgers,” she said, accenting the
d heavily. "He'll enjoy introducing a sweet young
lady to Mrs. Lucas and to his mamma." And pick-
ing up the tray, she left the room.
89


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
After a few moments I grew tired of waiting for
Master Rodgers and opening my door looked out. I
found that all the rooms were provided with outer
doors of dark green baize. Mine was fastened back,
as was that of the room nearest the top of the stairs;
the others were closed. This upper hall was suffi-
ciently well lighted by the rows of windows on the
staircase landings, both above and below, but it was
not a bright place. Perhaps the dull gray of both
carpet and walls was responsible for its gloomy as-
pect--and the day itself was sombre.
Presently I heard subdued whistling from below,
and in another instant a small boy appeared at the
head of the stairs. He was somewhat out of breath
from whistling and running, and when he caught
sight of me he seemed to lose what little remained
to him, for he gasped and stood still. He was a thin
freckled-faced boy, with sparse sandy hair, flattened
down in points on his forehead, pale blue eyes under
sandy eyebrows and lashes, and insignificant features.
But he looked very intelligent; and the expression
in his pale blue eyes as he stared at me was one of
kindly if over-eager curiosity. He wore gray knick-
erbockers, a gray blouse with a leather belt, gray
stockings, and stout shoes. The only bit of color
about him was a necktie of the same garish blue as
out noddechat I was retie of the he only bibelt gray
I nodded to him, smiling reassuringly, and stepped
out into the hall, closing my door behind me. Look-
ing much pleased, he returned my smile, displaying
two very large front teeth, and advanced quickly to
meet me.
“Yes,” he said, as though answering a question,
"I got 'em late. Tombstones, the fellers who come
here call 'em. I'm nine, I am, and I don't go to
school. Pop teaches me when he's well enough, and
when he isn't, I just read.” Having poured forth
90


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
this information, he paused to take breath and then
said, with a humorous smile: “Now, I guess I've told
all you were goin' to ask, but if I haven't, just fire
away and we'll get through with it."
I smiled again, much amused. “I am used to
boys," I said. "I wouldn't have asked any ques-
tions.”
"Most people start in directly. First teeth, then :
school. Say, are you any relation to Grace Darling ?
I've got a picture of her saving lives in her boat.
You don't look like her; her hair's black. Any re-
lation ?" I shook my head. Master Rodgers looked
disappointed. “Grace Darling had grit, Pop says,
pure grit clean through. Sure you're no relation ?”
“Quite sure," I said. “Why did you think I
was ?"
"Same name," was the prompt reply. But as I
stared at him in astonishment, he became very red
and, looking much confused, said uncomfortably
that he guessed Aileen was waiting and would I please
come along?
I followed to the door nearest the staircase, at
which he knocked, opening it immediately after and
thrusting in his head.
“She's here,” he announced in a hoarse whisper,
and flinging the door wide, motioned me to enter.
I did so and found myself in a large room with
windows to the north and west. A wood fire smol-
dered in the grate and, because of the chill of the
day, its warmth was pleasing.
The room was luxuriously furnished, but here, as
everywhere, dull tints had been chosen. The bed
was opposite the fire, so that its occupant might watch
the cheery blaze and at the same time command the
fine prospect from the western windows. For, the
land sloping away sharply, one could see the far-
distant Hudson, like a sword without its scabbard,
91


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
traversing the landscape. To the north, clumps of
trees, planted to protect the house from cold winds,
shut off the view.
But all this I did not see until later. For the
door opening toward the bed served as a screen, and
my attention was at first arrested by the extreme
beauty of a silver crucifix that hung above a little
table or altar-placed against the south wall. The
crucifix was of medium size; the figure of Christ—the
White Christ-50 wonderfully, so exquisitely carved
that, as I gazed, there came a constriction in my
throat. The patient endurance of a supreme anguish
was so marvellously expressed in the droop of head
and limbs.
The table, covered with a richly embroidered cloth,
held a silver bowl filled with flowers, and two tall
candlesticks of silver, each furnished with a thick
wax candle. These were burning. But while I
looked at crucifix and altar, Master Rodgers closed
the door, and the invalid whom I was to cheer smiled
at me from among her pillows—scarcely less white
than they.
My heart went out to the poor young creature the
moment her gentle blue eyes met mine, and I was
ashamed that I had grudged her one week of my
happy, active life. She held out a kind hand to me,
and told me how glad she was that I had come to
stay at Ornith Farm.
(We shall try to make you enjoy yourself,” she
said wistfully, her soft eyes upraised to mine. “I
hope you won't judge of the place by the way it
looks to-day. After the storm is over we shall have
lovely summer weather again.” She sighed as she
ceased speaking, and pushed back the braid of thick
red-gold hair that had fallen over her shoulder, as
if its weight wearied her. Save for her splendid
hair and sweet eyes, she was without beauty, her
92


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
features being too large. But her expression was very
lovely; she looked both amiable and intelligent.
Meanwhile, Master Rodgers had propelled a chair
toward me, butting it with his head as he shoved it
along. "I'm an elephant,” he announced, as it
reached the desired position.
“And I am the Queen of Siam ?” I asked, when
I thanked him and sat down.
To my surprise the question seemed to alarm him,
for instead of answering my nonsense, he backed
away from me until he had put the width of the bed
between us. From this vantage-point he stared at
me with doubting eyes, evidently in fear of what
might be about to happen. And the sweet-faced in-
valid appeared to share the boy's incomprehensible
dread. A deep pink stained her hitherto pale cheeks;
she stretched out her hand to me again, as if in un-
conscious appeal.
"I am going to ask a favor—a very great favor,"
she said.
Her voice shook; I saw that she spoke with effort.
I took her hand and pressed it gently. “Ask what
you please," I said. "I shall be glad to do anything
that I can for you."
"It is just that you will let me call you”-she
hesitated, her color deepened—“just that you will let
me call you—Aimée; it is such a pretty name !"
“Certainly,” I said, “if that pleases you better
than my own.” I wondered at her strange whim,
although willing to gratify her.
“Cousin Rollis had a very dear friend," she went
on nervously, her eyes downcast, “a Mrs. Robert
Darling, of Darlington—" She flashed a quick
glance at me and became silent.
“Yes ?" I said inquiringly. I was interested—re-
membering Master Rodgers strange questions in the
hall.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
re-
“She-she died,” faltered the invalid, “quite re-
cently."
"Indeed ?" I murmured.
“Yes,” Aileen continued, speaking hurriedly, "and
if you don't mind I would like to pretend that you
are her only child, here on a visit to Cousin Rollis-
who is your guardian, dear Aimée.” She paused,
quite out of breath. Very much fluttered, as was
but natural, I thought, at making so curious a request.
"Very well,” I said, "if that would amuse you, I
am quite willing.”
A heavy sigh, as of relief, caused me to look
across the bed at the boy. Round-eyed, he smiled
at me in radiant approval of my decision, the two
large front teeth making his smile doubly telling.
"Bully for you!” he said, and nodded his head at
me many times with great energy.
"Jolly little Chinese mandarin!” said the invalid
fondly, then thanked me for yielding to her wishes.
“And you must call me Aileen,” she added, "not Mrs.
Lucas—that is so formal. And you shall be Miss
Aimée Darling—while you are at Ornith Farm.”
"To everybody?" I asked in surprise, and secretly
dismayed by the idea.
"Of course,” said Aileen. "It will be such fun !”
She laughed and clapped her hands, as if greatly
amused. But this gayety jarred upon me. It seemed
forced. “Go ask your mother to come now, Roddy
dear," she continued, turning to the boy. “Tell her
I want to introduce her to Miss Darling."
During the few moments that followed Aileen
appeared at a loss for conversation, and when Roddy
returned bringing his mother, she showed much em-
barrassment in introducing us.
“This is Miss Darling, Mrs. Robert Darling's
daughter, dear Henrietta," she said, and again the
red flamed up in her thin cheeks. "Cousin Rollis has
94


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
to be pleased by this announcement, and bowed,
murmuring I knew not what. I felt out of place,
uncomfortable.
“Rodgers," repeated Mrs. Despard, "with a d.”
“Oh, mother !” exclaimed Roddy, in remonstrance.
His thin face was very red, and he stood first upon
one leg then upon the other, after the manner of little
boys when overcome by great personal embarrass- .
ment.
“Rodgers," continued his mother pompously, “after
my mother's father-and with a d.”
“Well,” burst out Roddy in sudden desperation,
"have it your own way, then! Pop says the alphabet's
free to all. Put in four ds if you want, or a whole
million—I don't care!"
"Roddy Despard,” cried Mrs. Despard in shrill
command, "look me in the eye! Look me in the eye
this instant, do you hear me? straight in the eye!"
To my surprise this order threw Master Rodgers
into a perfect fury of insubordination mixed with
panic. He danced up and down wringing his hands
and calling out in a suppressed voice that he wouldn't
and he shouldn't and she couldn't make him do it.
Desirous of seeing what power lay in the maternal
eye, I myself looked into it with much interest.
But to me the hard set stare of Mrs. Despard's round
orbs expressed absolutely nothing.
Aileen now interfered, putting an end to the
strange scene by asking if Roddy might run and see
if her broth were ready. Mrs. Despard at once sent
him, in as commonplace a manner as though nothing
had gone wrong, and resumed the conversation on the
same subject.
"Even if my mother's father didn't use the d,"
she said, looking at me rather defiantly, "he could
have if he'd had a mind to, I guess. But the doctor
is always so brusk on the subject, and Roddy's so
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
smart, he picks up everything his father says. He's
precocious, Roddy is”—this very proudly—“and if
he could go to school he'd do wonderfully. But,"
she sighed heavily, "since the doctor's got to be so
depleted in health we have to live where it's best
for him, and Rollis Lannion asking us to spend the
summer here— "
The door was opened suddenly cutting her sentence
short, and Roddy, looking in, announced that the
broth would be along directly and the carriage was
just coming in the gate. I sprang to my feet, the hot
color surging into my cheeks in my happy excite-
ment.
"I know that you will excuse me,” I said hastily
-to Aileen. "I must run and meet them. I have
not seen them since since "
I could speak no further for the tears and, turning,
hurried into the hall. As I was closing the door Mrs.
Despard spoke:
"Poor, poor thing !” she said. “Poor distracted
child !”
But I was too much absorbed in those who were
coming to wonder of whom she was speaking.


VIII
I followed Roddy quickly and joined him as he
reached the entrance door under the staircase. He
grasped its big knob in both hands and, looking over
his shoulder, informed me that he would open it.
I smiled in acquiescence. In my breathless ex-
pectancy, speech was difficult. The carriage whirled
up and stopped. Roddy flung the door wide. A
chilling blast rushed in, ruffling my hair, enveloping
me. And Mr. Lannion, running swiftly up the steps,
caught my hand and drew me back into the hall.
He was alone.
“Mr. Errol ?-my maid ?? I demanded, almost
sharply. “What has happened? An accident—they
are hurt. Oh, Mr. Lannion, tell me quickly, quickly,
please !”
"Nothing has happened,” he said, smiling. “They
are in perfect health. What a foolish child to tremble
so! And you will take cold,” he went on as, still
holding my hand, he led me across the hall. "Come
into the library. I will light a fire, and you shall
have a glass of wine to bring the color into those pale
cheeks."
We entered a room lined with tall bookcases, and
Mr. Lannion, after closing the door upon Roddy's
inquisitive little face, made me seat myself in an
arm-chair drawn close beside the chimney-piece.
Throwing aside his hat and overcoat, he knelt and
lighted the blocks of wood laid ready in the low
grate.
“Nothing has happened,” he repeated, "and you
are alarming yourself over nothing. This grate is
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Seeing motion to my hosts que
ve. Lannion, while at
intended for soft coal, but I prefer wood. The heat
is much pleasanter; don't you think so ?”
But I was in no mood for discussing trivialities-
for this light chit-chat. Indignant pain might have
chased away my fears had my faith in my nurse and
my lover been a whit less strong. And back of them
were the boys, with Mr. Errol. Had aught occurred
to keep Max and Katie from me, Mr. Errol and the
boys-yes, even Aunt Caro!-would have seen to it
that I was not left alone among strangers. Indeed
I had, in my inmost heart, expected that all my
people would hasten to rejoice with me over my safety.
I had felt sure that not one member of the dear home
group would be willing to wait another week before
seeing me again-after my deadly peril. So I paid
no attention to my host's question, but again demanded
the truth.
"If nothing is the matter, Mr. Lannion, why does
no one come ?" I spoke imperiously, exasperated at
being kept in ignorance like a child.
"I have a letter for Aileen," he said, rising and
going to the door. “If you will allow me I will
run up with it at once. It is from her husband-she
will want it. Then I will answer any questions you
may choose to ask.” He smiled back at me as he
left the room, an expression of affectionate solicitude
softening his stern features.
My brain was in a whirl of anxiety—bewilder-
ment-impatience. It was like a nightmare, the non-
arrival of my family and the impossibility of getting
at the truth. I left my chair and wandered restlessly
about the big, formal room. The huge library table
in the centre, the tall bookcases, the chairs and sofas,
were of black walnut. The velvet curtains and
coverings and the thick carpet were dark green.
The clock and candelabra that ornamented the gray
marble mantelpiece and the ponderous inkstand and
en
impatience: 1, and the impowandered restleable
317889
99


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
bookrack on the table were all of bronze. A great
mirror that might, I fancied, conceal a door leading
into the parlor, reflected the sombre room; big table,
tall bookcases everything. A somewhat ghostly and
altogether depressing replica.
There were but two windows, one on either side
of the fireplace; tall windows, reaching to the floor.
Through these I saw a sweep of dull gray sky and
a stretch of lawn and trees. Beyond, here and
there, a bit of the high close fence that shut out
both view and highway. I was gazing vacantly at
this gloomy landscape when Mr. Lannion returned.
He carried a small silver salver on which was a
goblet of milk, and at his heels trotted an underbred
bull terrier. The terrier was very much too large
and her legs were too bandy. Save for a liver-colored
spot on her side and another over one of her pale,
pink-edged eyes, she was pure white. She was very
ugly and looked ill-tempered. I would have greeted
her kindly when she ran to inspect me, but Mr. Lan-
nion spoke sharply to her, sending her away.
“Go and lie down, Malvina,” he said, "and don't
make a nuisance of yourself !” Then as she retired,
miserable and crestfallen, to the hearth-rug, he begged
me to drink the contents of the goblet. "It is milk-
punch," he said. "Jasper makes excellent milk-
punch. It is just what you need to build you up.
You must have one at noon every day.” He glanced
at the clock. "It is now twelve."
"No, thank you,” I said impatiently, “I would
rather not. I want things explained, please. I beg
you will not keep me in the dark any longer. Some-
thing has happened that you fear to tell me buť—
I stopped a moment to take myself well in hand-
"but you need not fear, Mr. Lannion."
Lack of food and the swinging motion of the
vessel, from which I could not free myself, made
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
me oddly faint. I sank down upon a sofa, finding
it difficult to stand. Mr. Lannion drew a chair close
in front of me and, seating himself, again offered me
the punch.
"Drink a little,” he said coaxingly, "and that will
encourage me to talk. Jasper will take it hard if
you don't care for his punch.”
I hastily swallowed some. “Mr. Lannion, please
tell me. My people—they are really well ???
"I swear it,” he said gravely. "Now will you
drink your punch ?”
In desperation I drank the over-sweet mixture and,
satisfied, my host put the glass on the table and re-
seated himself as before.
“I bitterly regret my long tongue,” he said, his
compelling eyes, as Katie had called them, fixed upon
mine. “I talked too much about myself. I'm not
usually guilty of such rank egotism. But you will
soon be better—and forget it all. I have been very
lonely, dear little Aimée. As lonely as all who have
brains must necessarily be. Think what it means to
me to have you here! A ray of sunshine in my
house and heart."
I stared at him in wonder. What did he mean.
"You have not talked about yourself,” I said, striv-
ing to be civil, “but I want you to talk about my
affairs now, please. What is the matter? Why does
no one come to me? Why don't I have even a letter
from home ?"
He sighed, then, taking my hands in his, said very
gently: "You forget that this is home now, dear
child. I hate to remind you of your recent loss—to
speak of your poor mother. Ah, if only you would
try to overcome these unfortunate fancies that have
taken possession of you! If only you would strive
to remember the past, sad as it is! I would rather
you fretted for the old Canadian homestead, for
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
pretty Darlington, for my sweet friend, your mother,
than to see you as you are, my Aimée."
His manner frightened me, although I thought
that having heard of the invalid's whim he now but
amused himself by playing with it.
"Since Mrs. Lucas is ill," I said, and, in spite of
myself, I spoke haughtily, “I am willing that she
should call me by any name that pleases her, Mr.
Lannion. But I prefer to be Miss Carmichael when
she is not present."
“My poor child,” he said sadly. “My poor deluded
little girl!”
"Mr. Lannion,” I cried imperiously, "I can't stop
here for a week, after all. I must go home at once
1–” I ceased speaking, silenced by the expression
in his gray-green eyes—a wearied look of patient
endurance.
"Aimée," he asked gravely, "have you forgotten
everything about the past? It is so terribly sad for
me to have you imagine yourself that poor drowned
girl. Try to be reasonable, try to forget my impru-
dent talk. If only I had not shown you that wretched
newspaper! I can't think what made me and then
to tell you of my meeting her as a child, and again
later! I had no business to forget your abnormally
vivid imagination, I can't forgive myself !”
A flood of strange thoughts swept into my mind;
while Roddy's questions about Grace Darling, the
invalid's embarrassment when making her peculiar
request, and Mrs. Despard's remark when she thought
I had left the room, crowded back into my brain.
Then I remembered Delcie's unwillingness to use
my name. Who was the drowned girl of whom Mr.
Lannion spoke? I tried to steady myself. I looked
away from the man before me toward the fire.
Malvina, squatting on the hearth-rug, stared furtively
back at me, blinking her light, pink-edged eyes,
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
licking her pink lips. I felt I must get upstairs, and
quickly. But first, I must ask one question.
"I think it unkind of you to jest, Mr. Lannion,"
I said, and my voice shook, "and it is a jest that I
fail to comprehend. Who is the drowned girl of
whom you speak so—so curiously?”
"I am glad that you have to ask,” he said quietly.
"It is a good sign, and one that rejoices my heart.
And now let me show you some pictures that may
please you.”
But I stuck to my point even as I had, the past
summer, stuck to my saddle when the new roan ran
away. Now—so it seemed—I was riding a night-
mare that might run away with my reason, unless
I conquered it, as I had conquered the roan.
"Finish your jest, pray," I said; “it is time that
it ended. What is the name of the dead girl, Mr.
Lannion ?"
“The newspapers are ringing with her tragic story"
-he looked at me intently as he spoke "and it is
my fault that you saw one. I met her twice as I
imprudently told you. Once when she was a little
child; once again, when she was a bright young
creature in her teens. The dory in which she was
adrift has been found; empty, save for a wreath of
flower-de-luce. Her family know her to be dead.”
He caught my ice-cold hands and held them firmly.
“Think how it pains me to have you imagine your-
self this poor drowned girl—this Hope Carmichael !”
A black fog seemed to have entered the room, to
be swinging up and down between Mr. Lannion and
me. I knew at last that he was not in jest but in
strange earnest. I tried to rise but could not. His
eyes held me, gleaming through the mist.
"You are my ward, you are Aimée Darling, and
I swear to make you happy at Ornith Farm."
I made a desperate effort. I struggled to my feet.
"The olked at you saw
once
was a which sheatbe of,
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Then the blackness closed down upon me, there came
a sound as of heavy surges rolling up the beach-
did I see flashes of scarlet satin of the wreckers'
fires—
Mr. Lannion caught me and carried me quickly up
the staircase to my room.
For a time I was not quite myself, I think, since,
while I knew that Delcie was tending me and that
I was being got to bed, I was convinced that I was
the victim of a nightmare and dared not open my
eyes. I cried piteously for Katie to come to me-
to wake me to hold me in her arms. It was not
until I had been in bed for some moments that my
brain steadied itself sufficiently for me to realize
where I was. Then I heard some one enter the room.
I looked up. Delcie and a stranger were bending
over me, while all the sevens in the frieze stood on
tiptoe-watching.
The stranger was tall and thin. His hair and
eyes were intensely black, the latter very bright,
with the hard metallic lustre that betrays ill health,
while his complexion was of a dead greenish white-
although thick. His features were clearly cut, the
nose high; and he wore a mustache and imperial-
the former waxed—thus increasing a resemblance to
the third Napoleon.
“You are a doctor ?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, smiling kindly. He had a pleasant
smile. It gave me courage. “I am Dr. Despard, and
you are to drink this nice cordial.” He slipped his
arm beneath my pillow and deftly lifted my head
higher, while he held a wine-glass to my lips.
"It is to make me sleep?" I questioned.
“Yes,” he said, "and to help you to grow strong."
“No," I said feverishly, “no, I won't take it; I
don't wish to sleep but to go home. An hour's rest
104


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“They always dislike their best friends, Rollis,” he
said, “when suffering from mental delusion.”
The door closed. I started up in bed, terror-
stricken. "Oh, Delcie,” I wailed, "what shall I do
what shall I do? Ah!”—I stared at her in horror-
"you believe it, too. I see it in your eyes. No, no,
don't touch me, don't come near me! I will go home
-I will get up-I- ”
She caught and held me as, half frantic, I tried
to struggle out of bed. She besought me to have
patience, to wait to wait only till the morrow.
Then, cradling my forlorn young head upon her
breast, she strove to soothe me with caresses, with
tender words.
“Go by-low on Delcie's heart, honey-love," she
whispered protectingly. “Delcie will stay close, close
to her bright young bird, never fear!”.
I clung to her, weeping bitterly. But as she fondled
me, the powerful drug dulled my senses and I sank
into a very stupor of sleep.
107


IX
"No, I'm not bigotried,” said Delcie. "I opine
that Romantic Catholitism is better than nothing-
ness. The priest that comes to Ornith Farm-Mrs.
Lucas' minister—seems unhurtful. (A little fat
gentleman; hurrying in, scurrying out; his eyes
watching his own fat feet flying, and never looking
at no one whatsomever.) No, I'm not bigotried—but
I knew my honey-love was Eepiscopalian-born the
minute I observed her! There's differences, 'normous
differences. And we Eepiscopalians-born can't help
consciousnesses of them.”
She tossed her head, a smile of gentle pride curv-
ing her full lips. She was seated by the window
darning stockings—Roddy's stockings. There ap-
peared to be holes everywhere in Roddy's stockings.
I lay in bed, as I had lain for the past three days;
always thinking—thinking.
It was a lovely June morning. The scent of the
flowering grasses was wafted in through the open
casement. The big maples, Baucis and Philemon,
whispered together, rustling their branches softly,
very softly.
I had kept my room ever since Mr. Lannion had
carried me there, after the scene in the library. It
seemed a very long time—so much had I suffered
and thought. At first I had pleaded with Dr. Des-
pard, begging him at least to prove my insanity
by sending for the Carmichaels and Errols. Let
them see me and renounce me before he decided
upon my case. Finding that he would not, that he
insisted upon crediting Mr. Lannion, I assailed him
108


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of Mr. Laarling) indured for plannion ha darling die
with bitter reproaches, with denunciations of his
conduct, and—at last-I went so far as to promise
a large sum of money if he would but set me free.
To pleadings, reproaches, and attempted bribe he
turned alike a deaf ear. He was patient, courteous,
attentive, and most earnest in his effort to restore my
health; and he saw to it that no one-save Delcie
entered my room. This last being the one request
that he granted me. When I would permit, he talked
of Mr. Lannion, of his affection for my mother (Mrs.
Robert Darling). Their friendship, Dr. Despard
assured me, had endured for years, and it was because
of this friendship that Mr. Lannion had become my
guardian and brought me when Mrs. Darling died
—to live with him at Ornith Farm.
I had cried out at first against this monstrous
fiction. Then reason had bidden me hear everything
that I might of my enemy-of his story. Because of
my upbringing I was at a great disadvantage. Even
my thinking--as far as might be had been done
for me. The time had come when I must learn to
take care of, to think for myself. I found it hard-
wellnigh impossible. But I had faith in Max. I
knew that he would not believe me dead until years
had come and gone. I felt sure that he would persist
in thinking that I had been rescued—that to him the
empty dory would carry not despair but the belief
that I had been saved. Even now, I said to myself
with reviving courage, everything was being done that
determined love could do to find me. And I must
exert myself—I must do my part. So I set my un-
accustomed wits to work and lay very still while
Delcie prattled, thinking—thinking trying to choose
a wise plan of action.
It was in vain that I sought to fathom Mr. Lan-
nion's motive in imprisoning me. The only reason
that I could imagine he might have for his in-
109


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
comprehensible as well as criminal behavior came
from a memory of Katie's comment when-years
before I had told her of the miniature. She had
suggested his having lost a little sister whom I closely
resembled. Had he dwelt so long upon this chance
resemblance that, when he rescued me, the cruel idea
had entered his brain of changing my identity that
he might replace the dead? This conception was
fantastic, even absurd—yet what other reason might
there be ? Finally I gave up trying to understand,
and concentrated all my untrained mental powers
upon the course that I should pursue.
"If I'd been bigotried,” continued Delcie, in sweet
drawling tones, "I would never have accompanied a
gentleman friend to a meeting-house (church he
called it, but, lawsy me, 'twasn't nothing but a Baptist
meeting-house!). The congregation was formulated
of Southern niggers—no Northern colored present
but me and my gentleman friend—and when those
Southern niggers spied me, my, but they were mad!
They couldn't endure my superiority of style, and
elegancies of dress and mannerisms. If it hadn't been
for the muscularity of my gentleman friend they'd
have thrown me down the gallery stairs at the moment
of dispersement and trampled me they would in-
deed !95
“Delcie," I said, forgetting in the excitement of
sudden decision to express a polite interest in her
story, "Delcie, will you please ask Mr. Lannion to
come ?"
Making an ineffectual effort to conceal her delight
in the commission, Delcie went quickly from the
room. I had woven-oh, so carefully !-a little net
in which to entangle Mr. Lannion's many falsehoods.
He would be forced, I thought, to confess his wrong-
doing and to send me home. Propped high on my
pillows I looked through the open windows across
110


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
irds. Theound. The ai homestead of the
the acres of waving grasses and tall tree-tops of the
woodland to the far-away fields and homesteads, and
the blue waters of the Sound. The air was filled with
the songs of birds. They nested in the swaying field-
grass, in the trees of the little wood, and among the
boughs of the two great maples. And from the num-
ber of swallows circling past, I knew that the
chimneys, too, were filled with nests. The place was
well named Ornith Farm.
"Miss Honey-Love," cried Delcie, returning from
her errand with her hands full of morning-glories,
“I just discovered these long-tailed trailers outside
the door!”
She tossed the sprays with their delicate filmy
trumpets down upon the coverlet, then amused her-
self twisting them here and there until the quilt
boasted a wondrous design in flowers. I looked lov-
ingly at the fragile blossoms; palest pink, veined with
a deeper tint; pure white trumpets; others of delicate
blue streaked with snow. The flowers of my month.
“Lawsy me!” exclaimed Delcie, in a tone of as-
tonishment mingled with awe, “I've 'broidered in a
superabundance of sevens without intention."
I saw that the vines were in many places
tangled and looped into that number, and, glancing
quickly upward, caught all the sevens of the frieze
staring down at their doubles.
"You do appear most sweetly beautiful!” cried
Delcie, in a sudden rapture of affectionate admira-
tion. “Any one would suppose you decorated for
mortuary purposes.”
As she finished speaking Mr. Lannion knocked.
Although I had thought that I fully realized how
distressing this interview would be, I had not known
that I should find it difficult even to look at my
jailer. But my aversion was so intense that at the
first it was all I could do to endure his looking at me.
111


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I had a childish desire to turn and hide my face upon
my pillow. And while I answered his greeting, I
could not meet his eyes.
"My poor little Aimée,” he said, as he took the
chair that Delcie placed for him beside my bed,
"what a sad home-coming this has been for you! I
am more than thankful that you feel able to see me
to-day. I have suffered from the most poignant
anxiety.”
"I am quite well now, thank you," I said.
I made a desperate effort to raise my eyes to his
and failed. It was only the determination to help
those who were even now—so I believed searching
for me that enabled me to keep to my part. I had
rehearsed the scene that was now being enacted over
and over, always successfully entangling and worsting
my adversary. It had not begun as I had expected,
but I still had faith in my ultimate success.
"It would do you good to get out of doors," said
Mr. Lannion. “I will carry you downstairs, if I
may."
"No," I answered shortly.
"Jasper, then," he urged. "Jasper is strong and
trustworthy."
· I made another effort, and lifted my eyes to his
face. "I cannot get up,” I said quietly; "I have no
suitable clothes."
“What is the matter with them ?” he asked quickly,
in evident surprise.
Having at last faced him I regarded him steadily,
and I thought he, too, must have passed some sleep-
less nights. There were circles under his watchful
eyes and he had a harassed look. His manner was
humble, as of one fearful of offending. As our eyes
met, he smiled deprecatingly and, leaning forward,
he ventured to take my hand in his. I drew it away.
"I am in mourning," I said.
112


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
This was my trap. I had imagined that he would
exclaim, and ask me for whom I mourned. Instead,
he looked well pleased.
"Despard told me I might hope for a great im-
provement,” he said, as if speaking to himself; then,
with a quick change of manner, added: "I don't be-
lieve in young people mourning, but Mrs. Despard
will get you some black frocks, if you wish.”
“What became of my first mourning ?” I demanded,
hoping still to have him at fault.
"You have forgotten that you insisted upon giving
it away!” he exclaimed, as in pained surprise. "But
that does not matter," he said hastily, with assumed
cheerfulness. “Tell Mrs. Despard what you would
like to have, and she will run up to town for the day
and get the things for you.”
I was suddenly so very angry that the color rushed
into my face. Yet I knew that were I to give vent to
my feelings, it would help Mr. Lannion. Invective,
vituperation, from my lips, would but increase the
belief in my insanity. Delcie, who was sewing so
placidly by the window, rejoiced over my desire to
see my guardian. She took this peaceful interview
as a sign of my return to health. To lull suspicion
was my only chance for escape.
"I will not have Mrs. Despard choose my things,"
I said, when I had regained sufficient control over
myself to be able to speak; "her taste is too bad.”
"Bad ?” questioned Mr. Lannion; and for the first
time he looked discomforted.
“Yes, bad," I said imperiously. “And I won't
wear such vulgar clothes-such cheap finery! It's
not fit to wear.”
“Vulgar ?" he echoed. “Cheap finery ?” and I saw
that he was really distressed. “Why, the amount
I wired her to spend was large enough, Heaven
knows !” He went to the armoire, opened it, and,
into feelinton, Einsanitow, Tejo this ponto lull
113


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
taking out one gown after another, held each up in
turn, stared at it, then flung it down upon the floor.
“The colors are glaring, I admit,” he said, eying the
motley heap with great disfavor, "but as to cheapness
-vulgarity,” He paused and looked at me.
“They are over-trimmed with cheap stuff," I ex-
plained, "and the materials of which they are made
are pretentious, tawdry.”
“Yet they are of silk,” he urged, leaning down
and fingering the mass still wondering if I were
in earnest.
“Tinny silk,” I said pettishly. “But that is neither
here nor there. I want Delcie to get my things. She
will know how. I want black, very black frocks. I
am-in how deep mourning am I, Mr. Lannion ?"
He turned abruptly and stood, his back toward me,
looking out of the window. “Your mother died three
months ago," he said in low tones.
Again I was hot with anger. But it was righteous
wrath and, somehow, it steadied me. Mr. Lannion's
powerful figure filled up the window. It was as
though he were purposely shutting out the light from
me. I looked down upon my coverlet, gay with the
lovely morning-glories and their long vines of five-
pointed leaves. I took up one spray and pressed it
close against my aching heart. I chose another vine
of blooms, fastened it to the first, and continuing-
soon had a long rope. Mr. Lannion, having finished
his survey of the landscape, returned to his chair
beside my bed. I made a noose in the end of my
long tether, a slip-noose.
“Delcie may go to town to-morrow, Mr. Lannion ?”
I spoke very gently.
"Certainly,” he said. “And what are you making,
Aimée ?” He watched my busy fingers curiously.
“Something for you," I said quietly.
“A wreath ?” he demanded eagerly.
up
close aga igaves. Photos and he cover let
faster achin
had
hi
114


X
that the rawing-room ment”;
it'ii booroughly uphy
Mr. Lannion had scarcely closed the door behind
him before Delcie was rummaging through the chest
of drawers in a determined search for something that
I might be willing to wear. She finally unearthed
a thin white frock that she declared would be quite
suitable if the lace trimming were ripped off.
“With black ribbons around her waist and con-
fining her golden-tressed curls,” she said gravely,
"my young lady can descend in this habiliment” —
she held up the dress—"to the drawing-room. Not,"
speaking reflectively, “that the drawing-room is as
yet thoroughly upholstered—but-well-lawsy me!
it'll be a sight better for you downstairs than cooped
up here with that know-nothing Richmond Nanny-
who hasn't the remotest idea of conversational re-
quirements whatsomever.”
So when Nanny, the pretty chamber-maid, ap-
peared the next morning to take Delcie's place, she
found that her task was to be a short one. I an-
nounced my intention of going down to the veranda
at eleven. Delcie dressed me with affectionate care
before leaving, braiding my hair in a club and tying
its broad black ribbon with the air of a solicitous
nurse caring for a small child.
"And you'll observe if the bow of my young lady's
sash ribbon is properly outspread when she proceeds
downward," she said severely to the bashful Nanny,
“and that that long-legged Solomon Jasper attends."
"Yaas, m’m,” said poor Nanny humbly, weighed
down by the responsibility laid upon her. And dur-
ing the two hours that passed before Solomon was
116


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
summoned, she only opened her lips to answer "yaas,
m'm,” or “no’m,” to my well-meant questions.
I refused the aid of Solomon, but he stalked be-
hind me as I made my slow way downstairs. I had
dreaded passing Aileen's door, fearing that she might
call to me; but it was closed. And Roddy was no-
where to be seen. The gray twilight of the lower hall
was not unpleasing on that warm June morning.
The glass door at the farther end stood wide, and
through it I saw the lawn, the acres of hay land yet
unmown, and the little wood beyond. The warm haze
of mid-day heat softened the atmosphere and brought
out the scent of the tall flowering grasses. I stepped
upon the wide veranda where were lounging chairs
and hammocks in plenty, and looked about me, hoping
to find myself alone. In this I was disappointed, for
directly in front, upon the edge of the veranda, his
back against a pillar, his straw hat tilted over his
nose, sat a man apparently napping. He proved to
be only indulging in a reverie, however, for he rose
to his feet with a marvellous agility and was pushing
forward a lounging chair for my use before I had
much more than glanced at him.
"This is the pick of the lot, Miss Darling, my word
for it,” he said in a soft pleasant voice. “I've sampled
'em all.” He took off his hat and smiled at me cheer-
fully.
"Thank you," I said, returning the smile and
accepting the chair. I intended to be agreeable to
every one even to Mr. Lannion, if I could.
The stranger beamed with satisfaction and fetched
a cushion for my head. “Lie right back and laze for
all you're worth,” he advised comfortably; "that's the
ticket when you're feelin' the worse for wear. I just
sit and ruminate like any old cow when I'm here. It
rests me awfully—even if the cud I'm chewin' isn't
so all-fired sweet. I guess cows have a chunk of
117


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
W straw you
He was smooth-shaven, and his complexion as pink
as that of a healthy baby. His light-gray eyes were
round and as changing in expression as his face.
His eyebrows were black, and what remained of his
hair—the greater part of his head was perfectly bald.
I thought that he looked very good-natured.
"Solomon, thou wisest among mortals,” he cried
suddenly, "take thy depressing presence elsewhere !"
I glanced quickly toward the door, but no one was
to be seen. "He lurketh within, even as an evil-doer
or an enemy," continued my odd companion, his eyes
fixed upon vacancy; "his presence disturbeth me!”
Then, dropping into a confidential tone, he said
coaxingly: "Get out, Solly dear, do; there's a sweet
little boy. I'll fetch and carry for Miss Darling.
You go play in the pantry—or in the infernal
regions. I don't care where you go, so long as you
stop playin' pleeceman.” He took off his straw hat
and began fanning himself fiercely. “Woof!” he
cried, expanding his lungs as if to inhale all the air
possible. "I can't stand being watched when I'm
idle. If I'm whittlin' now, I'm willing enough to
have the little ones gather 'round, but I like to loaf
in peace.”
As he talked I became every moment more inclined
to appeal to him for aid. My heart began to beat with
painful rapidity. Yet I must, I knew, speak calmly,
else I might not expect to have my story believed.
The sweet air of mid-day, the glorious view from the
high veranda, the gentle twitter of the birds hidden
among the thickly leafed branches of the two great
maples close at hand, made my strange position seem
like some monstrous nightmare. Surely I could find
help did I but seek it rightly! And I felt—now that
the house walls no longer hemmed me in—that escape
was not a forlorn hope, but a near certainty. Yet
while the sense of freedom, brought by being once
inave the image will stands as if thely.
119


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
more out of doors, restored my courage, I struggled
in vain for sufficient composure to speak quietly and
convincingly of my situation to this stranger. The
opportunity was too good to be lost. I made a very
great effort and in a faint voice began:
“Would you kindly rearrange these cushions for
my- "
But he did not hear me, for, as I spoke, Malvina
emerged stealthily from the house and absorbed his
entire attention. With the quickness of a cat he was
upon his feet and clinging to the pillar against which
he had been leaning, in an affected agony of ter-
ror. His teeth chattering, jaw dropped, and with
his eyeballs starting from his head, he stared at the
approaching bull terrier. She did not at first see
him, and had advanced a few paces toward me—the
object of her interest-when he cried out her name
in a quavering falsetto and brought her to an abrupt
halt.
"Mally,” he wailed, “Viny, lovely Mally-vina, per-
lease, per-lease go away!”
He shuddered violently and pretended to strive
desperately to climb the protecting pillar. Malvina,
looking sheepish and woe-begone, dared not move,
but stood still, staring dully at her tormentor.
“Turn, oh, turn those lustrous orbs away,” he con-
tinued, releasing the pillar and flinging out his arms
in passionate entreaty; "they burn with awful fire!
I cannot stand their gaze.”
As he spoke he removed his hat and threw it so
dexterously at Malvina that it fell upon her head with
the effect of an extinguisher. She bore the burden
meekly for a moment, then shook it off and went on
staring helplessly as before. The man advanced step
by step, shivering as with a very ague of terror,
stretched out a trembling hand, and drawing the hat
cautiously away, backed rapidly toward his pillar.
120


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
He dropped the hat upon his head so that it rested
jauntily on one ear, and thrusting his hands deep into
his pockets, again confronted Malvina.
"Yah !” he exclaimed, in the tone of a contemptu-
ously belligerent small boy, "why didn't you bite my
head off, say? I'll tell you why, Malviny Lannion,
'cause you dassent! If I had sech pink optics as
you've got, I wouldn't wink and blink at folks so, I
wouldn't! And”—with a grin of derision—"ef I
wore a patch over one of 'em, I'd wear a black patch,
I would—not a liver-colored one. It's not a patch
but a spot, ma'am, nothing but a spot !” Then,
changing swiftly from comedy to tragedy, he shook
out imaginary trailing draperies and, pointing an
accusing finger at the miserable but fascinated Mal-
vina, cried in awful tones: “Out, damned spot!
Out-out-out, I say?"
With each “out” he strode nearer his victim, who
backed before him, her light eyes uplifted in terror
to his face. Reaching the door, she paused for an
instant, not at once daring to turn and run away,
but upon her enemy bursting into a. paroxysm of
laughter, she darted in as if driven by an unseen
hand. The stranger's laughter was so infectious, al-
though but assumed, that, forgetting my troubles
for the moment, I laughed in sympathy. He held
his sides, seeming to be overcome by mirth, then, re-
seating himself upon the veranda edge, became sud-
denly very serious.
"Malvina,” he said reflectively, “detests me. I
can't imagine why. The only reason she doesn't
bite me is because she can't make up her mind on
which of my calves to begin. Then, too,” he went on,
“I never give her the chance. I'm like that old
person of Cadiz
"Who was always polite to the ladies.'
121


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I never turn my back to any member of the fair sex,
least of all to Malvina Lannion. Etiquette must be
remembered when that sweet dorgie is round. Oh!”
he rose quickly, “here's Mrs. Despard and the infant
come to join us. Roders-with-a-d, or d-Rodgers, get
mamma a chair.”
Rodgers, who preceded his mother, grinned, as in
appreciation of an old but well-liked jest, while its
author himself placed a chair for Mrs. Despard when
she bustled out. She greeted me nervously, very much
as though she fancied I might—because of my crazed
condition-have forgotten her already.
"I'm real glad to see you out, Miss Darling," she
said hurriedly, pushing the chair offered her so
roughly along the veranda to my side that it squeaked,
and left a long mark on the floor. “Nanny told me
you was down, and Roddy and me thought we'd come
out and keep you company for a little.”
I said what civility required and smiled at the
boy, who watched me with timid curiosity.
"Now you're here, Mrs. Despard," said my former
companion, "perhaps you'll be good enough to intro-
duce me to Miss Darling. Malvina came out to do
the honors, but she found the atmosphere too exciting
for her nerves and left before she had attended to
her duties as mistress of the house."
"How you do run on, Tommy King !” exclaimed
Mrs. Despard, in tones of coquettish remonstrance,
rolling her hard, staring blue eyes and smiling.
“What will Miss Darling think of your nonsense !
I met Mally just fairly scuttling into the library as
we come downstairs, and I knew you'd been teasin'
the poor creature. She's all right, Miss Darling,”
turning to me, “if you treat her right. Just look
her in the eye, firm, and she behaves like a lamb. As
for Mr. King here Oh, I was forgetting! Miss
Darling, Mr. King--Mr. King, let me make you
122


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
free to confess I'm sorry I ever come off. It's hard
lines to quit bein' the public's darling, and take to
darning socks for a private individual—and foolish
as well. Which I would never have done it had I
not supposed that Loo Despard was a man as would
make his mark in the medical world.” She laid
her banjo down upon her stout lap and, leaning across
it, said impressively: "Which Loo Despard might
have done easy, Miss Darling, only he wouldn't.
He's smart enough, as any one can tell you, although
he is—as he continually alludes to the son of a plain
farmer from upper N’York. Not but what my
parents were farmers, too (they'd have been called
commoners in England, meaning folks which prefer
mingling in country life before town, though high-
born—which my mother's father was Rodgers with
a d when he choose to put it in). Which I never
could stand country life for my own part, Miss
Darling; and Nature havin' blessed me with a voice
--I can fill a hall of any size-I went to Par-y"-she
accented the first syllable heavily—“and onto the
stage. 'Twas there I met Loo Despard—which the
result you see. Here we are, livin' in this dull hole
with his old friend Rollis Lannion which thinks he's
too sick a man to work, when all the time "
“Say,” drawled Mr. King, interrupting the flood
of words ruthlessly, “I thought you were going to
carol a warble ?”
Mrs. Despard stared from Mr. King to the banjo
in her lap as if she had forgotten the presence of
both, and wondered to see them. Then, recovering
herself, she smiled at the former, adjusted the latter,
and began to sing. She had not boasted too much
in regard to the power of her voice. It was so loud
that I regretted civility forbade my seeking the most
distant corner of the veranda. Harsh, rasping, it
grated on my nerves, and I was little surprised when
124


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Mr. King, feigning to have heard some one calling
him, followed Roddy at the end of the first chanson.
“Tommy King hasn't any more ear for music than
Rollis Lannion's Malvina,” said Mrs. Despard, watch-
ing Mr. King's retreating figure with disapproval,
"but,” eying me with satisfaction, "I guess you have.
I saw you start when I begun. I thought I should
surprise you.” I said that she had surprised me,
and she was much pleased. “Before I went to Pary,"
she continued, nursing her banjo and resuming her
reminiscences, as if talking of her past attracted her
even more than singing, before I went to Pary I
sung in N’York. Then I tried London, and after
London, Pary. I feel sure," she went on, “that I'd
have made a big success in Pary if I'd had the chance.
But you see I'd just learned some few shansonns and
got ready to start in when I met Loo Despard. I
thought he had a lot of money-he spent a lot,
I know—and, well, you see he hadn't, and—here
we are. Rollis Lannion used to know Loo years
ago, and he imagines Loo is sicker than he is, so
he asked us here. Rollis is a queer man. He
lets people live with him, but when it comes to
spending money out of hand-lending it, you
know-he's awful stingy. Loo says he was kep'
dreadful close when he was a boy, which he had an
awful hard time, Loo says, which accounts, of course,
for his being kinder queer. He's in N’York to-day.
He took Delcievere to get your things. I wouldn't
expect much, if I was you. They'll be few and
bought cheap, I expect. I done what I could with
what he wired me to spend. I got a good many
things for the money, I think, and pretty ones, too.
I hate to wear the same old dud week in week out,
don't you? I like a variety—it's the spice of life,
you know. And I do understand colors. Blue, now,
I 'most always wear blue”- she had on a blue and
125


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
white striped cambric—“and I'm particular as to
shade. I hate your dull dreary blues, there's nothing
chick about them. A dull blue is my bate nore.
That's the one thing that Aileen and I disagree on,
colors. The poor girl's got no taste. But then she
wasn't never to Pary. Pary educates the eye." She
ceased speaking and stared solemnly at me.
"Has Mrs. Lucas been ill long ?” I inquired.
“Goin' on two years," was the answer, “and that
mare alive yet. If I'd been Rollis Lannion I'd have
had her shot after she threw that poor girl and
damaged her back past curing—which she made him
promise he wouldn't, and there she is eatin' her head
off in the stable, a regular she-devil. Rollis Lannion
can't ride her because she ain't up to his weight, and
Aileen won't let Malcolm—which I wish she would
and break his neck. No, Ashtaroth, as she's called
(meanin' Queen of the Heavens, because of a white
half moon on her black forehead), is living like a lady
with the meadow to roll in and a box stall to herself
biting and kicking all she pleases, while poor Aileen
lies a-bed never to rise again.”
Mrs. Despard's rasping voice became suspiciously
shaky, and when she finished her story, she drew out
a small kandkerchief with a broad border of common
lace, and blew her nose noisily.
"I sometimes think I've a touch of hay-fever,” she
said, wiping her eyes, "I have such sneezing turns.
But speakin' of that black mare of Aileen's, I believe
in the old saw:
‘One white foot, buy him;
Two white feet, try him;
Three white feet, look well about him-
(which Malcolm Lucas oughter have done).
".Four white feet, go without him.
Four white feet and a white nose
with the mon her black foren vens, because
126


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
be well, wito be in Tosoftly paid for them
which Ashtaroth hasn't, but the four white feet are
all there, which, as I was sayin'— Oh!” as Solo-
mon appeared carrying a tray, "what you got there,
Jasper ? Oh, I see; Miss Darling's milk-punch.
Here, I'll give it to her, but,” she lowered her voice,
"you just wait in the hall till I call you."
Although I knew that this order was given that
Mrs. Despard might have assistance at hand in case
I suddenly became possessed with a desire to run
away, I could not feel angry with her. She showed
such true kindliness in her wish to wait upon me;
coaxing me to drink the punch with so hearty a de-
sire to see me regain my health.
My luncheon was served on the veranda, and I
spent the afternoon out of doors. Mr. King swung
a hammock for me between the two maples, mount-
ing into their high-trimmed branches by the aid of
Solomon's step ladder. Later, he read poetry to me,
and read it so well, with so much feeling, that I
wondered. I took care to be in my room before Mr.
Lannion returned, and I walked softly past Aileen's
open door. I had done as much as I could for that
day. I needed to be alone. For although I knew
I ought not harbor resentment against any at Ornith
Farm save Mr. Lannion and Dr. Despard, at times
I had difficulty in not hating them all. And the
horror of my unnatural situation so overcame me
when I was shut up again between the four walls
of my room that, regardless of the presence of
Nanny, I fung myself face downward upon my bed
and gave way to despairing tears.
I cried myself into a semi-stupor from which Del-
cie roused me, bustling in cheerful and important
after her day in town. Pretending not to notice my
miserable condition she sat down beside me, stroked
my hair softly with her kind hand, and related her
day's experiences. At first I did not listen, but little
127


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
by little my attention was gained, and her comment
upon Mr. Lannion proved interesting
“Of course," she drawled reflectively, “gentlemen
are all wonderfully astonished over the cost of ladies'
habiliments. The comic journals now are replete
with jokes on the subject of ladies' hats. But Mr.
Lannion always thought I had mistaken, or the sales-
man elongated, the price of each article. To be sure,
when I explained how delighted my young lady
would be over the garment chosen, Mr. Lannion
ceased his objectings.” She giggled, looked wicked,
and dropping into vulgar parlance exclaimed:
"Lawsy me, but I bought a lot! I made the dollars
fly! And I do hope," lowering her voice to a ca-
ressing murmur, "that my Miss Honey-love will bear
me out.”
My cheeks flushed with anger as I listened. So
Mr. Lannion grudged money spent on his prisoner!
Since this was the case he should spend a great deal.
I would try to please each member of his household,
but I would torment him in every way that I could.
I was very young, quite incapable of judging
what I ought to do. My plan of conduct changed
with every hour, my very unhappiness unfitting me
for self-guidance.
To escape, to escape, but how? It would take a
week perhaps, I said to myself; but surely, God help-
ing, not longer than a week.
128


XI
“Sometimes he pretends to forget, and calls the
child Todgers and Toddy. Then, when he sees that
Henrietta is really vexed, he apologizes and says in-
nocently that he thought it was Todgers, Todgers—
with a d. But Tommy wouldn't be Tommy if he
didn't tease, and he is really the kindest-hearted man
in the world.”
It was Aileen who spoke, and she laughed as she
recalled the sayings of her favorite, Mr. King.
Many days had passed since my coming to Ornith
Farm, and my people had made no sign. Neither
had I been able to do anything to help myself. Del-
cie slept in my room, and by day I was never left
unguarded. My strength had returned. I hoarded
it carefully a
it carefully as my only weapon. I would need much
strength when the time for escape should come.
Delicious warmth floated in through Aileen's
wide-thrown windows; warmth, and the scents and
songs of summer. The perfume of July flowers,
the voices of birds and bees. In the silver bowl on
the altar beneath the crucifix red roses exhaled their
sweetness. And the White Christ read me a lesson
of endurance. Who was I that I should cry out
against my burden of sorrow, when He bore the
burden of all the sorrows of mankind ? I folded my
hands humbly: "Dear Lord, help me!” I prayed.
But silently—and Aileen went on chatting of her
friends.
"Poor Henrietta !” she said kindly, “she does have
rather a lonely time. And she dearly loves a crowd.
The dear soul doesn't in the least realize that Cousin
129


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Rollis can't ask people to call upon her. It wouldn't
do, you know. If I were able to be up and about
he might like to entertain, but Henrietta could not
receive his friends. Dr. Despard is different," she
continued, “although he is not to the manner born
any more than his wife. He and Cousin Rollis used
to play together when they were boys—you know
how it is in lonely country neighborhoods. Cousin
Rollis's grandfather owned lots of land and a grand
old house. When Cousin Rollis was in his teens
something awful happened; I never heard what.
And his grandfather, who must have been a dread-
ful old man,” she lowered her voice, and glanced
apprehensively toward the door to make sure that
it was closed, “got rid of everything that he owned
then and there. He gave all his property to his other
grandson and Cousin Rollis never got a cent.
Neither did my poor Malcolm, for that matter," she
added regretfully. "His mother, old Mr. Lannion's
only daughter, married against her father's wishes.
I don't like to speak against the dead but I'm afraid
Mr. Lucas, Malcolm's father, did run through a
great deal of the old man's money—the will said so,
anyway. Cousin Rollis has made plenty of money
since—they say he was terribly poor for a time
and he is, in his way, kind to my husband.” She
sighed. "I wish Malcolm would come home. He's
in France; Cousin Rollis sent him over on business.
You would like him, I'm sure.”
I was sure that I would not, and I hoped very
much that he might remain in France until I was
away from Ornith Farm. The fewer people in the
house to treat me as a lunatic the better.
"If Malcolm were here,” Aileen continued, "he
could persuade you not to mew yourself up so.
Henrietta tells me that you have not walked about
the grounds yet, is that true ?”
130


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I nodded. It was only by keeping my room, and
visiting the veranda when he drove out, that I could
avoid Mr. Lannion. I had seen little of him since
the morning that I had twined the rope of morning-
glories.
"I think you do wrong," said Aileen. "It would
make me very happy if you would go to see my poor,
pretty Ashtaroth. She did not mean to hurt me,
Aimée. You see Malcolm bought her because of her
beauty, and sent her to me before trying her. It's
no wonder he trusted her; she has such sweet eyes,
poor thing! And I was rash and foolish. I paid
no heed to what Cooper said. She ran away, and
she threw me, and—and here I am.”
She stopped speaking, her big blue eyes brimmed
suddenly with tears. She turned her head away,
anxious, as always, to avoid pity. Wishing to help
her, to pretend that I was not suffering with her,
I rose, and going to one of the western windows,
leaned out.
“Of course I will go and see the mare,” I said
lightly, when able to speak at all. But I remained
where I was that my eyes might have a chance to
dry.
The kitchen of the house was in the basement and
at the same corner as Aileen's room. Up the steps
from its area there now came a woman. I had not
seen her before, but I knew that she must be Solo-
mon Jasper's wife; Zayma, the cook. She was hand-
some, but unpleasant looking. As I stared down at
her Í thought of Egypt, of the Nile, and of the
pictures of its temples with the sculptured faces
of the Rameses upon their walls. Zayma's face was
as hard as if carved in stone. The dark skin-gray-
black-might have been drawn over granite; but
smoothly, without a wrinkle. I saw that she was
watching something, for she paused in her ascent
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
follow Za side to sied far frond like a
of the area steps—then advanced slowly, cautiously
upward.
The object of her interest was a young robin. It
hopped awkwardly, now here, now there, on the
smooth grass, in an aimless, foolish fashion. Its
parents, nervously viewing Zayma's approach, ut-
tered warning cries in vain. The little fluffy bird
either did not understand or lacked courage to
try its wings in flight. At the same moment I caught
sight of a large black cat, with breast and paws of
white, coming out of the kitchen door. It did not
follow Zayma, but stood, languidly moving its snaky
tail from side to side, watching her movements with
intentness. I leaned far from the window. I scruti-
nized it carefully. It looked like a very old cat in-
deed. I was glad. It could not catch the bird, I
thought.
Then, suddenly, I divined what Zayma was doing,
for she drew nearer and nearer to the little robin
that seemed fascinated by her steady gaze, as by the
eyes of a black snake. I was about to cry out, to
call to her to stop her wicked work, when I remem-
bered Aileen. She was in such fragile health, she
must not be alarmed. As I paused in doubt Mrs.
Despard entered. At that instant Zayma pounced.
I did not wait to see if she had caught the bird,
neither did I stop for excuses. I flew downstairs,
opened the library door without knocking, and ran
in. The room was empty. But a door that I had
not before noticed, between the bookcases on the
north side of the room, stood ajar. I pushed it open
and entered. Opposite me were two large windows
admitting the north light that artists need, and be-
fore one of these windows was an easel holding an
unfinished picture upon which Mr. Lannion was
even then at work. His coat was off, his shirt sleeves
rolled up; he was very much absorbed. Beside the
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
easel lay Malvina. When she saw me she rose and
advanced a few steps, dislike in her pale, pink-edged
eyes. Her master turned to see who had invaded his
sanctum thus boldly, and as he turned I rushed into
speech.
“Zayma is by the kitchen door catching a young
robin for her cat!” I cried. "Go quickly and stop
her.”
He laid down palette and brush and pushed for-
ward an easy chair. His inattention to my words,
his slow movements tortured me. “Oh, go quickly,”
I commanded, stamping my foot, “or you will be
too late!”
“Will you give me an hour-if ?” he demanded.
I understood. I must pay for the bird's life.
“Yes," I sobbed, “if it's saved." And I took the
offered chair.
“On guard, Malvina !" was the hasty order and,
with a warning glance at me, he left the room.
Malvina crouched down before me, her eyes upon
my face. I knew that in her secret soul she hoped
that I might move. Then she would be at liberty
to bite me, and she would bite hard. I did not re-
sent her hatred. Upon our first meeting Mr. Lan-
nion had spoken to her crossly, and relegated her to
the hearth-rug. Upon our second, I had witnessed
her humiliation, her flight from Mr. King. It was
impossible for me to explain to the creature that I
was as anxious to be away from Mr. Lannion as she
was to be rid of me.
"Poor Malvina !” I said pityingly. “Poor, poor
dog.” Malvina stirred uneasily and licked her
lips.
I looked away from her to the unfinished picture
upon the easel. It was the picture of a meadow gay
with flowers; autumnal flowers. Purple asters and
waving golden-rod. A graceful girl-a slender,
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
added, "ay Live I retul M. Lannion
prith uncoming into regret thathed it to its
white-robed figure, with golden hair—was gathering
a tall spear of yellow blooms.
"Proserpina, gathering flowers," I remarked po-
litely to Malvina. Then I flushed painfully, for in
the girl of the painting I recognized myself. And
for the first time a suspicion of the truth-of the
reason for my being a prisoner at Ornith Farm,
flashed through my mind
"I got there in time,” cried Mr. Lannion from the
end of the library. "I returned it to its parents.
They may live to regret that you interfered,” he
added, coming into the smaller room. He spoke
with unaccustomed gayety, and looked, as he smiled
down upon me, both animated and happy.
“There, Malvina,” he pushed the dog with his foot
as he spoke, “that will do. Be off with you! Go
to your rug and lie down.”
"You might at least speak civilly to her," I said
coldly. “She has obeyed you to the lettershe has
not moved since you left the room-she ought to be
praised.”
He smiled, raising his eyebrows as if in good-
humored surprise at my severity. "Set me a good
example then," he said lightly. "Haven't I earned
a word of commendation ? Won't you say something
kind to me?"
"I should like to go for a walk," I said. I looked
down, that I might avoid the expression in his eyes,
an expression that I had hitherto failed to read
aright. “Will you take me to see your garden, Mr.
Lannion? And your horses, too ?" For answer he
began to put on his coat. He was greatly pleased;
excited even. "How well you paint," I continued,
glancing toward the picture. "Is it Proserpina ?
Yes? But did she gather golden-rod, and where is
Pluto ?”
"I keep him in the background,” was the answer.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Ugly, middle-aged men are out of place in pict-
ures. »
"Yet he is coming, all the same," I murmured.
Then said hastily, fearing his reply, “Did you tell
Zayma never again to catch birds for her cat, Mr.
Lannion-or mice ?" I added. “She might catch
mice in live traps, and give them to him to play
with. Come," I rose quickly, “let us go at once and
tell her. She is a cruel-looking woman.”
"Jasper shall tell her,” said Mr. Lannion. “I am
tired of interviewing Zayma. I want to talk to
you.”
"Malvina wishes to come, too,” I said, as we left
the room; “pray let her.”
"I thought you did not like her," was the sur-
prised comment as he whistled the dog to heel.
“What has that to do with it?" I asked, surprised
in my turn.
“In that case why wish to give her pleasure ?” he
demanded.
“Somebody might better be happy," I said, indif-
ferently. “I hope I may never deprive any creature
of its sunshine.”
"You will need this to protect you from too
much,” he said quickly, picking up a sun umbrella
as we passed through the hall. “The sun is scorch-
ing to-day. We must not let it burn your pretty
fair skin.”
I pressed my lips tightly together. I had been
venturing upon very thin ice. Let me stop in time.
I walked quietly by his side, submitting with a good
grace to being sheltered by the big umbrella. As
he held it carefully over me his arm, now and again,
touched my shoulder. I did not shrink away. The
new suspicion that had come to me made self-control
doubly difficult. But I must control myself, or how
might I hope to escape ?
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
branchere is anion such a pret I thing disming vf
The garden was, fortunately, not far distant. We
crossed the avenue, followed a path between two
short stretches of turf, and stopped before a small
gate in a picket fence. Behind the fence grew a high,
very thick hedge of privet, and above the hedge one
saw the tops of a forest of fruit-trees. It was an
ugly garden. Long and narrow, with but two paths
intersecting it, like a cross laid flat upon the ground.
Where the arms of the cross joined the body—the
main path—was a circle of grass, and in its centre
the basin of a fountain. Around the grass circle ran
a broad gravelled pathway; at its farther edge, as
along the edges of the paths leading to it, were more
fruit-trees. The basin was full, not of water, but
of broken bits of bricks and glass. Under the
branches of the trees I saw beds of vegetables.
“There is an old bench at the end of this path,”
said Mr. Lannion. “Wait and I will bring it. You
can rest here; it is such a pretty spot.”
"Pretty!" I exclaimed." "I think it is dismal.”
“Dismal!" echoed Mr. Lannion, "dismal!” And
he stared about him, evidently wondering what I
could mean.
"Yes, dismal,” I repeated. “A choked fountain;
weedy pear-trees; stupid vegetables ; few flowers—
and an odor of cabbages and mould.”
"Cabbages !” he exclaimed, in tones of eager re-
monstrance, “those are cauliflowers. And there are
nice beds of strawberries, and whole rows of rasp-
berries. Don't you like raspberries, child ?"
"I wish that this fountain were playing," I said
pettishly. "I wonder that you cared to invite me to
walk in such a dreary spiders' den.” I ignored the
fact that I had invited myself and Mr. Lannion did
not venture to remind me. "If the fountain were
playing in the sunshine," I went on, "and great
vases of flowers marked the entrance to the paths;
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
if big-leafed water-plants grew close, close around
the basin, so that the spray kept their leaves always
wet and shining—why, then, Mr. Lannion," I turned
and smiled up at him suddenly," I should not think
it strange if you wished me to sit here with you,
under the pear-trees' shade.”
He flushed deeply, and stood, without speaking,
staring at me as though puzzled by my manner and
words. Then he left me abruptly, and going to the
end of the main path returned with the bench which
he placed on the edge of the gravelled circle in the
shadow. I surveyed it with disfavor.
“What a rickety old affair!" I exclaimed, and
added, touching the gray-green wood with a finger
tip, "and mouldy, yes, quite green with mould !”
Mr. Lannion took off his coat and spread it on
the seat. "Now it will not stain your pretty white
frock," he said, smiling. “Sit down and rest; you
must be tired."
“My first walk, yes,” I said, “so, of course, I
should rest. I will tuck up my feet, if you do not
mind.” And I absorbed the whole bench, leaving no
place for my companion.
“That's right,” he said approvingly. “The path
is good enough for Malvina and me—isn't it, Mally,
you old goose ???
Malvina, blinking disapprobation, so manifestly
thought it all wrong that Mr. Lannion laughed,
thus increasing her discomfort.
“So you want the garden beautified, do you ?” he
said, smiling up at me. “A fountain playing, vases
of flowers-goldfish, perhaps ?”
I shook my head. "No fish, please, Mr. Lan-
nion.” I wanted no prisoners for pets.
He drew out a note-book. "I will write down
your orders," he said.
“Not my orders.” I spoke indifferently. “Say
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
rather my suggestions. I consider your garden un-
inviting at present, that is all. I wonder what time
it is? But I see you have no sundial here. A gar-
den without a sundial always seems to me like a
person without a mind.”
"Do you want a sundial too ?” he asked. I
thought he appeared a trifle alarmed by my growing
desires.
"Are sundials expensive ?” I successfully kept my
voice expressionless.
"I imagine so," was the answer; “but never mind,
if you really want it.” He looked at me question-
ingly. I avoided his glance.
"I have no watch," I said, staring absently at a
distant vegetable bed. “I need a watch very much,
Mr. Lannion. It does seem odd that I should have
forgotten how much money Mrs. Robert Darling
left," I continued, speaking confidentially, and turn-
ing from the vegetables to look straight at my com-
panion. “I have not the remotest idea what my in-
come is, Mr. Lannion. Is it large or small ?”
"I wouldn't worry about that now," he said
quickly, looking down at his note-book. “There is
enough for you to have what you want, I guess.”
“I want a watch,” I said. "Not an old watch that
has been in the Darling family for years” (I had no
mind for pretended heirlooms purchased at a pawn-
broker's), "nor one that may have been bought for
Aimée Darling when a child. No, I want a new
watch."
“What kind do you want-Aimée ?” he asked
quietly. He still avoided looking at me.
"I am wearing black," I said, "so I want a black
watch.”
“You shall have it,” said Mr. Lannion, and his
tone bespoke relief.
If he were really stingy-as Delcie had hinted-
138


XII
The stables were farther from the house than the
garden, and were built on the western slope of the
plateau. A shabby group of buildings enough, I
thought; and as though divining the impression they
made, Mr. Lannion half apologized for them.
“I only rent the place,” he said, "so I haven't
cared to put any money on them. I run Ornith
Farm as a farm, not as a country-seat. I have had
it two years and, so far, I have made it pay.' What
is that I hear ?'' We were entering the main build-
ing. “Is Roddy in trouble ?"
We stopped in the doorway to listen. On our left
were four stalls, each occupied by a powerfully built
carriage horse. At the back a narrow staircase led
upward, and it was from some place near its top that
the sound of voices came. Roddy's voice, shrill with
anger, and the soft drawl of Cooper, the coachman,
in gentle but insistent rebuke.
You let me alone, Dave Cooper,” piped Roddy.
"It's none of your business what I do. You're a
mean old hunks, you are, spying after me when
you ought to be tendin' to your work! You go
clean- ”
“There, there," Cooper interrupted; "you've got
to come up, so where's the use fightin'? If your
Uncle Rollis knowed of this—well, you're aware
yourself, Roddy, what would happen."
“And you're going to be mean enough to tell ?”
shrieked Roddy. From his jerky tones I knew him
to be squirming in Cooper's grasp. "Go tell then-
who cares, anyway!”
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“I ain't agoin' to tell,” said the abused Cooper,
"an' you know it well enough, Roddy. My, my,
what a passion you're in, sonny! And Ossie real
disappointed that he ain't had the chance to eat
you up."
“Wait here,” said Mr. Lannion, and he ran up
the staircase. Only half-way, however; he paused
where he could command a view of both Roddy and
me. I was not to be left unguarded. There followed
a stillness, a stillness with something unpleasant in
it. Mr. Lannion spoke again.
"Rodgers,” he said, and although he spoke quietly
there was menace in his voice, "have you been trying
to visit the dogs again ?"
Another silence. Then Roddy answered, and I
instantly thought what a little creature he was by
the side of his interlocutor.
“Yes, Uncle Rollis," he said.
“You remember what I told you I would do, if you
disobeyed me ?” Mr. Lannion asked.
Again he spoke without apparent anger, yet again
his voice chilled me with dread for the child.
“Yes, sir," said poor Roddy.
“You will come to the library at five this after-
noon," commanded Mr. Lannion, and turned to de
scend the stairs.
“Yes, sir," came the faint answer from above.
I looked out of the doorway pretending to be ab-
sorbed in the view. Presently I saw a man hasten-
ing toward the stables. "Here comes your familiar,"
I said over my shoulder to Mr. Lannion, as he joined
me.
"Jasper!” he exclaimed. "Now what on earth
does he want?” and he went forward to meet his
factotum. "I shall have to return to the house," he
explained, when Jasper had delivered his message.
"Some men have come on business." (The blood
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
moment," anon, I suspectenlon, crushir
surged into my face as I thought of rescue.) “Old
friends of mine," said Mr. Lannion, crushing my
hopes—with intention, I suspected, “but unwelcome
at this moment,” and he smiled at me. "Jasper shall
stay to escort you back to the house when you have
inspected the horses. Don't over-fatigue yourself,
Aimée !” And he hurried away.
I did not know whether to follow or not. Had
he told the truth in regard to the visitors ? Cooper,
descending the staircase with lagging steps, put an
end to my doubts.
"I hope them men from town—the same party
as was here last month, ain't they ?” He looked at
Solomon who nodded. “Well, I hope as they'll dis-
embarrass his head of Roddy's doin's. You think
not ?" in answer to an expression of dissent from
Solomon. “Well, well, then I guess the little chap
will jest have to grin an' bear it. I'm awful sorry
for the child."
“Where is he now ?" I asked.
"Above,” said Cooper, jerking his thumb upward;
"hay-loft; it's his lair. Yes-yes,” he went on, speak-
ing meditatively, "it's his regʻlar lair. He goes
there to enjoy secret treasures-green apples and
such like-and to hide his lamentin's. An' I guess,
when all's said and done, we've all got our lairs.
Yes, sir,” staring steadily at me, "yes, sir, we have
so. For, when you come to think of it, we're mighty
like the dumb beasts, after all. We don't run inter
holes to die 'cause circumstances (meaning rela-
tions, friends, or poor-house doctors) forbids; but
we turn our faces to the wall, doin' our best to
make a solitude of our death-bed. Yes-yes, we do.
An' I calliate we ain't so different from the poor
beasts as the ministers pretend. An' often we ain't
so well worth prayin' over, neither; no, sir, we
ain't.”
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“What did Roddy do ?" I inquired. I was anxious
about the boy.
"I'll show you if you care to see,” said Cooper,
and led the way upstairs.
Solomon Jasper, leaving the door-post against
which he had been leaning during Cooper's remarks,
followed to the foot of the stairs where he remained,
his large dark eyes fixed upon me.
"Jest look out of here," continued Cooper, pointing
to an open window near the top, “an' I'll show you
what that little chap tried to do.”
I looked out. Beneath us, built against the lower
story of the stable, was an enclosure about a hundred
yards square. The fence surrounding it was very
high, the close boards separating into pickets at the
top. In the enclosure grew a Norway spruce, making
a clump of shade, and near it stood two kennels. The
grass had been scratched away in spots and looked
mangy. Because of this, of the height of the fence,
and the appearance of the two dogs that squatted
before the kennels, the place seemed to me like a den
of wild beasts. The dogs were the Great Danes whose
deep-throated baying had kept me awake many a
night since my coming to Ornith Farm. The larger
of the two was striped black and yellow-like a tiger.
The other was dun, almost black.
"Pretty puppies, ain't they ?” said Cooper ad-
miringly. “High, Ossie! High, Hermie, ol' man!"
The dogs moved their tails languidly, in dúll response
to his greeting. "If 'twas dinner-time you'd see 'em
skip”—Cooper spoke apologetically—“but the heat,
an' bein' up all night, makes 'em tired.”
“What did you call them ?" I asked. “I did not
catch their names."
“Their names is awful ugly,” said Cooper; "an'
though Roddy learned me how to pronounce 'em, I
shorten 'em up a bit. The one liked a striped tiger-
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
mes
19-some-
cat is Osirus, an' t'other is Hermes Tris-some-
thing "
“Trismegistus ?" I suggested.
“Yes, sir," said Cooper, “that's it. Now that boy
is jest set on playin' with them pups—wants to tame
'em, he says—and Mr. Lannion wants them kep’
fierce; says he won't have 'em mauled by wimmen an'
children. Him and me and the doctor is the only
ones they know. Roddy says”—I saw that he was
both fond and proud of the boy~"he says, says he,
'Dave,' he says, 'how'd you like it, Dave,' says he,
'ef no one never talked pleasant to you? How'd you
like,' he says, 'to be shut up all day in this hole, an'
fed an' treated like a dangersome lunatic in a 'sylum
cell—
Cooper stopped speaking abruptly. He looked
greatly alarmed, and eyed me in a helpless state of
embarrassment. That he felt he had stumbled upon
an unfortunate expression was almost absurdly ap-
parent. Lunatics must not be mentioned before a
person temporarily insane.
"Does Roddy try to carry out his plan of taming
them ?” I asked, looking down at the dogs and trying
to help the man out.
“Yes, sir—miss, I mean,” stammered Cooper, still
uncomfortable.
"But how can he ?” I demanded. "He can't pos-
sibly get in here."
“Yes, sir, he can," burst out Cooper, forgetting me
in his pride in the boy's cleverness. "He's the cutest
little chap alive! First he tried the fence, an? Mr.
Lannion caught him jest as he'd squeezed through
them top pickets an’ was ready to drop in. 'Twas
then he got his orders to keep out. But, bless you,
when Roddy's set in his mind, it takes more’n á
threatened lickin' to turn him! And this very
morning — Cooper spoke slowly and impressively-
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"he tried again. Yes, sir, he did—with a rope; yes-
yes, a rope. An' I happened along in time to catch
him an' haul him in-an' he did some lively kickin',
I can tell you! Ef I'd had the least idea—" He
broke off abruptly. He had not glanced toward
Jasper, but I fancied he had suddenly remembered
the presence of his master's confidential man. “But
you come out, I calliate, to see the horses," he re-
commenced carelessly, “an not to listen to me hold
forth. Ef you'll step downstairs I'll trot 'em out for
you.”
“I will see Ashtaroth first, if I may,” I said.
“Ashtie? Oh, yes, ef you want," and he led the
way through a side door to a well-sized box stall.
I looked long at Ashtaroth, and I did not wonder
at Aileen's affection for her.
"Four white feet, yes, sir,” said Cooper, “but they
don't make a mite of difference, to my thinking.
(Mrs. Lucas, poor lady, is awful proud of that white
half-moon of her'n.) And some hold that black
horses ain't as good as, well, we'll say chestnut or bay.
I used to b’lieve that you couldn't do better'n buy
a sorrel—as we called 'em down the Island. Mr.
Lannion he sticks to it that color doesn't matter a
mite. He's got a kind of leanin' torge black horses,
he has. Not that he bought this mare. No, sir; 'twas
Mr. Lucas as done that-an' a poor day's work it
was for his wife. But there, she didn't know no
more 'bout horses than a kitten! Ride the mare she
would, to s'prise her husband when he got home.
Well, well, she did s'prise him, sure enough." He
sighed. “You wouldn't have hurt her a purpose,
would you, Ashtie, ol girl?” The mare turned her
beautiful head and looked at him with affection.
“She knows me,” he said proudly, "and she likes me,
too. I'm the only man here that can handle her.
The reason she don't come right up to me is because
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of you. She don't take to strangers. She's a Arab,
Ashtie is,” he continued, becoming every moment
more expansive in his praise of his favorite, “and
she's got all the best points of her breed. Look at
her head. Light an elegant, ain't it? An' the shape
of them shoulders-obblique, like they'd oughter be.
Look at her deep chest, high withers, an' them fore-
legs, set so well for’ard. The truth is,” he lowered
his voice and spoke with plaintive seriousness, "she's
got all the points she oughter have, yet she's no good
to nobody. She was ruined when she was broke."
He looked at me sadly for a moment, then said
gravely: "And that's why I take on so over the boy.”
He jerked his thumb upward, indicating Rodgers'
hiding-place. “Mr. Lannion don't know it, but he's
breakin' him all wrong. Mr. Lannion's idea is :
Lick 'em seldom, but when you do lick 'em, lick 'em
inter welts. Yes, sir," as I contemplated him in
horror, "yes, sir, that's Mr. Lannion's idea--and, in
regard to Roddy, it's wrong. I know Roddy," he
went on slowly, glancing quickly over his shoulder
to make sure that Solomon was out of ear-shot, "and
I've seen the welts.”
“Why doesn't his father interfere ?" I asked, lower-
ing my voice, too, because of Jasper.
“The doctor says,” said Cooper with quiet disap-
proval, "he says, says he, 'I was ruined by gettin'
too few beatings. The more beatings the boy gets,'
he says, 'why, the better for the boy, says he. Mrs.
Despard she takes on over it at times, but”—with
slow contempt—"she, well, p'raps she was broke
wrong, too. There's a time to keep your heels quiet,
and there's a time to up with 'em an'lash out hard.
Mrs. Despard she kicks at the wrong time. She don't
never succeed in anythin', she don't.” He stared
sadly at the mare. "She's as pretty as a picter, ain't
she ?” he said in fond admiration, returning to a more
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
tone as is old gray fenheight,"
big-little
pleasing topic. “See how wide she is between the
eyes—an' such eyes! I call 'em beautiful; as soft
and as gentle as a deer's! I tell you what, they can
flash fire!” He chuckled, as if in fond remembrance
of some past scene. "She's just fifteen hands, one
inch,” he added; "a perfect height for a lady's saddle-
horse. Yet she'll never be used again.”
He became silent, lost in reflection. As I looked
at him, it occurred to me how like a horse he was
but not an Arabian. No, with his melancholy faded
brown eyes, his long, thin face, and long, yellow
teeth, he resembled a patient farm horse. Such an
one as is often to be seen gazing with gentle gravity
over the old gray fence of some home field.
"She is Dexter's height," I said musingly, as I
turned again to the mare. “'A big-little one'—as
they say.”
Cooper stared at me for a long moment. When
he next spoke his manner was still more confidential.
“The first time I went inter this stall,” he said
solemnly, "I thought I'd never get out alive. A bad
broke ordinary horse is wicked enough, but a bad
broke Arab is ferocious. They resent ill-treatment
like no other horse does. I calliate it's because all
their forbears was treated kind. Well, sir, when I
entered inter this stall, Ashtie she flattened them
delicate, small, thin ears of hers tight down to her
head, and she lay in wait for me. I walked right
up to her—'taint no good to stand away off from a
horse an' holler! When I got near she gave one
squeal, an' baring her teeth jest grabbed my coat and
shook me like I was a rat. How I got free I don't
know, but the minute I did, though I was awful dizzy,
I hauled off what remained of that coat an' giv' it
her. 'Eat it up,'I says, “ef you want,' says I, 'an' all
my clothes,' I says, 'but out of this stall I ain't goin'
till we're friends!!'"
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Yes,” I said eagerly, "yes. And then ?”
“You see,” drawled Cooper, “I'd locked the stable
door 'fore I started in. I wanted to do it-an' to do
it alone."
“Yes,” I urged, “yes; and how did it end?"
Cooper wagged his head at the mare in fond re-
buke. “You behaved awful bad, Ashtie, didn't you?
(She knows I'm talkin' about her," as the mare
drooped her proud crest, "and she's sorry to this day.)
For you see"-he dropped his voice to a mere whisper
lest the mare's feelings be hurt—"she worried all the
clothes off me afore she was done and that stopped
her. For she ain't a cannibal, Ashtie ain't, an' she's
thoroughbred through and through. And you mustn't
think as she carried on like that afore Mrs. Lucas rode
her. No, 'twas after the accident; the night of that
same day. She came on a Wednesday evenin', Ashtie
did. I got a wire from Mr. Lucas to meet her at
the station. Mr. Lannion he was away. The mare
was awful nervous all the way home; snapped at me
kinder fierce when I fixed her for the night-seemed
to expect to be hit or somethin'. An' when, the nex'
morning, word come for her to be saddled for Mrs.
Lucas, I advised strong against it, I did. 'Giv her
time to look 'round,' I says, says I. 'She's strange
yet,' I says, “jest giv her time.” He opened the
stall door, swept the sheet off the mare, and stood
back. "Look at her,” he said, “an' judge ef any lady
would have b’lieved she wasn't a lamb!”
Ashtaroth rested her dainty nose against the man's
shoulder fondly, while he stroked her glossy black
side with melancholy pride.
“She was unwillin' for me to saddle her," he said,
after he had carefully replaced the sheet and rejoined
me outside the door, "swellin' herself out till I
thought I'd never get the girths buckled as taut as
they'd oughter be. Ef Mrs. Lucas hadn't been un-
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
common spry I calliate she'd had a hard time
mountin'. What happened after I don't jest rightly
know, but I'm of opinion”—he lowered his voice
again—“that Ashtie must have shied an' scared
Mrs. Lucas, who, bein' no horsewoman, poor lady,
lost her nerve an' struck the mare sharp an' sudden.”
He paused, shook his head sadly, then said: “Mrs.
Lucas behaved grand after, I'll say that for her!
Wouldn't hear of poor Ashtie bein' shot (which was
what Mr. Lucas was all for doin') or sold—as Mr.
Lannion said must be done. No, sir; Mrs. Lucas
says, says she, 'The mare's too dangerous to be rode
by any one,' she says, 'but she's too beautiful to be
killed,' says she. An' she got Mr. Lannion's solemn
promise to let her be. He grumbles some over her
eatin' her head off an' no profit—but he let's her be.
And to tell the real truth Ashtie hadn't oughter be
ridden by no lady, for when one of her wild fits is
on her, she ain't fit to be trusted, Ashtie ain't. And
I'd like to meet the feller what broke her," Cooper
wound up with sudden fierceness. “I'd break him,
I would !”
"After twelve o'clock," said Solomon laconically.
He had come up behind us unheard. “Your dinner-
time, Dave."
“So 'tis, sure enough,” said Cooper, startled. "I
hope I haven't talked too much about the mare."
I thanked him. He had interested me greatly,
and I said so. Then, Solomon following at a respect-
ful distance, I returned to the house. I walked very
slowly. Cooper had not appealed to me directly on
Roddy's behalf, yet I knew that he hoped I might
help the boy. I thought and thought. At Ornith
Farm much thinking, I found, was needed. And
her, grew very much older with every day.
till we're
very much older found, washt. At Ornith
tryck
150


XIII
head coating rumnie asked on, and here
As I neared the house I saw that the carriage that
had brought Mr. Lannion's friends was still before
the door. What if Cooper had been mistaken-what
if- ? I started on a run. Solomon was beside me
instantly, his hand upon my arm. I was about to
risk everything by crying for help (everything, since
were these visitors not here on my account I should
lose what I had already gained by my self-control),
when Mr. King stepped out from a side path. He
looked from me to Solomon and back again.
“What's up?" he asked pleasantly. "A race on?
Mustn't try running yet," he added, shaking his
head good-naturedly; "you forget you've been ill."
"Yes,” I said, trying to smile, "I did forget. But
I wanted to speak to Mr. Lannion about poor little
Rodgers, so I ran. Is he still busy with his
friends ?” I spoke breathlessly. The effort and the
lie tried my nerves sorely.
“He is,” was the laconic reply, "and will be till
dinner-time. But what's the matter with the boy?
Hasn't hurt himself, has he ?"
Solomon had withdrawn to a respectful distance.
I felt I might venture to ask what I must know.
"Are they old friends of Mr. Lannion ?" I looked
toward the carriage.
“No friends at all," was the answer. “Business
acquaintances. What is the matter with the little
chap 2
"Do they come here often ?” I persisted. “Have
you ever seen them before ?"
Mr. King glanced at me quickly, then looked down
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
as though unwilling I should see that he had noticed
my poorly concealed distress.
"I've seen them lots of times," he said in his most
commonplace manner. “They were here often last
winter. I know them well. Let's go 'round to the
piazza. It's pleasanter there." I went with him
in silence. I could not speak.
"It's a pity the piazza don't run all 'round the
house, Miss Darling. I don't see the sense of having
it just across the front. But it's a queer house,
anyway, with its back door for its front door, and
I guess an Irishman must have built it.
Mr. King kept up this good-natured chatter until
he had safely ensconced me in the most comfortable
of the veranda chairs, when he sank down in the one
next me and calling to Solomon to bring me some
refreshment, "and be quick about it,” relapsed into
silence. But I refused the wine brought me and,
after a few moments' struggle with a desire to break
down and cry, I answered Mr. King's forgotten ques-
tion about the boy. He listened with the deepest
interest, and when I had finished my story groaned
heavily.
“Then Mr. Lannion does whip him cruelly ?” I
inquired. I had hoped that Cooper might be exag-
gerating
“Cruelly ?" echoed Mr. King, taking off his hat
and staring up at the ceiling as though addressing
it. “Cruelly ?” His tone was smoothly ironic.
“Oh, dear no, not at all. The weak hand of the
gentle Rollis at one end of a good flexible raw-hide,
and the uncoated shoulders of the brawny Rodgers-
with-a-d , at the other. Oh, no, not at all cruelly,
dear no! But I'll tell you what it is,” lowering his
eyes from the ceiling and speaking with great se
riousness, “Lannion's making a big mistake. You
can't rule Roddy through fear. Lannion doesn't
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Pets really companioti bet you
whip the boy often, and I honestly believe that he
does it for Roddy's good, but he does it too hard.
The little chap won't be able to forget-or forgive
for, well, never mind how long. I'm sorry I told
you, Miss Darling. I deserve to be licked myself.”
He looked at me anxiously. "Perhaps you'll go for
a little walk with me this afternoon—say at five
o'clock? You've never been as far as the woods yet,
have you? It would give me great pleasure to take
you there."
“I shall be very glad to go-if Roddy can go too."
Mr. King looked much distressed at his failure to
change the trend of my thoughts. “The child seems
old of his age.”
"He is,” said poor Mr. King gloomily. "His
mother says he's nine, but that's only to make her-
self out young. He's really ninety." I smiled.
“You may smile," said my odd companion, wagging
his shining bald head, “but it's true. I'll bet you
anything you like that that boy will come in to lunch
as calmly as if no thrashing hung over him. And
when he's asked why his eyes are so red he'll say
that he fell down and hurt himself—or that he was
in the kitchen fooling with the pepper-pot and upset
it into them. He's the grittiest little devil I ever
saw-begging you pardon. He says”—Mr. King
chuckled admiringly—“that young shaver says, that
only cowards howl over what can't be helped. He
says that whatever he can't down, he means to grin
and bear, because he's an American. He has like-
wise informed me that if you're an American you've
got to be brave, because it's in your blood. He also
remarked once, in strict confidence, that of course
the British were a plucky lot because they were
really all Americans. They had just happened not
to have come over with the Pilgrim Fathers, that
was all. Here comes Despard,” he whispered hur-
153


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
slags dod verother, 40 Mt. Rens weari, did not geht's pos
riedly, as Dr. Despard appeared, walking slowly
around the corner of the house, and you may as
well spare yourself the discomfort of asking him to
interfere, for he won't.”
"I suppose he feels he ought not,” I said, “be-
cause Mr. Lannion supports him and his family.”
"Don't you believe it," was the sharp reply. "He
earns his keep—like the rest of us. Hello, Dotty'—
he rose and went to meet Dr. Despard-wie geht's ?”
The doctor smiled pleasantly but did not speak.
He mounted the veranda steps wearily and coming
to my side sank into Mr. King's chair.
"Get another, Tommy, will you," his voice
sounded very weak, “and ask Jasper to bring me a
glass of milk.”
"No you don't,” said Mr. King, with a briskness
that I knew to be assumed. "Nary drop of milk will
I get you, Lulie. It's not lunch-time. Sherry and
bitters is what you want, old man.” He vanished
into the house, reappearing almost immediately. "I
snatched the brimming goblet from under the nose
of the lovely Solomon J., just as he was bearing it,
with others of its kind, upstairs to the den of milor.
You just come from there, Lu?”
“Yes,” said the doctor briefly. He sipped the
mixture in silence, then, looking at me, asked, very
kindly, how I was. "Your walk did not tire you,
Miss Darling ?”
"No," I said gently, "not at all. My body is quite
well and strong again, Dr. Despard. As to my
mind," I smiled a little, “I must distress you by
acknowledging that my mind clings tenaciously to
its delusions. I imagine myself Hope Carmichael,
still.”
“That will pass, that will pass,” was the doctor's
quick assurance. But as he spoke he turned his eyes
from me and scanned the lovely prospect of meadows,
154


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
woodland, and the distant, dreamy blue waters of
the Sound, as though he saw something that inter-
ested him greatly. “I declare,” he exclaimed, with
what I suspected was an affected animation, “I do
believe I see a hawk! Yes—no-yes, I am sure.
You look, Tom, your eyes are better than mine."
Mr. King rose and stared in the direction pointed
out by the doctor.
"I don't see any hawk,” he said with deliberation,
“although I guess you're right about my eyes being
better than yours. You've read too many abstruse
medical books, Lulie, my man; you've injured your
clearness of vision.” He spoke dully, as though he
were very tired, and only talked for civility's sake.
And turning from his search for the imaginary hawk,
he stood gazing absently down at the doctor, his hat
well over his eyes. "It's time you went in and
spruced up for lunch, Dr. Luther Despard,” he said,
stilling a huge yawn. "Later, you'll have to spruce
up for dinner, and by and by you'll have to make a
toilet for—for the night. Do you ever have the
nightmare, Dotty dear?”
“You're right,” said the doctor, rising with an
effort. "I was on my way upstairs again, but I
couldn't resist a little chat with Miss Darling and
you, Tommy.” And he went into the house.
Mr. King watched him out of sight, then turned
his eyes upon the distant landscape.
"I always think of my grandmother on noons like
this," he drawled softly. “She was a very good!
woman. She read the Bible a lot. Sometimes it
seems to me that I can hear her voice reading bits
of it aloud.”
He squared his shoulders, took off his hat, and,
his eyes still fixed upon the distant glory of the
Sound, repeated in low, reverent tones :
"As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by ily-
155


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
ing, so the curse causeless," he paused, "shall not
come.”
He was silent for a moment, absorbed, apparently,
in very painful thoughts. Then, motioning slightly
toward the splendid view spread wide before us, he
said quietly: “This is God's world, child, and what
I have just repeated is one of God's truths."
As he ceased speaking Solomon came out, carry-
ing a tray. "Your luncheon," said my strange com-
panion gravely. “Gesegnete Mahlzeit !” and he went
away.
Solomon wheeled a table to my side and setting
the tray upon it withdrew to the doorway, where
he could command a view of me and of the hall.
I was very hungry, but I had determined to go with-
out my luncheon. So I did not look at the tempt-
ing food, but turning from it soon forgot my appe-
tite in anxious thoughts, for I could not understand
why my imprisonment at Ornith Farm lasted so
long. I knew—from Mr. Lannion's own lips—that
the story of my shipwreck had found its way into
the newspapers. And even supposing that my own
people believed me to have been drowned, why had
not Loison and the crew of the schooner spoken?
Their poor knowledge of English did not account for
this silence. So romantic an accident, the drowning
of a young girl on the night of her bethrothal, would
travel far by word of mouth alone. Why, I asked
myself over and over again, did not Loison and the
sailors who knew of my whereabouts, hasten to tell
of their knowledge? By this time they must have
heard that such news would gain them a large reward.
The sound of a carriage rolling rapidly down the
avenue roused me from my self-absorption. Mr.
Lannion's friends were already departing. In an-
other moment Mr. Lannion himself came out upon
the veranda.
156


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“What is this ?” he asked, glancing from the tray
to me. “Doesn't your luncheon please you—or was
the walk too fatiguing ???
“The food looks delicious," I said, "and the walk
did me good. Your friends left earlier than you
expected, Mr. Lannion."
"Yes,' he said, dropping into the chair so lately
occupied by Dr. Despard, and sighing as if very
glad to rest, "yes, I thought I was in for a day of
it; but they were in a hurry, thank Heaven! Why
don't you eat your luncheon, child ?” He smiled at
me as he spoke, stretching out his long legs, and
leaning back in his chair in a very luxury of happy
repose.
“Uncle Rollis," came a faint childish voice from
the doorway, "mother wants to know why you don't
come in to lunch. I am to say that we are waiting
for you.”
The child looked very little ; very little, and very
forlorn. His thin, freckled face was streaked and
blotched, the scrubbing to which it had evidently
been subjected having failed to remove the traces
of his tears. He did not look at Mr. Lannion but
kept his eyes upon the distance. And I knew that
it was not fear that made him do this but the desire
to avoid the sight of a detested face. Mr. Lannion
was making the boy hate him.
“Tell your mother not to wait,” he now said care-
lessly. "I shan't be in for a half-hour yet.”
He either did not observe or was not touched by
the child's miserable appearance. It seemed to me
that any one with half a heart would have seen that
Roddy had already been sufficiently punished, and
would have forgiven him then and there. But the
forlorn little figure was allowed to reënter the house
without a kind word.
“You are not thinking of letting him off ?” I in-
157


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
quired. I wondered if I could bring myself to beg
for the boy's pardon. I secretly feared I could not.
“Who, Roddy ?” said Mr. Lannion, looking at me
with lazy content. "No, indeed. Boys need a flog-
ging now and then. It does them good.”
He was so evidently very happy, so noticeably en-
joying being with me, so luxuriously at peace with
himself and his world, that I was shaken by a sud-
den fury of indignation. I pressed my lips together
tightly that I might not betray myself in speech, I
closed my eyes that I might not see his face.
“Jasper," he cried to his henchman, "lower the
awnings! Shall I turn your chair around, Aimée ?”'
He spoke with tender concern. “Or will the awn-
ings be sufficient? The glare is intense.”
I opened my eyes perforce and said that the awn-
ings were sufficient. I obliged myself to thank him,
as well.
“What about your luncheon? I was forgetting
it,” he said presently. “It must be as cold as a stone.
Suppose I send for some hot chicken-a double al-
lowanceand lunch with you! May I-please ?”
He spoke pleadingly, humbly even. I rose
briskly, and before he suspected my intention had
pushed the little table, with its tray, to his side.
"This is not chicken,” I said lightly, “but squab,
on toast. It looks delicious. And peas," I contin-
ued, "young, sweet, excellent! To say nothing of
creamed potatoes, a roll, a pat of fresh butter, and
a glass of orange wine. Wine that holds the per-
fume of the orange blossoms, Mr. Lannion; and
you shall drink it.”
He looked up at me strangely. He was intoxi-
cated—without wine. “You will share with me?"
he said.
I shook my head. "No," I said earnestly, "you
are to have it all; squab, peas, potatoes, roll, butter,
158


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
wine everything! It will not be a bit too much,
for you look as hungry as—” I paused, seeking a
simile. I looked well at the man lounging in the
big easy chair before me. Looked at his powerful
figure, his rough brown hair, his long nose, his
rather small gray eyes—with their greenish glint.
As I scrutinized him his smile deepened. I saw the
glint of his strong teeth under the heavy brown mus-
tache.
“As hungry as what?” he asked. He appeared
well pleased to have me so much interested. “As
hungry as forty bears? That is what Roddy would
say."
But I-I thought suddenly of Loison. “As hun-
gry—as a wolf,” I said slowly, and almost beneath
my breath.
He laughed. “I'm not wolfish enough to gobble
up your little pat of butter and slender flask of
wine,' little Red Riding Hood," he said good-
humoredly, "but if you don't object I'll tell Jasper
to bring me something here. I am very hungry.”
“You want more than this ?” I inquired incredu-
lously. I glanced at the well-filled tray. "I assure
you that I shall not touch it."
“Why not?” he asked in surprise. “I thought
that you, too, were hungry.”
"I am hungry," I said, and I turned to walk away,
"but I shall not eat until to-morrow, Mr. Lannion."
He rose quickly. He looked puzzled and a little
anxious. "Pray explain,” he said.
"I have a friend who is in trouble," I said. "I
cannot bear his pain for him, but I can, by starving
myself, suffer a little with him. So I am denying
myself food.”
"Ah!” Mr. Lannion looked at me steadily. "It
pleases you to avenge the boy—is that it ?”
I was glad to see that his happy expression, his
159


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
look of even rapturous enjoyment, had vanished.
“Avenge him? No," I replied. “That is an odd
idea, Mr. Lannion."
"Not odd—for a woman,” he said slowly. “I
punish the boy, so you punish me.”
I raised my eyebrows. I glanced from him to the
tray. "Punish you ?” I exclaimed. “Why, I give
you my luncheon, Mr. Lannion! I return good for
evil. You deprive me of food when I am faint for
lack of it. Yet when you complain of hunger I bid
you eat.”
"It has not occurred to you," he said in low tones,
“that you might possibly win forgiveness for the
boy without threatening to make yourself ill? What
if your threat be disregarded ?"
I remained silent. I wished very much that I
knew what I ought to do—and say. I bitterly re-
gretted my inability to understand—and so manage
-people. If Mr. Lannion were a horse, I said to
myself, there might be some hope of my ultimate sua
cess. Were he a horse I should now pretend to give
him his head, leaving the reins loose. Then he
would soon show what trick he contemplated play-
ing. For Roddy's sake let me treat him as a horse
and not pull on the curb too soon.
“Why don't you try bribery, Aimée ?” he sug-
gested softly.
The trick was played !
"I will,”. I said gravely. “If you will forgive
Roddy, I will give up the watch and buckle I asked
for, thus sparing you the expense you so dread, Mr.
Lannion."
And as he flushed hotly under the sudden lash
of my words, I thought with Cooper that people were
strangely akin to the poor dumb beasts after all.
There followed a long silence. Then Mr. Lannion
spoke:
160


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"I forgive you, because I love you,” he said. “I
shall not forgive the boy unless you make it worth
my while.”
I pointed to the tray. “Bon appétit, monsieur,"
I said, “and for three days, good-bye!”
I ran on into the house and upstairs to my room,
where I determined to remain, a voluntary prisoner,
for the promised time. Delcievere appeared pres-
ently. She carried a plate of Charlotte Russe which
she offered me with an engaging smile, and an elab-
orate pretence of not having heard of my lack of
luncheon. And after I had convinced her that my
decision to fast was not to be shaken by either coax-
ing or scolding, there came a knock at the door and
Solomon handed in a basket of beautiful cherries;
the first I had seen that season. But I had no in-
tention of breaking my word, and I was ashamed
of the discomfort my desire for food brought. "Who
sleeps dines,” says the French proverb, and I longed
to seek refuge from my disagreeable sensations in a
nap. But this would have meant disloyalty to Rod-
dy, so I remained awake. Fretting over the boy's
wrongs and my own I paced the room until, at half
past four o'clock, even Delcie's serenity gave way.
"If my Miss Honey-love would only stationary
herself to reading or something !” she exclaimed
plaintively.
"Give me a bit of paper and a pencil, please," I
said. And when, delighted that her advice was
taken, poor Delcie quickly complied, I wrote:
“Cherries are not pomegranates, and I am not
Proserpina, but Hope.”
Folding the slip I tucked it in among the cherries
and, summoning Solomon, returned the fruit to its
sender. Then I went to the window and sat down.
I had done all that I could force myself to do for
the child.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
The minute-hand of the little clock crawled
slowly, slowly. Five minutes passed—ten-fifteen.
It was a quarter of five, and no response from Mr.
Lannion. Then followed self-reproaches, bitter, in-
tense. If the child suffered it would be my fault.
My fault, because were I to stoop to a little flattery,
a little coaxing, a half hint that I was not entirely
unhappy at Ornith Farm, the boy would be forgiven.
I put myself in Rodgers's place. Would a boy of
his really fine nature wish wrong to be done that he
might escape physical pain? But then, again, would
it be wrong to act a lie in this case ?
My brain whirled. I could not decide. I glanced
at the clock. Ten minutes of five. I sprang to my
feet and began again my restless walk, to and fro,
to and fro. I was sick at heart, and at my wits' end.
One minute of five-five o'clock.
I turned toward the door. The struggle was over.
My pride must go to the wall. Then with lightning-
like clearness, the words that I had written flashed
suddenly across my mind-and with a new meaning.
I had known that they carried two, but I now real-
ized that the short sentence was capable of a third
interpretation. If Mr. Lannion had so understood
it, I had already stooped and in vain!
Delcie, rising hastily, ran forward, her hands out-
stretched. “Lawsy me!” she exclaimed, forgetting
elegance of speech in her alarm, "I'm fearful you's
goin' to faint, you look so pale.”
"Open the door, please," came a cheerful, childish
treble from the hall. "I can't, my hands are so
full.”
I sank down upon the nearest chair and made a
desperate effort not to burst out crying. For the gay
voice was Rodgers’s. Delcie hastened to obey his
summons, and he entered, carrying, with great care,
a cup of hot broth.
suddenlyness, the worde wall. Thestruggle was
162


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Uncle Rollis says you're to sip it slowly, for the
starving ought to begin eating by degrees.” Roddy
placed the cup upon the window sill, and sighed in
relief over the successful termination of his career
as a waiter. “And Uncle Rollis says that he's had
nothing to eat since breakfast, and will you please
come to the library and make him a cup of tea? He
says that he thinks he deserves more than one lump
of sugar, but he'll leave that to you. Say," con-
tinued Mr. Lannion's messenger, beginning to con-
verse on his own account now that his devoir was
accomplished, “there are cherries in the library !"
He gave a great skip. “Cherries! Beauties! I'm
to have some! If you blow that soup it'll cool faster.
Not that you're to hurry; Uncle Rollis said not;
but when you've drunk it we can go down."
I did hurry, being unable to resist his appealing
eyes. But when we reached the top of the staircase
he held me back for a moment, and looking up at
me said, in half-stifled tones: “You went hungry
for me. Uncle Rollis said so. And I won't forget
it-you may bet your life I won't! And you're just
like Grace Darling, after all.”
I patted his shoulder gently. I was both touched
and pleased. “Thank you, Roddy," I said grate-
fully. “But I'm not a bit like your Grace Darling,
rowing through raging billows to save lives. She
was really grand.”
“You've saved me a flogging," insisted Roddy,
"and I won't forget it. And I'll promise you not
to play with the dogs again.”
163


XIV
though my believededed care unfortu
nearly need. I neer that mos were for
By the middle of that month, July, I had won for
myself a certain freedom. The doubting, suspicious
glances from ever-watching eyes had ceased. Al-
though never left unguarded, I was treated by all as
though my strange delusions were forgotten. It was
evidently believed that my sanity was almost re-
established. I needed care, constant care, but I had
nearly recovered from the unfortunate attack of ner-
vous prostration resulting from Mrs. Darling's sudden
death. I had won this belief by the daily, nay, hourly,
exercise of self-control. Since the first days of my
coming to Ornith Farm when I had made wild ap-
peals to Dr. Despard for help striving, even fran-
tically, to convince him of my identity—I had been
passive, giving way to no passionate outbreak of any
kind. This had been hard, very hard. But because
of my early training, I was able to remain thus in-
active-to bide my time.
It was Sunday afternoon. Mr. Lannion, Dr. Des-
pard, Mr. King, and I were upon the veranda. Mrs.
Despard was upstairs, napping. Roddy was not
present. I thought I would see how far I might
venture to extend my walks abroad, and I was just
about to speak when Mr. Lannion rose.
"It's delightful here,” he said, his eyes upon me,
“but business is business, and I must attend to mine.
No, Luther," as Dr. Despard made a motion as if
to accompany him, “I can finish alone. You stay
here with the young people.” And including Mr.
King and me in a wave of the hand, he went indoors.
“Young ?” said Mr. King, removing his hat and
e
164


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
passing a hand across his bald head. "Dear me!
what did he say that for? I thought-he glanced
reproachfully toward the door as if he still saw Mr.
Lannion—"I thought that it must have been a dream
—this shining, slippery poll! I thought I had but
dreamed that I was a bald-headed patriarch! I
expected to grasp a plentiful crop of curls—like
Miss Darling's. It was mean of Rollis to start me
off.” Dr. Despard smiled. “I, too, like Rollis,” Mr.
King went on, "have a strong partiality for”—he
paused and threw a handkerchief over his head as if
preparing for a nap,"for—hope. But I don't in-
dulge in such desperate grabs at hope, as a general
thing." Dr. Despard turned his bright dark eyes
questioningly upon the speaker, but only the lower
portion of Mr. King's India-rubber-like face was
visible. The big handkerchief concealed his eyes.
“I don't expect to be young and fair again, I don't,”
he murmured drowsily, "not unless some rash in-
dividual, like R. Lannion, Esquire, starts me off.”
Dr. Despard now gave me his full attention, Mr.
King being veiled from over-curious scrutiny. I
raised my eyebrows and smiled.
“Isn't he funny ?" I said, nodding toward Mr.
King. "I love nonsense, don't you? I wish he
wouldn't go to sleep. Please don't go to sleep, Mr.
King.”
"Why not?” he demanded. His voice seemed to
come from a great distance.
Again I glanced at Dr. Despard and smiled. He
readjusted himself comfortably in his chair. Did I
imagine it or was there an expression of relief upon
his white mask-like face?
"You promised to take me to the woods some time,
Mr. King," I said. “Are you too sleepy and is it too
hot for us to go there now? And you will come,
too, Dr. Despard ?" I turned quickly to the doctor.
165


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Mr. King swept off his handkerchief and got up.
Bringing his heels together with a click, he made me
a neat bow and recited impressively, hand on heart:
". There was an Old Person of Cadiz, who was always polite
to all ladies;
But in handing his daughter, he fell into the water, which
drowned that Old Person of Cadiz.'
not your dah. ile I'fetched iss Darlingine
But since there's no water in the woods, and I'm
born to be hanged, I think we may venture, Miss
Darling."
“And I am not your daughter," I added, smiling,
and begged him to wait while I fetched a sunshade.
"I'm afraid I must veto your plan, Miss Darling,"
said Dr. Despard. He did not look at me as he
spoke. “Solomon Jasper is not on hand—this is
Sunday, you know. And I doubt if I can get as far
as the woods to-day.”
“We need a chaperon, it would seem,” remarked
Mr. King, in airy surprise to the distant woodland.
“I must be young, after all!” And again, with an
appearance of great slyness, he furtively felt his head.
"Young and giddy," said the doctor lightly.
"Some people never grow up, Tom."
“We might go to the home field,” I suggested,
concealing with recently learned skill—the skill of
a prisoner-my disappointment. “That is not very
far away, and the walk is shady. You can go as far
as the home field, I trust, Dr. Despard ?”
"Oh, yes," was the slow and unwilling reply, "if
you really want to walk, Miss Darling. It is so
comfortable here."
"How kind of you!" I said gayly, ignoring his last
words. “And Mr. King will fill his pockets with
lumps of sugar for me and carry a camp chair for you.
Mr. King is always good to people.”
This small compliment had the odd effect of de
166


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
pressing Mr. King, and although he did at once
what I suggested, he walked to the meadow in a
gloomy frame of mind. Indeed, so distrait was he
that twice on the way thither he planted the camp
chair in an inviting bit of shade and stood still.
“You forget that I'm going too, Tommy," the
doctor said good-humoredly the second time. "Not
but what I know that two's company !”
"Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. King apologetically;
"I beg your pardon, Lu. The truth is I wasn't think-
ing of what I was doing.”
“Of what were you thinking, then ?" asked the
doctor. He spoke sharply.
“Of the past,” was the brief retort. “Just as you
do sometimes.” And we none of us spoke again un-
til the pasture ground was reached.
Abatos and Nonios, the two black carriage horses,
had been turned out to graze. Cooper was away, en-
joying his Sunday afternoon outing. Nonios trotted
whinnying across the field to welcome me, well aware
of the treat in store for him. He was a handsome,
powerful creature, and very intelligent.
"Nonie's awful smart," Cooper would say, "an?
he takes things by and large. He don't never get
over-excited, Ñonie don't, but he walks away with the
bun every time. Yes, sir, yes-yes, he takes things
by and large.”
That he took sugar by and large was evident. He
crunched the lumps dealt out to him with a com-
posed enjoyment, very different from the nervous
greed of Abatos, his companion.
“Abbie's got enough go," was Cooper's verdict,
“but his head's as slow as midnight. Anythin' un-
usual s'prises him to a standstill, unless Nonie's
along to take the lead.”
"Řollis is clever at a horse deal,” said Dr. Des-
pard, as he leaned against the fence at my side.
167


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
caped the misfortune of sliding off. What I had
most dreaded were the turns to be made at the cor-
ners of the field, but by the time I had successfully
rounded the first Nonios understood that steadi-
ness was desired. With the innate desire to do his
best, possessed by every intelligent and well-broken
horse, Nonios now showed that he had also the rare
quality of feeling responsible for the safety of his
rider.
I had circled the meadow but once when the sound
of a whistle, blown three times, told me that Dr.
Despard had not ventured so far from the house with
me unarmed. I was assailed by a very great tempta-
tion. Why not leap the fence and make a dash for
freedom? I had given my word, but should it hold
a prisoner such as I? A girl's promise! Did Mr.
King expect it would be kept ?
Nonios was now ambling gently. I glanced toward
Mr. King. In his arms he held Dr. Despard, and
was, apparently, too much overcome by laughter to
notice the doctor's anger. Mr. King shouted, he
roared, be swayed his friend to and fro, deaf to his
frantic complaints. Suddenly, as I stared, knowing
this mirth to be assumed, Mr. King flung his head
back and, while still laughing, shot one swift glance
at me. And I could not tell if the look meant “go” or
"stay." What to do I did not know, for my given
word held me in spite of my wish to disregard it.
The misery of decision was spared me. Up the
slope toward the field a tall man came running.
Solomon Jasper, returning from his too few hours
of absence from duty. The same moment, hatless
and in his shirt sleeves, as if he had dropped his work
at the doctor's shrill summons, Mr. Lannion appeared
on the path leading downward from the house.
“Quick, Rolly !" shouted Mr. King, releasing the
doctor to make a trumpet of his hands, "you're just
170


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"I've sent Jasper for saddle and bridle,” he said,
his eyes roving everywhere save toward Mr. Lannion
or me. "I thought since it scares you and Dotty to
see Miss Darling ride bareback, she might as well be
properly fitted out.”
"She will return to the house," said Mr. Lannion
briefly. "Come, Aimée !"
“Dear me!” éjaculated Mr. King, in perfectly ex-
pressionless tones. “Walk-in stockings ?"
“She shall be carried,” was the stern answer.
“The usual method employed with wilful chil-
dren."
“And with those temporarily-insane," I added,
anger banishing fear.
"I want to see her ride!" complained Mr. King,
as though speaking to himself. “I shall yet. Hope
on, hope,” he paused an instant, "Hope-ever!”
As he finished his slow sentence I saw Dr. Despard
approaching. He had gone to the gate and thus
effected an easy entrance. And as Mr. Lannion evi-
dently did not like to go to the length of lifting me
by force from my high position, I was still upon
Nonios when the doctor arrived.
"Dr. Despard,” I said, the moment he was within
ear-shot_and my heart began to beat so violently
that I lacked breath as greatly as had Mr. King-
“Dr. Despard, I want to ride around the meadow.
Mr. Lannion says ‘no. What do you say ??
The doctor looked the worse for his struggle with
the volatile Mr. King. His usually white cheeks
boasted each a bright pink spot. It was as if he had
had recourse to rouge.
"I say no, too,” he replied coldly. "You are al-
ready over-excited.”
This was the touch too much. Figuratively speak-
ing, I took the bit in my teeth and, as in old days
with my dear Lady Disdain, "went wild.”
172


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“I shall be more so if I am thwarted," I said
quickly, and there was the tremor of suppressed tears
in my voice. “You call me mad. So be it. But in
that case why cross the harmless whims of a mad
person ?"
"This is not a harmless whim," the doctor began
hurriedly, while the unwonted color in his cheeks
went and came. I interrupted him.
“What !” I exclaimed, "you seek to reason with
a mad girl? I am flattered, Dr. Despard.” I made
a little salutation with my hand in lieu of a whip.
“But I should think that it would be well to humor
the insane when possible. Ah! here is Solomon,
with saddle and bridle. I am to have my way ?”
Solomon, who had fancied that Mr. King was
giving the order for Mr. Lannion, now caught Abatos
(whose curiosity had brought him within easy reach)
and saddled him with a man's saddle. And I saw
that a second bridle hung over Solomon's arm, and
that he held two whips.
“What does this mean?” demanded Mr. Lannion
sharply. When Solomon explained that he had
thought Mr. Lannion wished to accompany me, and
that he, Jasper, considered it wiser for me to have
at least reins to depend upon, so had ventured to
bring the second bridle, I got my answer. “You
may take both horses to the stable,” said Mr. Lannion
severely, “and learn that it is I who give orders here
—not Mr. King. Come, Aimée !" He again made
as though he would lift me from the saddle.
Jasper had approached very near. Mr. King was
holding Abatos as Solomon, innocently suppos-
ing that he was doing what his master wished, had
already given me the whip and was just about
to bit Nonios. At Mr. Lannion's harsh reproof he
stopped instantly and stepped back from the horse's
head.
173


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Come, Aimée !” Mr. Lannion reiterated.
"Enough of this nonsense.” And he put his hands
about my waist to jump me down.
I forgot my determination to be passive, submis-
sive. I forgot the wise resolves made during long
sleepless nights. An anger such as I had never be
fore felt swept away every thought of expediency,
every good resolution. I leaned forward, I raised
my whip high, and lashed him across his head and
shoulders. He started back, and Mr. King, drop-
ping Abatos' bridle, came swiftly between us, just
in time to catch me as I slid to the ground. The
horse, affrighted, trotted snorting away across the
field, and I, covering my face with my hands, burst
into a passion of tears.
“Halloo!” shrilled a child's voice, “what are you
all doing there?”
The men, as if by a common impulse, closed up,
screening me from Roddy's curious gaze. He had
almost reached us. I battled with the sobs which
convulsed both body and soul.
"Say, you, Tom,” the child continued as he drew
near, "you got me a jolly big rating, do you know
it ?""
"How, Roddy ?" It was Dr. Despard who spoke.
Mr. King's usually fluent tongue was unaccountably
still.
“Oh, Tom chose my Bible verse for me," said
Roddy cheerfully, "and mother says he's not to do
it again. She says if that's the kind of text he
preached from when he was a minister, she doesn't
wonder that he didn't draw.”
Dr. Despard—was it to gain time for me ?-asked
Roddy to repeat the verse. "Let us hear what you
have learned, my son,” he said.
The child obeyed, his voice suddenly grave and
earnest.
174


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by
flying, so the curse causeless shall not come.”
In the profound silence that followed, my sobs
were plainly heard; and Roddy, his thin face care-
worn, his blue eyes distended, had circled the men
and was at my side before they could stop him.
“What's she crying for ?” he asked, in low, eager
tones. "Has she hurt herself ?”
“Yes,” said Mr. King quickly, with meaning,
"she's lost her slippers—and hurt her feet. If you'll
hunt the slippers up I'll give you a quarter.”
“Where shall I look ?” said the child; “I don't
want money for it, Tom.” Then, laying his small
hand upon my shoulder, he said gently: "Don't you
cry, Aimée. I'll find your slippers, and father will
do the rest."
He started off on his search and soon had found
what he sought. With painstaking care he put the
slippers on for me, and I wondered that his child's
hands had such gentle deftness.
"Can you walk, do you think ?” he inquired anx-
iously. I had overcome my sobs, and even managed
to smile a little as I nodded in acquiescence. "Lean
on my shoulder," said my young protector affection-
ately. "I'm really very strong. And father will
make your feet all right, won't you, father ?”
Dr. Despard made no response. We returned to
the house in silence.
175


XV
I slept very little that night. Over and over again
I asked myself what impression had been made upon
Mr. King, and if in him I had found a friend. If
not, then by my wild outburst of surely righteous
wrath I had lost the little previously gained.
Wearied out at last I fell asleep toward dawn, and
did not rise until late in the morning. I dreaded
going downstairs and meeting Mr. Lannion and Dr.
Despard. Especially the latter, whom I no longer
believed an unskilful physician but Mr. Lannion's
willing accomplice. But I felt I must see Mr. King.
Perhaps, I said to myself—for I was very young
and ignorant-perhaps he had already left Ornith
Farm, and was sending news of my whereabouts to
Max. This wild hope carried me quickly in search
of him. I heard Mr. Lannion's voice in the hall
above as I left my room. It floated down the stair-
case, the top of which he must have just gained.
“Despard believes it's the best outfit in the coun-
try; but we need you to "
I held myself rigidly still, not wishing to be dis-
covered. I heard no more, however, for the speaker,
with his companions, passed into one of the upper
rooms and closed the door. I had never visited the
third story. It was “taboo." Mr. King had his
quarters there, I knew, and Mr. Lannion and the
doctor were often to be seen on their way thither.
The servants slept in the basement.
I continued my way downstairs as far as the land-
ing; from there I looked into the lower hall. Jasper
176


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
sat beneath the fierce-beaked eagle reading a news-
paper. He showed that he was aware of my pres-
ence by rising and standing at attention; he did not
look up. When I asked who was downstairs he said
laconically:
"No one, miss."
I did not wish to question him as to Mr. King's
whereabouts. Aileen's door opened while I stood
hesitating, not knowing what to do, and Mrs. Des-
pard came out.
“Where are you going, dearie ?” she asked as she
caught sight of me. “Better come in and see Aileen
and me for a little.”
She rustled down to my side and laid a kind hand
upon my shoulder. I knew from the ansious ex-
pression in her prominent, pale-blue eyes that she
had been told that I was not so well. I could im-
agine that I heard the doctor saying, in tones of
grave regret, that his "young patient” had had
"rather a serious relapse.” At the moment I hated
him even more fiercely than I hated Mr. Lannion.
“There's not much view from these north win-
dows," my companion continued, staring at the wide
sweep of gravel below, the tall evergreens growing
close on either side, and the path beyond leading
to the hedged-in garden. "I love a spreading pros-
pect myself. I must have a horryzon. And that,"
she went on reflectively, “is why I don't care for
mountings. Just great lumps of dirt between the
horryzon and me! And I notice that even folks who
say they love mountings are always and forever shin-
ning up them, to see something else. It's real hot
this morning, ain't it? Come, let's go sit with
Aileen!”
It was very hot. Aileen looked fushed and fever-
ish, I thought, as I kissed her good-morning. She,
too, regarded me with troubled eyes. I smiled down
177


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
upon her reassuringly and an odd, bewildered ex-
pression succeeded the anxious one.
“Where is Mr. King ?” I asked, as I sat down
beside her. "Has he gone away ?”
"No, he hasn't,” said Mrs. Despard irritably,
"but I 'most wish he had. He sets Roddy up so.
No, he's upstairs now; him and Loo and Rollis Lan-
nion and two friends. Yes, they've come to stay”
in answer to my look of inquiry—“they're here
often.”
“What is the 'outfit?” I asked.
“Outfit?” repeated Mrs. Despard.
“Yes," I said. “I heard Mr. Lannion say that
Dr. Despard believed some 'outfiť to be the best in
the country. He spoke as though they were on their
way to see it.”
"I don't know,” she mused, curiosity plainly visi-
ble in every feature. Then, with a look of disgust,
she exclaimed: "Probably nothing but some dulī old
books on something or other! When those men come
here to stay, Rollis Lannion and Loo sit upstairs
an' talk an gabble till they're just tired out."
"I never hear them gabbling, Henrietta," said
Aileen good-naturedly, "and you know you don't.
Henrietta is not allowed upstairs,” she explained,
smiling. “Cousin Rollis likes to have his things up
there left in Solomon's charge."
“Which I've no wish to go,” said Mrs. Despard
with embittered dignity; "it's knee-deep in dust,
prob’ly! But if they don't talk, then, I ask, what
do they do ?” Aileen had no answer ready, and Mrs.
Despard repeated solemnly, “I ask, what do they do?
If they don't talk," she continued, "why does Loo
Despard return from their society with his brains
80 momonuxed up that he can't scarcely hear what
I'm sayin'? But they do talk, girls, and I'll tell
you what about, which the doctor he told me. It's
178


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
scientific re-search!” She stared at us each in turn.
“Scientific re-search—that's what it is. And so
long as they don't go to cutting up live animals in
it, they're free to continue. Which I said the same
to Rollis Lannion and Loo Despard, and I said it
firm. 'If you cut up poor living creatures,' said I,
'to learn somethin' to cure women and children as
you say so fine (which would a thousand times rather
die than have poor dumb beasts suffer torture),
then,' I said, 'if you do,' said I, “I'll break the door
down and learn you what sufferin' alive means.'
Which I'd do it, too!”
There was silence for a moment. Aileen seemed
preoccupied. I felt miserable and unlike conversa-
tion. "It can't be books, after all,” Mrs. Despard
burst out suddenly, staring solemnly at me. “Books
ain't never called outfits."
"No, dear Henrietta,” acquiesced Aileen patiently.
"Do you suppose he meant clothes?” asked Mrs.
Despard. "But no”—without waiting for an answer
-"Rollis Lannion don't care about clothes. I do
wish I knew what he meant !”
“Why do you care, dear ?” said Aileen soothingly.
“It's probably nothing interesting.”
“Why do I care ?" repeated Mrs. Despard irrita-
bly. "If Malcolm Lucas was admirin' 'outfits' as
being the handsomest in the country, wouldn't you
care ?"
“Then why not ask Dr. Despard ?” I very natu-
rally demanded. "He is the one who can tell you.”
Mrs. Despard surveyed me with lofty but withal
friendly pity. “When you're married,” she ex-
plained condescendingly, "you'll understand. And
I just guess," she continued, wagging her much be-
frizzled head at me solemnly, "that you'll find it
ain't always so easy to question your husband as you
think! Which, of course, you'll have the advantage
179


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of bein' an old man's darling—not that Rollis Lan-
nion is so old, not forty yet, but, as compared to
you "
I rose to my feet, I held up my hand. “Stop!”
I said.
"For God's sake, Henrietta !” exclaimed poor
Aileen.
“What have I done?” cried Mrs. Despard. She,
too, rose, and stood staring at me, red-faced and
scared. "I ain't said anything but what every one
knows and says! A man is a sight easier before mar-
riage than after. I ain't talkin' against Rollis Lan-
nion in particular. And I'm not goin' back on my
own husband. Men are all alike in their ways be-
fore and after marriage. It ain't Loo Despard or
Rollis Lannion—it's just man!”
I laughed jarringly, forlornly, and sank down
upon my chair. Aileen had become very pale. She
watched me timidly, intense pity in her lovely eyes.
At this painful juncture Roddy came briskly in. I
think we were all very glad to see him.
"I'm the elevator boy," he announced, surveying
us with complacent friendliness. “Whoever goes up
or downstairs must ring for me."
“Where have you been ?” his mother asked. She
spoke crossly, evidently pleased to have some one
upon whom to wreak her spleen. “And how many
times have I told you not to bounce in here without
knocking ?”
"Never once!" was the indignant reply. “And
Aileen says "
“That is an untruth," interrupted Mrs. Despard
angrily; "I've told you fifty times if once
"No, you never !” insisted Rodgers doggedly.
“Rodgers Despard,” cried his mother in awful
tones, "look me in the eye! Look me in the eye
and dare "
180


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Oh, please, Henrietta !” implored Aileen from
the bed. "Don't scold him! It's so hot, and I'm
not feeling well, and— ”
“There," stormed Mrs. Despard triumphantly,
catching Roddy as he went through with the pecul-
iar dance always evoked by her order to look her
in the eye, “there, what did I tell you? It's made
her ill, your bouncing in!”
“You let me be !” cried the boy, squirming out of
her grasp like an eel. “You're mad about some-
thing, or you wouldn't be so cross. I'll tell you
something—he had gained the door and, sure of
escape, grinned impishly at his irate mother—"that
Tommy said, if you want?” Mrs. Despard stared
but said nothing. “It was about you and Aimée,"
continued Roddy teasingly.
"You are not to go with Tom King, Rodgers
Despard,” commanded his mother. “What did he
commanded hi
say I
"He said ” began Rodgers, then stopped short.
“Well, go on,” from Mrs. Despard eagerly.
“Guess I'd better not tell—'twas only something
about Aimée's singing."
“She doesn't sing," was the quick response, “do
you, Aimée ?” turning to me.
“Yes, I sing,” I said quietly.
Rodgers forgot his mother; he advanced into the
room. "My!” he exclaimed, “do you really ?" I
bowed. “Will you sing for me now?"
I looked at Aileen.
"Pray do,” she said with suppressed eagerness.
I turned to Mrs. Despard. “You do not object ?”
I spoke very ceremoniously. How had she dared
couple my name with Rollis Lannion's ?
"I shall be delighted to hear you, I'm sure,” she
said, with pitying condescension, “if you care to
try.” And with the air of a world-renowned diva
181


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
about to endure the false notes of a tyro, she seated
herself in state to listen.
Upon my first coming to Ornith Farm I had had
no heart for singing. I was too newly caged. And
after, when I became desirous of winning the good-
will of my innocent companions, I had instinctively
refrained from entering into what I felt sure would
be considered a rivalry by Mrs. Despard. Her sing-
ing was not popular with the household. Were mine
liked she might be jealous, and I so lose a friend.
But I was out of sorts on that hot July morning,
and too much absorbed in my wrongs to be able to
judge those about me either coolly or kindly. I was
indignant with Mrs. Despard, and quite careless as
to what the result of my singing might be. I placed
myself before the chimney-piece, directly opposite
Aileen, where she lay, flushed and anxious, among
her white draperies. And as I looked at her sad
young face I forgot Mrs. Despard and the boy. I
remembered only that this suffering girl could alone
understand my feelings and, my eyes meeting hers,
I sang:
.: Voi, che sapete, che cosa è l'amor,"
But, as always, before I had finished the first verse,
I forgot both self and audience, carried away by
the mere joy of singing—by the rhythm of the
music. And, thus launched, I swung from one song
into another, following, unconsciously, the train of
thought that each brought with it. Presently I was
looking, not at the young invalid, but up at the fig-
ure of the Christ. Ah! He had known suffering-
“A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief."
But now He was seated “on the right hand of God
the Father Almighty.”
And very humbly, my heart in my voice, I sang
“Angels, ever bright and fair,” Then, my eyes
182


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
still upon that suffering face, I burst into the Bene-
dictus:
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for he hath visited and
redeemed his people;
And hath raised up a mighty salvation for us,”—
As with my whole soul and strength I chanted the
last verse,
That we should be saved from our enemies, and from the
hand of all that hate us,"
I became aware that the door of the room was half
open, and that there were people outside, in the hall,
listening.
I went back to my chair beside Aileen, and Mr.
Lannion entered with Dr. Despard, the latter clos-
ing the door behind him. An odd silence followed.
Mrs. Despard, rigid and red-faced, sat with her lips
tightly compressed as though fearing, were they to
part, her tongue might run away with her civility.
Roddy, wide-eyed and preoccupied, leaned against
the wall, absorbed in that dream-world of childhood
which some have never entered. Aileen, her big
eyes moist with unshed tears, spoke first, and for-
getting Mrs. Despard's feelings, burst into enthusi-
astic expressions of delight.
“Yes, very lovely,” Dr. Despard acquiesced po-
litely, when her warm praise admitted of an inter-
ruption. "Miss Darling's voice is exquisite. I am
sorry to have to put a stop to what gives us all so
much pleasure”-he avoided looking at me as he
spoke“but I must beg Miss Darling not to tax her
strength by singing at present. She is—as yet,
very far from strong.”
I looked up and met Mr. Lannion's eyes. The
expression in them stung me to speech.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“I am not to ride,” I said slowly, “and I am not
to sing. What then, if I may ask, am I to do ?”
"Come to the library,” said Mr. Lannion, an odd
inflection in his harsh voice, “and I will try to
amuse you.”
"I am not to ride," I repeated, paying no atten-
tion to his words, "and I am not to sing. Then the
newspapers must have said much of the riding and
singing of a certain Hope Carmichael! -
"Enough!” cried Mr. Lannion, interrupting me
rudely. I cannot permit you to speak in this way.
Come, I will take you for a stroll. The out-door air
may help to soothe your nerves," and he advanced
toward me.
I was seated on the side of the room farthest from
the door. To reach me he had to circle Aileen's bed.
As he started the door opened noiselessly and Mr.
King entered; at the same time Rodgers left his
position—and his dreams and placed himself di-
rectly in front of me.
"She doesn't want to go with you, Uncle Rollis,"
said the child; "she wants to stay here with us."
Mr. Lannion stopped short, staring down at the
boy. I rose and laid my hands lightly on Roddy's
well-knit shoulders.
"I am Mary Carmichael,” I said clearly, "called
-by my own people--Hope. I am not to ride or
sing lest "
Hush !" commanded Mr. Lannion sternly. He
took a step forward and put out his hand as though
to place it upon my lips.
A very passion of fury seemed to shake the boy.
“Don't you touch her,” he cried in his shrill treble,
"for I won't stand it! You let me off my licking
the other day—well, give it to me now, and let her
alone!”
In the silence that followed Mr. King's voice was
184


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
heard. He spoke softly; it was as though he but
thought aloud. "They fought from heaven,” he
murmured, “the stars in their courses fought against
Sisera."
Mr. Lannion laughed harshly. “You are mis-
taken, Rodgers," he said. “It is I that am punished
always, never Aimée. She lashes me with her rid-
ing-whip, and I, I bend my head—and kiss the rod.”
“Well, anyway," persisted Roddy, bewildered but
determined, "you let her alone.”
"And we will change the subject," I cried, with
mocking lightness of tone. "Dr. Despard shall tell
what this ‘outfit is that he considers the best in the
country.”
Another silence broken, this time, by Mrs. Des-
pard.
“Yes, you may look at each other,” she said tri-
umphantly, “but you won't catch us women napping,
I guess! Not that I care about your stupid secrets,
which I know no meaning for outfits but clothes,
which I always supposed men pretended to scorn.
And as for that poor child”—with a pitying glance
at me "which you won't let exercise anything
(though any doctor which is willing to live in the
world”—a withering glance at Dr. Despard—“knows
ridin' and singin' is first-class exercise even for deli-
cate girls), why, all I can say is if that's the way
some folks”-a sidelong motion of the eyelid toward
Mr. Lannion—"think they'll please, it's a mighty
queer way, to my notions.”
"I think I will go to my room,” I said wearily,
“if that is permitted— ”
"Aimée !" cried Mr. Lannion reproachfully,
pleadingly.
I patted the boy's cheek. "Brave Roddy!” I
whispered, leaning over him. Then, bowing slightly
to the others, I went away.
185


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
It was a very great disappointment to me that
neither Aileen nor Mrs. Despard had appeared star-
tled, or even impressed, by my announcement of my
identity. But upon reflection I realized that I had
simply said what they had been expecting me to say
every day since my arrival at Ornith Farm.
Delcie was seated by the window sewing when I
entered my room. She looked up at me anxiously.
"My honey-love seems real peeked and down to-
day,” she said, putting aside her work the better to
survey me. "Won't she promenade in the garden
a little? I don't like to see those sweet cheeks so
pale.”
For answer I flung myself face downward upon
the bed and gave way to tears of despair. I felt
unable to cope with my fate. Every one believed Mr.
Lannion, and thought me mad. I doubted if Mr.
King had made any effort to help me. He was still
at Ornith Farm. And the longer I remained away
from home the deeper must become the certainty that
I was drowned—sucked under by my hereditary
enemy, the sea. I moaned dully. My courage had
given way.
"Don't, for God's sake, my own little lady, my
sweet honey-love!” murmured Delcie. She lifted
me in her arms, cradling me against her tender
heart.
"I wish that I were dead, Delcie," I sobbed,
“dead, and with my mother!""
"I'll call the doctor,” said Delcie in alarm, and
she tried to lay me down among my pillows.
I clung to her, I would not let her go.
“No, no," I cried piteously; "I want only you!
Dr. Despard is wicked, wicked! He is doing me
a wrong."
"Mr. Lannion, then ?” suggested poor Delcie,
frightened. “I'll bring him."
mith Farm any effort tomad, I do believed Melt
186


XVI
Because of my keeping my room, poor Delcie, too,
was a prisoner. She was glad when, at nine o'clock,
I suggested going to bed. So soon as I was settled for
the night, she prepared her own couch—she slept on
the lounge in my room—and it was not long before
her peaceful breathing told me that she, at least, had
forgotten care.
The night was as hot as the day had been. Not
a breath of air stirred the leaves of the twin maples.
Our windows were open, the blinds flung wide, yet
the thin curtains did not move. I tossed restlessly
from side to side; I could not sleep. From the veran-
da below came the subdued sound of voices, the scent
of tobacco. By and by—for my door stood ajar-I
heard Mrs. Despard rustling up the staircase. The
clock in the lower hall chimed the hour- eleven
o'clock. I left my bed and went to the window.
The moon hung low in the western heavens. In an-
other hour it would disappear. I thought—with a
sickening pang of the heart of a June evening when
the moon swung low, and I had taken the false step
of my life.
I felt feverishly restless. The four walls of the
room, with the shadowy sevens of the frieze, seemed
closing in upon me. I would go out and walk in
the garden, under the open sky. If Delcie waked
she might go with me; if not, let Jasper follow at my
heels. I dressed quickly, resuming the filmy muslin
I had worn all day. I put on my belt with its hand-
some diamond buckle, and slipped into place the
diamond incrusted watch. Mr. Lannion had not been
188


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
had brought me thus far, go on by avenue and high-
way to the nearest dwelling. I was sure that any un-
biassed person would listen to my story and give me
help.
Keeping upon the grass, flitting swiftly across the
moonlit spaces between the trees, I had accomplished
half the journey to the gate, when a dark object de-
tached itself from a clump of bushes just beyond
me and moved into the open. It was Osiris, the
larger of the Great Danes. I had forgotten the
dogs.
Osiris stretched himself and opened his jaws
wide, yawning lazily. Then he lay down on the
grass and began to roll luxuriously from side to side.
His striped coat showed plainly in the moonlight-
he looked very like a tiger. I glanced about me
anxiously. Where was Hermes ? Lurking close
at hand, doubtless. The two ran together. Osiris
was between me and the gateway. I did not go
forward; I was afraid. I had been accustomed
all my life to the companionship of dogs, but Mal-
vina had taught me that some were untrustworthy;
and Mr. Lannion's watchdogs were trained to
fierceness.
I retraced my steps for a few yards and, taking
advantage of a bridge of shade, crossed the avenue
and crept behind a group of shrubs. If Hermes were
near Osiris, the breadth of the driveway now sepa-
rated me from both dogs, and I might steal to the
gate unseen. I held my breath, listening. To my
despair, Osiris left the grass for the road. He
stood still in the middle of the avenue, his nose point-
ing toward the house. Then, just beyond me, a black
shadow lifted itself. Hermes !
With painful care I drew off my slippers and
crawled backward inch by inch. And slowly the
black shadow followed. As if aware of his mate's
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
centre the path. Math the gate.ough the bushes
movements Osiris lounged along the avenue, keeping
pace with us. The garden was now my only refuge.
I neared it slowly, slowly, but at last its gate was
close at hand. Could I but open it unheard I might
hope to escape, not only from the dogs, but, later,
from Ornith Farm as well.
My fingers trembled as I lifted the latch. What
if it fell and betrayed me? But I accomplished an
entrance, and, closing the gate softly, stole on into
the heavy shade of the path. Then I stood still
waiting. The gate was not too high for the big dogs.
They could leap it if they chose.
There came a quick rustle through the bushes, an
eager snuffing beneath the gate. I turned and fled
along the path. My aim was to reach the garden's
centre and set the fountain playing before the dogs
came up with me. I knew that to run from them
would be fatal—it would but excite them to the chase.
I hoped that the plashing fountain might serve as a
temporary barrier; the sudden lift of its waters
bringing the dogs to a standstill, quieting their pur-
suing rush—if only for a moment. The check might
mean much to me.
Arrived at my goal I knelt and, dropping my slip-
pers, which I still carried, hastily turned on the water.
As I did so I heard the dogs, one following the other,
plunge heavily over the gate, and before I could circle
the basin, they had dashed into the open space. Here
they halted abruptly, crouched, and—with low growls
stared at me. Their eyeballs gleamed in the waning
moonlight. I was sick with terror. Would they tear
me, these wild beasts? How long must I stand wait-
ing for them to spring ?
Then, scarce knowing that I did so, I began to sing.
No hymn nor prayer for safety rose to my lips, but
the words of the old ballad, the ballad of Mary Ham-
ilton:
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
as wild and gay as he. I flung the slipper for him.
He seized it and rushed away through the vegetable
beds, disappearing only to reappear, panting and
breathless, to drop his mangled toy before me and
beg me to throw it again. At last he came back with-
out the slipper; he had lost what was left of it in
some dark corner of the garden. He stood before me
and, with short gruff barks, demanded its mate for
prey. I laughed aloud, delighted by his friendly
impertinence. His eyeballs shone like jewels in his
excitement; he bounced about on the gravel, now
wagging his tail, now holding it rigid; then made
playful but elephantine jumps toward me, threat-
ening to seize the slipper from my uplifted
hand. Three times I pretended to toss the slipper
from me; to right, to left. Osiris, deceived, dashed
in search of it, then returned and scolded over my
duplicity.
“Then take it, foolish fellow !" I cried, and I fung
it straight before me into the path leading from the
gate.
Osiris bounded after it, then crouched suddenly.
A voice came from the darkness beyond: “Well
thrown !” and Mr. Lannion emerged from beneath
the trees.
The moon had set, but the stars, glowing with a
splendid radiance, illuminated the open spaces
bravely. I saw that Mr. Lannion held my slipper
in his hand. He advanced close in front of me, then
knelt to replace the dog's toy. But I drew back as
far as possible-till the edge of the fountain was
close behind me, and the spray from its sheaf of high-
tossed water touched, now and again, my hair.
“No," I said, "give the slipper to me." I held out
my hand.
He rose slowly. "You will not put it on ?" he
asked.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“One slipper ?” I said carelessly. “Why, no, of
course not. I should hobble absurdly in only one."
“Where is the other ?” he demanded.
“Among your cabbages, I fancy," I answered
lightly. "Did you hear Hermes singing, M. Lan-
nion? Is that why you are here ?”
"I came to be with you,” he said quietly. “Won't
you sit on the bench for a little? It is a beautiful
night.” He glanced up at the stars.
“How did you know that I was here?" I asked,
not responding to his invitation, but, turning from
him, holding out a hand to catch the soft spray as it
fell.
"I saw you come out," he said.
I began to hum a tune, softly, very softly, keeping
time to the plash, plash of the fountain. The whole-
some game with the young dog had steadied my
shaken nerves. Finding that I had nothing to say,
Mr. Lannion spoke again.
"Did you imagine yourself unseen ?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders carelessly, not ceasing my
crooning to the water's flow. "I was upon the veranda
when you left the house,” he said.
I broke off my thread of song. I turned upon him.
“You knew the dogs were loose ?" I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You knew that they were harmless ?" I spoke
sharply.
"Harmless to you? Yes."
I thought a moment. “But you hoped," I said
slowly, “that I might meet them and be badly fright-
ened ?”
“Not badly," he said composedly. “A little
frightened, perhaps."
I laughed softly, contemptuously. “What a coward
you are!” I said, and turning again to the fountain
I recommenced my low song.
194


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“A coward !” exclaimed Mr. Lannion. "I don't
know what you mean.” I continued my singing, ig-
noring him and his words. "I was, as I said," he
went on, finding that I would not speak, "on the
veranda when you came downstairs. I suspected your
intention. I knew you thought it was too early for
the dogs to have been unleashed. I repeat that, aware
that they would not hurt you, I hoped they might
frighten you back into your senses "
"My senses ?” I interrupted. I gave him my en-
tire attention now.
“Yes," he said. "It is time that you realized your
position. It is time you should learn that, although
Jasper sleeps on duty, and the dogs fail in theirs,
you may never hope to escape me. You are mine.
You are to remain with me -always."
I was silent. The big bright stars glowed and
burned far above us. The mystery, the beauty of
the summer night wrapped the garden close, close
as in a shadowy mantle. The flowers in the vases
exhaled their fragrance. The silvery sound of the
plashing fountain filled the air. Mr. Lannion laid
his hand upon my arm.
“Aimée," he murmured caressingly, “Aimée, my
darling, I love you. Won't you try to give me a little
affection in return ?"
I drew aside so quickly that I shook off the hated
touch. I leaned down and stroked the big dark head
of the dog beside me.
"Hermes sings better than I, Mr. Lannion," I said,
in tones of polite conversation; "I think he deserves
decoration." Unpinning my belt I tied it in the
dog's collar. "Silver and diamonds will just suit his
dusky beauty. Give me my slipper, please.” Mr.
Lannion obeyed. I could not see his expression, but
I knew that he was watching me closely. “And now,"
I continued, "I want a switch.”
195


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
you haven't voiced 'em. Now, then, you make a run
to the house for the child's slippers, and I'll look after
her till you come back.”
"No," said Mr. Lannion, "I will stay here. You
go, and go quickly, please.”
"My dear Rollis," remonstrated Mr. King in
deeply shocked tones, "what are you thinking of ?
You are dripping like a water-spaniel! How can
you sit by Miss Darling, on yon bench, and engage in
the dignified conversation fitted for her tender ears
at this hour of the morning ?
“Morning ?” I exclaimed, as I moved to the bench
and sat down to wait for my shoes.
“Yes, morning,” said Mr. King impressively; "for
it's past twelve o'clock. And you ought to be in
bed and asleep, instead of sailing boats with Lan-
nion here. Come, Lannion”—he turned sharply upon
Mr. Lannion as he spoke, an odd note of authority
in his usually careless voice-"it's for you to get the
slippers, and you know it."
Without a word Mr. Lannion disappeared beneath
the shadow of the overarching fruit-trees, and pres-
ently we heard the gate click behind him.
“We have only a moment,” said Mr. King, as he
seated himself þeside me; "he will make quick
time
"
198


XVII
This half hint from Mr. King was enough. I
seized the opportunity given me, and told my story.
I had not said half what I wished, however, when
I felt a warning touch upon my arm, and Mr. King
interrupted me without apology.
“I thought you'd never guess," he drawled, in
tones lazily triumphant. “Well, it's a primrose, an
evening primrose; more than that, an American
evening primrose. When Lannion comes back with
your slippershe doesn't fetch and carry very rap-
idly; he's been gone an everlasting long time
“You are not very complimentary to me," I said,
responding to the cue given me; and I tried to laugh
—but failed.
"You must forgive me, Miss Darling," said Mr.
King; "I am a stupid old sleepy-head, I'll own. But
the primrose is worth seeing, and when Lannion
comes back "
A tall shadow stepped into the starlight. I won-
dered how long Mr. Lannion had stood listening
under the trees. I was thankful that Mr. King's
ears had been sharper than mine. Or was it only
that his acquaintance with Mr. Lannion having
been longer, his suspicions were more keen?
“Dear me, Rollis,” he now ejaculated, in tones of
reproachful surprise, "how you startled me! If I'd
been smoking I might have dropped my lighted cigar
upon Miss Darling's highly inflammable frock, and
a horrible tragedy would have been the result of
your deplorable habit of pouncing upon people.”
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"I did not pounce," growled Mr. Lannion. He
was upon his knees putting on my slippers, and
seemed to be in a very bad humor.
"Perhaps, now that you've effected the pouncing
act to your entire satisfaction,” Mr. King contin-
ued, still speaking in an aggrieved tone, "you'll give
me a light. I want to smoke, and Miss Darling
permits.”
“Use your own matches," said Mr. Lannion
rudely, "you have a boxful in your pocket.”
“Rollis !” exclaimed Mr. King, in pained surprise,
"and you heard me only a few minutes ago cursing
my own forgetfulness in the matter of matches. As
well as I can recollect I spoke aloud in my irrita-
tion. I even remember my words. I said - "
"I heard you," was the curt comment. “You
were talking for effect—as usual.”
"For effect—what effect?" asked Mr. King
blandly. So blandly, indeed, that I felt an odd
thrill of excitement. My quiet Cousin Sam, nick-
named the Cool, had been wont to speak in just
such tones before entering into fierce combat.
Mr. Lannion had risen to his feet, having accom-
plished his task. He stood directly in front of me.
His tall, powerful figure seemed to dominate the
open space of grass and fountain, bringing a new
shadow to kill the light of the stars. Mr. King got
up slowly. It was as if he, too, felt overpowered,
and resisted the unpleasant sensation.
"You always talk for effect,” said Mr. Lannion
sneeringly; "it's the trick of your trade.” He
laughed disagreeably.
"You damned scoundrel !” said Mr. King softly.
“It's because our trade is the same that you dare
speak like this— "
“There, that's enough!” cried Mr. Lannion
roughly, imperiously; "you forget the presence of
shine space oferful figure directly in having acco,
200


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Miss Darling. Come home, Aimée !" He held out
his hand to me.
"Home !” exclaimed Mr. King—his voice still
pitched in a soft, low key—“home! Why, the only
reason I don't try to drown you now in that foun-
tain is because the mob will lynch you later, on ac-
count of — "
“Yes, yes, we all know you're an immersionist,"
Mr. Lannion interrupted, “but you needn't try your
hand on me, Tom. We can't fight, much as you'd
like to.” He laid his hand upon Mr. King's shoul-
der. “We're not the first pair of friends who have
been set at loggerheads by a woman-such a little
woman, too! See, I'm sorry for what I said, Tom.
I beg your pardon."
In spite of the hearty ring of friendliness in his
voice, I believed that he was not sorry, that he was
only talking Mr. King over. But the latter shook
hands with him warmly.
“I'll never forget the day we met, Lannion," he
said heartily, "nor what you did for me then-
never.”
"But you are forgetting the primrose, Mr. King,"
I said gently, "and your promise to show it to me."
"No, indeed,” was the answer, “I have not for-
gotten anything. A retentive memory is one of my
minor miseries. You won't mind coming along, will
you, Rollis ?” turning to his friend. "It's just down
this side path, and it won't keep her up five min-
utes more."
"I'll stay here,” said Mr. Lannion in genial tones,
“and smoke my pipe. Run along with Tom, child,
and see his primrose.” He sat down on the bench,
then drawing a box from his pocket, held it out to
me. "I brought these for you, Aimée; I thought you
might feel faint." I hesitated, not offering to take
it from him. “Only chocolates,” he said, with an
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
odd laugh ; "you may eat fearlessly. You forget that
pomegranates do not grow in my garden.”
"Pomegranates ?” said Mr. King inquiringly, as I
accepted the box. "Oh, yes, I remember:
"'—the hunger and thirst of the heart,
The frenzy and fire of the brain,
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden,
The golden pomegranates-
and so on. If you're ready, Miss—Aimée, the prim-
rose waits.”
Mr. Lannion rose abruptly. “I have changed my
mind,” he said; “I am coming, too."
Mr. King, making no comment, led the way down
the side path nearest us. As I followed I began to
eat the bonbons. I was faint. I hoped that I might
not break down and cry. I felt so terribly alone.
My reckless courage of the early night had fled. I
had only one desire: to hurry back into my own
room, to be under the wing of my patient maid once
more. But I was anxious that Mr. Lannion should
not suspect my terrors. So I munched the choco-
lates, and hoped for sufficient strength to fight down
the hysterical choke in my throat.
"Hush !" cautioned Mr. King, coming to a stand-
still. “There is a big white moth fluttering toward
it. See!”
I moved noiselessly to his side.
Just beyond us, under the starlight, I saw a stately
plant whose flowers — great beli-shaped globes of
palest gold-attracted the snowy moth as surely as
though they had been not fairy lamps but real ones.
Fascinated, enraptured, I forgot myself in my child-
ish delight over this candelabra of blossoms till Mr.
Lannion's harsh voice broke the spell.
“Despard would like that moth to add to his col-
lection," he said. “I forget its name, but it is a
202


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Without waiting for an answer I ran quickly into
the hall and up to my room. The little room was
very dim and shadowy. It was only after I had
sat some time upon my bed, fighting down the sobs
that strove to master me, that I could distinguish,
across the room, Delcie's dark face outlined against
the white pillow. She slumbered peacefully, unaware
of my desertion. But it was long before sleep brought
oblivion to me.
204


XVIII
It was not until ten the next morning that I went
to my accustomed seat under the maples. I had slept
late. Hardly had I settled myself and begun list-
lessly to hem the strip of muslin upon which-under
Delcie's tuition—I was to learn to sew (that part
of my education having been neglected) when Roddy
came around the corner of the house. He ran to me
and, leaning familiarly against my knee, began
eagerly to relate the latest household events.
"Say, what do you s'pose? Mother's in the
kitchen makin' gingersnaps! She and Zayma had it
hot and heavy first”-he giggled rapturously—“you
just ought to have heard 'em go it! Zayma said she
shouldn't — sassed mother fearful — but mother
walked into her, hammer and tongs. Ebenezer” (the
old black cat) “was so scared he climbed up on the
clock shelf. When he got there he was 'fraid he'd
fall off, an' 'fraid to climb down. So he hung on
and hollered.” The child laughed out, overcome by
the comicality of his remembrance.
“And you helped him down ?" I asked, smiling in
sympathy.
“No, I didn't,” was the energetic response. "He's
a cruel old beast, Ebenezer is; I was glad he was
most frightened to death. I jumped at him, to scare
him more.”
“Oh, Roddy!” I exclaimed in remonstrance.
“Well,” insisted the child, “I did, and served him
right. I've seen him do beastly mean things, that
old cat! I hate him. But I won't tell you what I've
seen. You're so soft you'd cry; but there, you can't
and you helped remembrance. out, overcome bon
205


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
help it, girls are made that way. Say," in another
burst of confidence, "you just ought to have heard
mother when old Ebenezer began to howl! She
lammed into Zayma harder than ever. “See your own
cat,' she said awful loud, 'even that unfortunate
creature knows and fears your wickedness! But
I ain't afraid of you, Zayma Jasper, and I'll learn
you to keep a civil tongue in your head.' Then”—
Roddy spoke slowly and reflectively—“then she
caught sight of me "
“Yes?" I said encouragingly.
He grinned impishly. “Oh, nothin',” he said in-
differently, "only I quit.”
There was silence for a few moments, then Roddy
spoke again. "Don't you like cake ?” he asked.
“Pretty well,” I said.
“Mother says,” he continued, “that you haven't any
sweet tooth." I smiled. “Pop says that she doesn't
know anything about what you've got or what you
haven't. Tom says— Say, did you know Tom had
gone away?"
"No," I said quickly. "For how long ?”
“One week, maybe two," was the answer. “You
like Tom as much as I do, I guess.” Roddy spoke
approvingly. I nodded. I wondered what Mr.
King had gone for. Could it be to find out if I were
really Hope Carmichael ? My heart began to beat.
“There,” exclaimed Roddy, "you've pricked your-
self! I knew you would, your fingers tremble so.
Here, take my handkerchief-oh," after a hasty,
search through several overcrowded pockets, “I
haven't any!"
"Never mind,” I said hastily, "it's really nothing,
Roddy. Fancy my minding a tiny prick like that!
What did Mr. King say ?”
"About what? Oh, I know, about your eating.
But he said I wasn't to tell— "
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Yes, buhear. Tom dorom thinks ah. Tom says
“Then you must not," I interrupted.
“Yes, but 'twas only Uncle Rollis and Pop who
weren't to hear. Tom doesn't like Uncle Rollis and
Pop. I wonder why? Tom thinks a heap of you.
He says you're clean grit all through. Tom says
you eat as if you was in training. That means” —
in kindly if condescending explanation—“trainin'
for a race or something. Men, athletes, Tom says,
eat awful careful when they're going in for a race.
It's muscle, not fat, they're after, Tom says. He
says you're made of muscle—is that so?” And the
child stared at me questioningly.
“Shall I tell you a story, a fairy story?" I asked.
I rose and went to the hammock.
“Yes,” cried Roddy delightedly, crawling in to
lie down beside me, "and that will help me to wait
for the gingersnaps. It'll be an awful long time be-
fore they're done."
It was a long time. Roddy and I had exhausted
fairy tales and many other amusements, and had
taken to building card houses when Mrs. Despard,
deeply flushed, but with an air of triumphant dignity,
emerged from the house. She carried a plate heaped
high with the crisp cookies that Roddy loved.
Coming to the edge of the veranda, she stood and
stared down at me as I carefully adjusted a king of
spades, serving as roof to the last house the child had
been building.
Roddy hopped up directly and began to help him-
self liberally.
"Shame, for shame, Roddy!” cried his mother in
shocked remonstrance. “What will Miss Darling
think of you, I'd like to know? Ladies first, always.”
“I'm getting them for her,” said Rodgers quickly,
dropping his handful into my lap. "You'll eat 'em,
won't you, Aimée ?” he asked in coaxing tones.
To please the child I accepted one, returning the
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
others. Mrs. Despard looked on, an odd expression
in her hard eyes.
"I've found out about the outfit,” she said at last.
"I just went upstairs with these snaps, and would
have walked in where they was without knocking
(which I knew any kind of hot ginger-bread is al-
ways welcome to every creature wearing pants) only
Loo Despard and Tom King met me at the top and
told me all. Which the love of cookies loosened their
tongues, the road to a man's heart bein' through his
stummick.” She nodded her head several times.
“What do you think it is ? The outfit, I mean.
Nothin' in the world but writing and printing stuff!
Yes, you may believe me or not as you choose, Miss
Darling”-she spoke impressively—“Rollis Lannion
has wrote a book, and these men, which you saw.
them when they came, are copying it out for him!
And I will say" (flushing still more deeply in sud-
den recollection) “that for all impudent darkies that
Zayma is the worst! I obliged, yes, obliged her to
leave the kitchen, and where do you suppose she went ?
Up to the third story, if you please l What for?
I'm sure I can't imagine, but I guess it was to try
an' make the doctor come down and stop me makin'
these snaps—which I just guessed Loo Despard
laughed at her for her pains ! Anyway, she looked
sneaky enough when I met her. How Rollis Lan-
nion can put up with her and that great hulking
Solomon Jasper, I'm sure I don't know. Well, do
you like the snap, child ? Not too much ginger,
no ?”
I said what was quite true, that the little cake
was delicious. Mrs. Despard beamed with satisfac-
tion, and told Roddy to bring her a chair as she
wished to talk to me.
"Run and play, sonny-boy,” she said, as she seated
herself in the big chair he dragged forward. "It's
208


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Max Errol, and tell of the poor girl's—shall we say
hallucination ?"
“Well, well, what for?” demanded Mrs. Despard.
"Let us say just to comfort me, Mrs. Despard,”
I whispered. “What harm would it do me to see
these people that I believe to be my own people ?
Do you think that they would refuse to give me this
consolation, Mrs. Despard ? If any unfortunate
creature believed that you were her nearest of kin,
would you refuse to go to her-just once? If you
had lost a niece who had been as a daughter to you,
would you— "
Mrs. Despard rose abruptly. She had grown very
pale. She walked away to the western end of the
veranda, and stood for some time gazing at the wide-
spread prospect. The great stretch of woodland and
meadows, and far in the distance the Hudson, look-
ing, as always from Ornith Farm, like a slender, un-
sheathed sword. Presently I stole after her and
laying my hand lightly upon her arm, pressed my
cause.
"A little letter to Mrs. Carmichael,” I urged—I
was careful to speak gently—“or a few lines to Mr.
Errol, Mrs. Despard. You would harm no one, and
think what you would be doing for me!” She turned
and looked at me steadily. I answered the question
in her eyes. "Yes," I said slowly, "if the Car-
michaels and the Errols agree with your husband
and Mr. Lannion, and think me insane, then I, too,
will believe it. Does it ever seem strange to you, Mrs.
Despard, that Mr. Lannion should wish to marry an
insane girl ?”
“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “I never thought
of it, but now that you put it plain” She stopped
speaking, she was even paler than before. She
pressed her lips together tightly, she had the look of
one who faces a difficult step. "If I thought even
211


XIX
Upon my first coming to Ornith Farm I was
pleased that my wish to take my meals by myself
had been so readily complied with. After the ar-
rival of the two visitors, however, I regretted this,
since it prevented my having any opportunity of be-
coming acquainted with them. And in every new
face I might hope to find understanding and pity.
The two men were, as Delcie had said, unattractive
in appearance and manners. The elder-a man
of middle age—hardly looked my way when we
chanced to meet in the halls or on the staircase; the
other, a flashily dressed youth, glanced furtively at
me with a greedy curiosity most unpleasant to my
pride. They never came upon the veranda when I
was there, but sat upon the steps at the entrance,
or smoked their cigars in the stables. They spent
most of their time in the third story.
Desirous of leaving no stone unturned, realizing
that help might come from the most unlikely quar-
ter, I now suggested taking my meals with the fam-
ily. Dr. Despard vetoed this at once. He said that
he considered it much wiser for me to avoid—when
possible—all intercourse with strangers; conversa-
tion with other than intimate friends might prove
injuriously exciting. Mrs. Despard was present
when her husband thus gave his professional opin-
ion. She stared, but made no comment. I would
have given much to know if she had written to
my people. Had she done so my captivity could
last only a few days longer. This knowledge kept
me in a state of nervous excitement hard to conceal.
213


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
On Friday morning when—had the letter gone
I might expect something to happen, I was too rest-
less to remain in one place many minutes at a time.
The day was gloomy; the sky overcast, and an east
wind keening. A disagreeable chill was in the air;
and although the thermometer told us that it was
July, this odd chill made itself felt, seeming to
underlie the heat. The women in the house were as
little at ease as I. Aileen was worried because her
husband's weekly letter had not come; Mrs. Des-
pard avoided being alone with me, and Delcie had
had bad news from home. Her mother was very ill.
I decided to try if I could distract my mind by
reading and, after being assured by Delcie that Mr.
Lannion was out, I went to the library in search of
a book.
The lower hall was empty, and I closed the door
of the library behind me, thankful to be free from
open espionage if only for an hour. This apparent
freedom was mine because the gardener was busy
cutting the grass within sight of the windows. Al-
though these were closed on account of the damp-
ness, I could hear the locust-like br-r-r of his lawn-
mower as he moved to and fro.
The room, always gloomy, was doubly so because
of the darkening skies. As I stood for a moment
by one of the tall windows the rain began tap, tap,
tap against the pane. Each drop was as a little
hammer against my heart, driving in deeper, with
every dull thud, the nails of despair that were be-
ginning to corrode it. I turned away determinately.
Let me battle against weakness unworthy of my up-
bringing. I must try to behave always as Katie,
the boys—Max, would have me. I looked about the
room remembering my errand.
Those who had already visited the library that
morning had left a slight disorder behind them.
214


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
The big table, disencumbered of inkstand, bookrack,
and its usual furnishings, was covered with open
maps. Oddly enough they shaped—as they lay—the
number seven. Upon them, as if its reader, hastily
summoned, had expected to return immediately, was
placed a book showing a narrow edge of blue cover
around the open page. Leaning idly upon the table
to read its title, I was surprised to find myself face
to face with a well-loved old friend. Tears blurred
my eyes as I looked, brought by memories of my
happy childhood when my nurse had read aloud
from this book until I knew all its wisdom by heart.
Roddy must have left it on the table, I thought.
Who else in this house full of grown men and women
would care to read “Tanglewood Tales”! The book
lay open in a way that proved it often read. This
must be a favorite story. I glanced at the top of
the page.
“The Pomegranate Seeds.”
Then the hot color surged into my face, for I saw
that the book was open where Pluto makes his ap-
peal to the child, Proserpina, and the following lines
were marked:
"She ran back to him, and, for the first time in
all her life, put her small, soft hand in his.
“ 'I love you a little,' whispered she, looking up in
his face.”
Outraged, indignant, I caught up this witness of
my jailer's belief in the efficacy of patience, anxious
to place it where none else might read. The next
moment I had swung myself up on the broad table,
just in time to avoid the furious onslaught of Mal-
vina, who, unseen by me, had lain hidden but on
guard. I spoke quickly, sternly, to her, thinking she
had but to recognize me to realize her mistake. She
backed steadily until a sufficient distance was be-
215


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
tween her and the table, then crouched-and
sprang!
Knowing now her intent I made no useless effort
to soothe her into quiet, but bracing myself, I struck
her as she came within reach with the volume that
I still held in my hand. The blow caught her on
the side of her head; she swerved and dropped to
the floor. But again, silently, her pale, pink-rimmed
eyes fixed upon me, she retreated, and, the necessary
distance attained, made another attempt to reach me.
The book, my sole weapon, was neither large nor
heavy. As I once more struck her, and again was
successful-breaking the force of her spring and
causing her to fall short of the table I felt her
teeth against my fingers. I was keenly conscious of
my danger, yet I dared not waste strength in out-
cries for help. The dog was almost as silent as I.
Save for a low, smothered sound in her throat, more
a sharp panting than an articulate growl, she re-
peated with a horrible patience of endeavor, her ef-
fort to gain my stronghold and fasten her teeth in
my throat. As the time passed her eyes became
bloodshot; flakes of foam showed upon her pink,
black-lined jaws. She never hurried, never lost her
power to calculate to an inch the length of the jump
required. Her rage of hatred was as cold as it was
deadly. What if my strength should fail!
The rain still kept up its monotonous tapping at
the window. The sound of the lawn-mower came
from a distance; the edge of the lawn must have
been reached. I listened as I watched the dogma
wild beast now, in her blood thirst—hoping to hear
some one in the hall. But the silence was profound.
In her desire to gain a better vantage-point for
attack, the dog had edged little by little around the
table. Soon she was between me and the big mirror
behind which the door, leading into the parlor, was
216


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
listen truck could faizind the doors fear dog
hidden. Because of this I found myself in greater
stress. For now I seemed to be warding off two
dogs, since the broad sheet of glass reflected, with
cruel clearness, the strange scene. I strove to keep
my eyes fixed upon the real dog, but, in spite of
every effort, I caught distracting nightmare glimpses
of the two figures in the mirror; Malvina’s double,
and my own. The girl, her face as colorless as her
fluttering muslins, kneeling upon the map-strewn
table, and the crouching foam-flecked dog. This
dizzying reflection made me ever fear to miss my
stroke. My fingers, and the dog's jaws, were bleed-
ing. If I should fail-
I struck again and yet again. I could no longer
listen for approaching footsteps; in my ears there
was now the sound as of a hundred trip-hammers.
I wondered how much longer I might depend upon
seeing clearly. A mist seemed coming before my
eyes. Ah! my hand slipped. The dog's teeth fas-
tened in my frock. I struck at her blindly, unceas-
ingly. I cried out in loathing at her touch—the end
had come-but I would not give up-never-
never-
Suddenly she was seized, wrenched away from me.
There was the rasp of tearing muslin, a heavy thud,
the sound of a door hastily closed.
I sank down upon the table too much exhausted
to move, and too much dazed by my escape to wonder
who had rescued me. But before I had had time to
regain control of brain and overstrained muscles, I
was gently lifted from my cramped position and car-
ried to the sofa. It was Mr. Lannion to whom I
owed my safety. His face was white and set, and
there was no mistaking the anguish of anxiety in
his eyes. I saw him glance at my bleeding hands,
and, reading his fear, found my voice.
"She did not bite me,” I said faintly. “These
217


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
are mere scratches. The book was little. My hands
struck against her-ah!” I could not continue, the
conflict was too recent. I broke off, shuddering at
the memory.
Mr. Lannion again caught me in his arms, strain-
ing me to him. I felt his lips upon my hair.
"My little girl," he said brokenly, "my poor lit-
tle girl! God—if I had been too late !"
He was shaken by his emotion, but I was too tired
after my late struggle to notice it much. I pushed
him from me fretfully, but I let him heap cushions
beneath my head when he quickly put me down, and
yielded to his wish that I would rest a moment be-
fore trying to go upstairs.
"I will get water and bathe your hands,” he said
gently, “and bring you a glass of wine. I have
everything in here.”
He motioned toward the door of the inner room
and would have left me, but I caught his arm in
terror.
"Malvina ?” I questioned with white lips. “She
is in there ?”
He looked at me strangely, but did not answer
at once. It was as if he were weighing his words.
“Yes,” he said at last, "she is there, but you need
not fear her. She will never seek to hurt you
again."
I stared at him in sudden horror. “You have
killed her ?" I asked, under my breath.
“Yes,” was the brief response.
“Ah!” I cried, “how could you have the heart?
She loved you so !”
He stood silent beside me, looking down at me,
as if he could not understand my outburst. His face
was set like iron, and his brows bent. His expres-
sion seemed to me fiercely cruel as he said:
“She disobeyed me. She had had orders never to
218


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
this," he saidia handkerchie the wounde
hurt you. She tried to ” He glanced at the rent
in my frock and ceased speaking. Then he went
quickly into the next room, returning almost imme-
diately with a glass of wine, and some water with
which to wash my stained hands. “There is cologne
in this,” he said, as drawing a chair close beside
me he dipped his handkerchief in the water and
began, oh, so gently, to lave the wounded spots.
“Does it smart ?” he asked presently, in the tone of
an overanxious nurse to a favorite child. His harsh,
features wore an expression of great tenderness.
I watched his powerful, deft fingers—and won-
dered! What tremendous wrists he had! When he
chose, his fists must have the force of sledge-ham-
mers. And now, because of this great force, he was
doing woman's work, as well—or better than a
woman. His task absorbed him. He had forgotten
himself in it. I had had to drink every drop of the
wine. He could think of nothing save caring for
me, for my well-being, for my comfort.
I moved to an upright position. His gray-green
eyes glowed with satisfaction at this sign of return-
ing strength. I took out my own handkerchief and
insisted upon drying my fingers myself. He acqui-
esced instantly and, leaving his chair, seated him-
self beside me upon the sofa and watched me with
indulgent approval. And I, I looked at his hands,
and thought of the dog. How had he killed her
A single blow from those powerful hands would have
been enough. Why, he must have the strength of a
blacksmith. Then, with one of those strange, swift
changes of thought that are unaccountable, I remem-
bered a certain summer day at Moaning Pines.
I turned upon the man beside me. I looked at
him squarely. “You killed the old wolf-hound,” I
said slowly. "You killed Sergius Boris—Best.”
He started violently, an ugly red flushed his face
219


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
from brow to chin. "It was in self-defence-I
swear it,” he said quickly. “And I did not take his
rose !"
ould not had. ll but
bine pine Erlden-rod.d. you tersive monition," he
alt I muld not rez still lor when I
I shrank back among my cushions. I think that
there was hatred in my eyes.
"Hope," he cried hoarsely, “don't look at me like
that! I did not want to kill him, but he was at my
throat before I could get away. I felt I must see
you ride. I slit the canvas; the old dog heard
and I left him his rose.”
He looked at me as if expecting me to speak. But
I could not. Neither could I rise and leave him.
My strength had deserted me altogether. I could
only sit quite still—but my eyes seemed to speak
for me.
"If you would but realize my position," he went
on, "I think you would forgive me. I loved you
when, a little child, you gave me luck with your
gift of golden-rod. Then when I saw you under
the pine tree, grown still lovelier, and singing like a
bird, I could not resist speaking to you. And, later,
I felt I must see you ride all the countryside rang
with stories of your riding. I know it was wrong
-he lowered his voice, dominating his excitement
—"and extremely foolish. I regretted bitterly the
mischief I had done. I knew that the dog was your
pet, I had seen you fondling him, so I did not touch
his rose.”
My lips were parched and dry, my voice did not
seem to belong to me when I at last spoke.
"And this last mischief," I asked faintly, “do you
now regret it—bitterly ?”
He sprang to his feet and walked to the window,
as though unable at once to answer. Then, return-
ing, he began in his methodical way to fold the maps
upon the table with neat precision, and, after put-
ting them away, replaced the inkstand and other
220


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
table furniture. I was well aware that he himself
did not know what he was doing; I realized that he
was—unconsciously—but following his usual cus-
tom, while his mind faced the crisis that had come.
Finally he turned, and, leaning against the table,
confronted me.
"I did no deliberate mischief,” he said steadily.
"I merely took the good the gods provided. I have
done no wrong." He looked at me fixedly. I could
not fathom the meaning in his eyes.
“I fail to understand," I faltered. I held myself
upright, I sustained his steady gaze, but I could not
keep my voice from trembling.
His expression did not change, and when the ex-
planation came I wondered if I should ever compre-
hend his strange view-point.
"I have done no wrong,” he said gravely, “because
I did not plan to get you for myself. You came to
me of your own free will; you held out your arms
to me, and cried to me to take you. I did what any
man would have done under the circumstances. No
more, and no less.”
“What!” I cried, indignation giving me fictitious
strength, "you dare pretend that I was not in danger
of shipwreck when I called for help? You dare pre-
tend to believe that I wanted to leave my home, that
I wished to—” I broke off, I could not finish my
sentence, it was beyond me to voice what he feigned
to believe.
"That you wished to live with me, you would
say?" He smiled grimly as he spoke. "No, my
child, I had no sich wild fancy. But I knew that
you would most assuredly be drowned if I did not
care for you quickly, as I knew, also, that everybody
would think you had been. Indeed, to all intents
and purposes, you were dead to your past the mo-
ment you (of your own free will, I beg you to re-
221


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
member) asked me to save you. I believe in fate,"
he continued gravely. “Three times you crossed
my path. Twice you brought me good fortune;
for everything prospered after I had met you.
Now "
“Now," I interrupted, “I shall be your bane.
Twice I met you, and each time I wished you well.
Now, I pray God "
"Hush !” he cried quickly. “Don't injure your-
self.”
“Myself ?” I asked. Again he spoke in riddles.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “yourself, for you are to
be my wife. My fortunes will be yours—until death
parts us.”
I laughed—a little wildly. "Death ?” I said
softly. "Ah, yes, I thank you. I had forgotten that,
in God's great mercy, the Death Angel sometimes
saves souls. If need be may he save yours—and
mine, Mr. Lannion.”
I rose, and rejecting his offers of assistance,
walked slowly from the room.
222


XX
I was thankful that I met no one on my way to
my room, and that I found it empty. I had dreaded
Delcie's outcry over my bruised hands. I made
haste to cover with plaster the places where the skin
was most noticeably broken, but I could do nothing
to hide the discoloration that must follow.
After I had changed my frock I tried to get my
thoughts under control. In this I failed. Mr. Lan-
nion had given up the farce in regard to my insanity
when we were alone together; would he do so when
the other members of the household were present ?
I strove to arrange a course of action for the future,
but my mind refused to do anything save dwell upon
the scene that I had just lived through. I tried, too,
to brace myself for the wondering sympathy of Mrs.
Despard; she would ask endless and difficult ques-
tions. Later I should have to talk much of the in-
cident to Aileen.
But the morning passed and no one came to inter-
rupt my solitude. There was more noise in the house
than usual, and I, with youthful egotism, fancied at
first that it was because of me. I said to myself that
they had now heard of Malvina's attack, and of her
death. Each moment I expected Mrs. Despard to
rush in, all excitement and curiosity. When she
failed to appear, and the sound of constant coming
and going continued, I peeped out into the hall.
Cooper and Jasper were carrying a large trunk down
from the third story. I closed my door quickly, not
wishing to be seen. The two strangers must be leav-
ing. Later, hearing the sound repeated, I thought
223


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
that they had brought much luggage for so short a
stay, but I did not look out again.
It was Jasper, not Delcie, who brought me my
luncheon, and he gave me ill tidings. Delcie, he said,
had had sad news from home; her mother was dying,
and she had hurried away. Nanny would come when
I rang.
Although I took it for granted that Delcie would
soon return, I had an odd, forsaken feeling without
her. Her gentle care had been my sole comfort. I
had grown fond of her.
In the late afternoon there came a knock at my
door. Supposing that Nannie was outside I called
“Come in," without leaving my seat by the window.
I was busy sewing on the work that Delcie had pre-
pared for me, having a childish desire to finish it
during her absence, since this would give her pleas-
ure. I did not even look up until the incomer said:
“What an industrious little woman! But you will
hurt your pretty eyes.”
Then I rose hastily, for it was Mr. Lannion.
“May I sit down ?” he asked, as I gave him no
greeting
I shook my head. "No," I said gravely. "And
please say what you have come to say quickly, Mr.
Lannion."
"What a cold welcome,” he exclaimed reproach-
fully, “when I went to town through mud and mire
to get something to please you! See”—he placed
a bonbonnière upon my dressing-table—"I have
brought you your favorite marrons. You eat no
luncheon, and I hoped that these might tempt you.”
I murmured a cold “thank you.” I wished that he
would go away. But he carried a large paper box
in addition to the one that held the marrons, and
this he now offered me, taking my work out of my
hands as he did so.
224


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
been without effort that she had come to my assist-
ance. Like everybody at the Farm she stood in awe
of its master. I ran past Mr. Lannion and caught
her hand.
"Dear Mrs. Despard,” I said impulsively, “won't
you stay with me to-night? Delcie has gone, and Mr.
Lannion says I must have Zayma, and I detest her
so.”
“Yes, yes, dearie, of course I will,” she answered
soothingly, then added, bridling: "Unless you object,
Rollis ?"
He stood silent regarding us, his arms filled with
the rejected gifts, but before he had decided how
to answer, Mrs. Despard caught sight of my
hands.
“Aimée, child," she cried in alarm, “whatever has
happened to your hands ?” She took them gently
in her own, exclaiming in real sorrow over their con-
dition: "Such dear, sweet little hands, and all cov-
ered with bruises ! Rollis," she turned to Mr. Lan-
nion, "have you seen the child's hands? Do look at
them "
She broke off, startled by his expression.
"I cannot heal them,” he said harshly, "nor would
she let me if I could.”
I smiled at him suddenly. “You will allow me
to accept Mrs. Despard's kind offer, I am sure, Mr.
Lannion," I said coaxingly. “And you must not
worry about my hands-- either of you. They will
soon be well.”
"Let me look at them," he said.
He dropped the boxes on the floor, and as Mrs.
Despard released my hands, he caught them in his
own and, bending his tall head, covered them with
kisses. Too startled at first to move, I gave him his
way, but Mrs. Despard struck him sharply on the
shoulder.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I knew that you distrusted me. Have you ever no-
ticed the curious way in which the pattern of this
frieze resolves itself into sevens ?”
“They are trying to bring me luck,” I said.
As I ceased speaking Mrs. Despard entered. She
looked disturbed, irritated. Without addressing
either of us in particular she burst into speech.
"I'd just like to know who's been filling that child's
head with such scary nonsense! Which I believe it's
that Tommy King; there's nothin' he doesn't say but
his prayers—and them he whispers, for all he's been
an off and on minister, so to speak.”
She stopped for breath, and glanced from her
husband to me in search of sympathy, but before we
had time to express it, recommenced her jeremiad.
"And Roddy fairly screeching his head off with
nightmare, and when I run in, it's 'mother, mother,
the wolf, the wolf ! And when I try to quiet him,
he says the beast is after his Grace Darling, meaning
you”-she nodded her head at me “and we must
fetch Pop to save you. Then I was getting him
soothed down when he ketches holt of me and whis-
pers, 'Hush! I hear it prowlin' in the hall now-oh,
mother, mother, what shall we do? Which for a
moment, I'm free to confess, I kinder had the creeps
myself, and just hated to go and look out, as naturally
I had to, it bein' the only way to comfort the boy.
But, will you believe it? when I did go, an' thought
to make him feel real good by tellin' him that 'twas
only his Uncle Rollis he heard walking up and down,
so everything was all right an' he could turn over
an' go to sleep, he took on worse than ever. Which
he began to talk of were-wolves and loogarews and a
lot of things I never heard of. What does Tommy
King—which is a limb of Satan, anyway—mean by
filling the child's head with such stuff ?”
She stared at her husband indignantly, suspi-
231


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
ciously, as if secretly feeling that he, too, might be
blameworthy. Dr. Despard smiled, as though he
found grim amusement in the affair.
"So Tom believes in lycanthropy, does he?" He
spoke musingly, as though but thinking aloud.
"Well, I have never met with a case of it; but then
my practice has not been a wide one.”
"I wish you'd talk sense,” said Mrs. Despard
irritably, eying him with extreme disfavor. “What
do you mean, anyway? What's lie-what-do-you-call-
it? What does Tom—the idiot-believe in ?
"In versi pelles, apparently,” said her husband,
taking so evident a pleasure in further befogging her
that there might have been an explosion, her wrath
being high, had not an unexpected interruption oc-
currey high, might ha pleasure
Poor Roddy, left alone, had evidently had another
fright. For he now pattered in, in his night-clothes,
and, after a quick glance in my direction had shown
him that I was safe, caught his father about the
knees and clung to him without speaking.
“There," exclaimed Mrs. Despard with her custom-
ary irrelevance, and speaking as though the doctor
had been the willing cause of his son's terror, "now
I hope you're satisfied, Loo Despard !”.
But her husband, sitting down, drew the child
kindly into his arms, remonstrating gently with him
upon his unreasoning fear. “Why, Roddy,” he said
with playful tenderness, “do you want your old
father to make a baby of you again ? Must I come
and sit by you until you go to sleep is that what you
want ?”
"No, no,” gasped the poor child, struggling man-
fully to keep back the tears; “I want you to stay right
here. I only came to make sure. I-I—
“You doubted my word, my son ?" demanded Mrs.
Despard majestically, but deeply wounded.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Roddy turned his anxious little face toward her
in piteous appeal for gentle judgment. “I believed
you, of course, mother,” he faltered, “but I wanted
to make sure that Pop understood. You'll take care
of her, Pop, won't you? I get so scared for her
sometimes ”
“Why ?” asked Dr. Despard, eying his son
strangely. It was as if he feared the child.
. “I don't know,” said Roddy, breaking down in
spite of himself and beginning to cry. “He's so big
-and she's so little. And, oh, Pop, promise you'll
look after her, do! She's all alone, and she misses
the boys, and I'm no good, and, oh, Pop, Pop, say
you will !” He flung his arms around his father's
neck, clutching him desperately in his anxiety.
There followed an odd silence, broken at last by
the sound of strange laughter. Dr. Despard was tak-
ing his son's appeal in a curious fashion, for his
laughter held no vibration of real mirth.
"Certainly, Roddy”—he spoke with cold politeness
-"I shall always do what I can for Miss Darling,
of that you may be sure.”
The boy disengaged himself and slid down from
his father's knees, chilled by this reception of his
prayer for help.
"Ain't you mean, Loo Despard !” exclaimed Mrs.
Despard indignantly. “And don't you fret, son-boy!
Mother'll look after your Grace Darling! Mother'll
promise you, if father won't.”
“You see I am not needed, Roddy,” said Dr.
Despard pleasantly. "Miss Darling has friends on
all sides "
The child had ceased sobbing. He had an odd
look as if depressed into passivity by the failure of
his father to respond. It was as though terra firma
had suddenly given way. He climbed up on my bed
and kissed me good-night, but this he did as if his
233


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I, too, had troubled sleep, after my day of miser-
able excitement. The old nightmare of the drifting
boat, with Mary Hamilton for my companion, again
tormented me. As before, we were being swung
shoreward, on huge oily billows, toward a long stretch
of sandy beach. But this time-probably because
of little Roddy's terrors—it was not wreckers, wait-
ing for their prey, that made the rapidly nearing
shore a horror. On the white sand, lighted dimly
by a waning moon, I dreamed I saw a shadow flitting
restlessly up and down, as if impatient for our
coming.
I strained my tired eyes. The light grew suddenly
glaring, yet I could not quite determine what kind
of creature watched us. Was it man, or wolf ?
The world was bright with sunshine when I awoke.
Roddy stood by my bedside, all smiles and happiness,
his fears of the past night forgotten.
“Tom's back," he said delightedly the moment he
was sure that I was awake, “and he's brought me
this.” He held up a three-masted schooner, all sails
set. A toy to charm the heart of any boy. “I wish
you'd come out with us,” he continued, after I had
expressed my admiration; "we're goin' to sail her in
the fountain. Do get up and eat your breakfast soon!
We'll wait, if you will. Tom says you must christen
her; girls always christen new boats. Will you
come ???
I promised to hurry my toilet and follow at once
to the garden.
"No," said Roddy, “we'll wait in the hall. Say,
guess what I'm going to name her ?” I shook my
head and said I could not. “The Grace Darling!”
he announced, with a joyous giggle, "after both of
you-grand, isn't it ?" and he ran away.
235


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
house! I stood still, my hand upon the newel post,
watching his strong face. It was such a pity, I
thought, that a man with so much force of character
should not exert this power for good. And I began
to wonder—for the first time, since I was young and
unused to thinking out psychological problems—f
his theft of my liberty was his first evil deed. Did
any one ever take such a big first step downward ?
And why did he want to get rid of me this morn-
ing? Roddy, dancing up and down in an agony
of impatience, here insisted that I had promised to
come into the garden with him immediately after
my breakfast. I decided that it would be better to
go, and come back unexpectedly.
“We must first get the champagne," I said.
“Champagne !” exclaimed Mr. Lannion. “My
dear child, what are you thinking of ? Every drop
will be lost!”
"It always is when a vessel is christened,” I said.
“Run, Roddy, and fetch a half-pint bottle of Veuve
*Cliquot.”
"No, no," cried Mr. Lannion, as Roddy was mak-
ing off to the pantry, “don't do that! Tell Jasper
to fill an empty champagne bottle with water; that
will do as well.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
“Lithia water, Roddy, a bottle of lithia,” Mr. Lan-
nion hastily amended, "sparkling lithia. That,” he
turned to me with a deprecatory smile, "will look
just like champagne."
I sat down on the lowest step of the staircase.
“A pint of Veuve Cliquot, Roddy,” I said firmly.
“I won't have any kind of pretence I'm tired of it.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Lannion resignedly, "but a
half-pint will do. Bring a half-pint, Roddy."
We neither of us spoke during the child's absence.
Mr. Lannion had no small talk, and I was in no
mood for civilities. Presently Roddy returned. He
237


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
carried a half-pint bottle. I eyed it with extreme
disfavor.
“I asked for a pint,” I said.
“Yes,” said poor Roddy, “but Uncle Rollis
said—” He broke off, looking up at Mr. Lannion
in embarrassment.
"I always imagined that thieves were liberal !” I
observed. I spoke to nobody in particular, but I
gazed in mild surprise at Mr. Lannion. He flushed
deeply.
"Thieves !” he echoed. Then, lowering his voice
he repeated, questioningly, "Thieves ?"!
“Yes,” I said, “thieves. They are always sup-
posed to be liberal—so we honest folk are told, any-
way. You are the stingiest man I ever met, Mr.
Lannion.”
"I ?” he exclaimed, but still speaking very softly.
His expression was so strange that had I not been
in a perfectly reckless mood, I might have felt sorry
for my words. “What”-he spoke with a percepti-
ble effort—"what have I to do with—but never mind.
Roddy,” he turned abruptly to the bewildered child,
“get what Miss Darling asked for.”
“A pint ?” demanded Roddy.
"No, a quart,” I said. "I would have been con-
tent with a pint had it been yielded gracefully.
Now a quart is necessary. Perhaps a whole dozen
of quarts will not lave my wounded vanity if you
persist in- "
“Go, Roddy,” interrupted Mr. Lannion quickly, ,
"and bring a quart of champagne, before my uncon-
scionable little empress has time to waste all my
substance!”
He strove to speak lightly, but I saw that he was
disturbed and ill at ease.
“Are Roddy and I to go alone to the garden ?”
I asked
238


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"No," said Mr. Lannion, “Tom King is outside.”
“Why outside ?” I demanded.
“I happen to be out of favor," was the strange
answer; "my roof casts a shadow too deep for him.”
Before I could inquire further Roddy appeared
with the big bottle and hurried me away. As I fol-
lowed in his wake I found time to wonder over the
curious feeling existing in men's minds in regard
to the use of words. Had I classed Mr. Lannion
with captors, jailers, or even kidnappers, I did not
doubt but that he would have shrugged his shoulders
in good-natured toleration of my over-strong Eng-
lish. The moment I dubbed him thief, he felt out-
raged; yet a thief he was, for he had stolen my
liberty.
I saw Mr. King waiting for us at the garden gate,
but I could not resist loitering a little. For the
gay west wind was amusing itself by shaking the
drops from the overburdened leaves of the pear-
trees, still glossy and shining from the late storm.
It would be delightful to stand beneath and catch
this glistening, mimic rain upon outstretched palms.
Only pity for the impatient Roddy prevented my in-
dulging this fancy.
Mr. King advanced with dragging steps to meet
me, and took the bottle of champagne. He looked
five years older than when I had seen him last.
Tired, haggard, and deeply depressed, he greeted me
with no attempt at gayety.
“A very big bottle for a little lady to break against
a toy prow," he said, smiling kindly down at me.
"Dear me," I exclaimed, eying the fat bottle in
real consternation, “I forgot all about that!”
“What were you thinking of—if I may ask ??!
said Mr. King, watching me with friendly interest.
I blushed. “Of tormenting Mr. Lannion,” I said
frankly; adding impulsively, "It was not nice of me.
239


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
I am ashamed. Petty revenges are contemptible. I
would have despised condescending to use them once
—but I seem to be changing for the worse. Captiv-
ity and—and fear”—I brought out this last shame-
ful word with a great effort—"are having a bad
effect.”
"Fear ?" repeated Mr. King under his breath,
looking at me strangely.
“Yes," I whispered, “fear."
“Oh, my God! muttered Mr. King, paling visi-
bly, and as if unconscious that he was speaking
aloud.
“Are you two never coming ?" shouted Roddy.
Ashamed of my forgetfulness I ran forward and
joined the child. He commanded me not to set the
fountain playing.
"That's to come later," he exclaimed, “in case
we want to try the Grace Darling in wet weather.
The spray will make grand rain, won't it? Hurry
up, Tom, please.
Turning to urge Mr. King to haste he cried out
in alarm, for this usually dependable friend had
taken out his pocket-knife and was preparing to cut
the wires of the cork.
“Tom, oh, Tom !" wailed the child, in an agony
of alarm, "what are you thinkin' of? That's the
second fool thing you've done to-day. I do wish
you'd come to!”
Thus adjured Mr. King set himself seriously to
the task of the moment, and, thanks to his ingenuity,
the difficulty of the christening was overcome.
"You see,” he said seriously to the admiring
Roddy, "I'm a Baptist, so I think that a christening
isn't a christening unless it's thoroughly done. It's
generally a pretty mean business, one quart of cham-
pagne to a great big man-of-war! But this is no
such slouch affair, Rodgers-with-a-d, and don't you
240


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
and you pon whom to himnu're the infernal
persuaded that it will hurt you later if your present
condition becomes known.”
“I don't understand," I faltered.
Mr. King colored hotly, then grew very pale. “I
hate to tell you," he whispered, "it shows such
damnable cunning. And I admired his craft once,"
he continued, speaking vehemently, although always
in low tones. "I stood in awe of his quick brain!
I liked him, too. Everybody likes him when he in-
tends that they shall; which is when he wants to
have dealings with them, and means to use them for
his own advantage. He's got an infernal way of
making you feel that you're the most interesting
man in the world to him; that it's you, and you
alone, upon whom he depends; that it's just you,
and you only, whom he feels he can trust. 'You're
my real friend,' that manner of his seems to say,
'the other fellows are only side-shows. I'm civil to
them because I have to be, but you— Oh, it
makes me sick to think of the way I've been per-
suaded into making an evil ass of myself !”
"Is Delcie coming back ?" I asked irrelevantly, a
new dread darting into my mind.
"No, she isn't,” was the abrupt reply. “And he's
fixed her, too through her love for you, damn
him!”
“I beg you to explain," I said gravely. "I think
that I ought to know.”
Roddy had lifted the Grace Darling from the
water, and was carrying her to the end of the north
path where an under-gardener was at work. Mr.
King looked keenly around, then said in a hard, ex-
pressionless tone:
"It's just this. It would be wrong to let the
shadow of past lunacy darken your future life. It's
on the principle of give a dog a bad name—and so
forth. This is what has been dinned into the ears
243


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
of Aileen and the colored woman. If they tell,
they're mean to you. Sooner than hurt you they'll
hold their tongues till doomsday. That's his infer-
nal cunning. He banks on their affection for you.
Through it he's safe. Oh, you needn't look at me
like that”—his excitement was painful—"I'm not
going to keep up the farce any longer. You are
just who you say you are. And I can't move band
or foot to help you !"
It was impossible for me to understand why he
could not go at once to the police and inform them
of my whereabouts. I laid my hand upon his arm.
"If some one would only get word to my friends
-or the police !" I whispered tentatively. "It
would be quite fair. Mr. Lannion knows that you
disapprove of his keeping me here.” Mr. King
stared at me. I failed to comprehend the expres-
sion in his odd, round eyes. “Do they search for
me still ?” He nodded. "I am not thought dead ?”
He shook his head slowly. Then he spoke, but so
softly that I had difficulty in hearing.
"I went away to make sure to get to the bottom
of the matter," he whispered. "Pinkerton's men
are on it. There's a big reward offered. It seems
that an old woman-
“Katie ?” I interrupted.
“Yes," he said. “She won't believe but that you
were picked up. And Max Errol”—(“Ah!" I
ejaculated involuntarily)—"has sworn to keep up
the search as long as he lives.”
I laughed softly, triumphantly; then my breath
was caught by a sob.
"Don't laugh,” said Mr. King solemnly, “but get
down on your knees and pray God to take the matter
out of the sleuths' hands and into His own !”
I lifted my tear-blurred eyes to his face in wonder.
“Yes,” he went on, speaking with the same sup-
pressed vehemence, "you may think that these men
244


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
are but His instruments. Not so. Not in the case
of Rollis Lannion. Unless, by the justice of God,
he dies before the detectives learn of your where-
abouts— "
He broke off and, rising, walked the length of the
open space. Returning he stooped over me and said
slowly, “There are times when I think of killing
him myself.”
"No, no," I whispered, in quick protest, “don't
think of anything so horrible! If only you would
contrive to let me send word to Max-
I stopped, for he shook his head.
“I can't peach,” he said decidedly, “and I haven't
the courage to shoot him. He took me out of the
gutter-he's been a friend to me in his way. If
he sees things different from other folks that's no
reason why we, who've benefited by it, should go
back on him. If only he had left you alone, instead
of pouncing upon you like a wild beast !”
For a time neither of us spoke. My momentary
belief that help was coming was dying.
"It was you who told Roddy he was a were-wolf ?”
I asked at last.
"No," said Mr. King. “What do you mean ?"
I told him, listlessly, of the child's nightmare.
"He must have got that notion from poor Dai-
meret-owner of the schooner that brought you
here,” he went on, in answer to the question in my
eyes. "He and Lannion were hand and glove. Lan-
nion was on his way back from Canada, where he'd
been on a business trip with Daimeret, when he
picked you up. Daimeret came down by rail—busi-
ness again—while Rollis brought the schooner.
Daimeret was a French Canadian, and a good sort.
Played with the boy a lot when he was here in the
winter.”
“Was ?" I inquired. “Was a good sort? Is he
dead ?”
245


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Yes," was the answer. “The storm that fol-
lowed your arrival—you recollect? Well, it sent
him with his schooner and all on board to Davy's
Locker.”
“Loison !” I exclaimed, distressed. “Poor Loi-
son!”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. King, "you saw her, of
course. She was queer. After her husband died
she always went by his name, Loison. Dropped her
own. She was chock-full of superstitions, too."
“Loup-garou !" I murmured, thinking aloud.
"Like as not,” said Mr. King, sinking down be-
side me as if too weary to stand. “She hated Lan-
nion—I don't know why. He's a powerful brute,
God knows, and an ugly one. Yes,” he mused, “and
his strength used to fascinate me, strength of body
and intellect and will. Yes, will power, and a some-
thing about him that makes him able to dominate
men. Yet he's a flat failure, because he's used his
talents— "
He broke off with a short laugh. “Who am I,”
he said scornfully, “to be counting up the motes in
my brother's eyes when my own are so full of beams
I can't see straight!”
There came the sound of Roddy's eager foot-fall
and the child appeared, happy and excited still.
“Say, you two,” he cried, the moment he caught
sight of us, “will you come on down to the stables ?
I want to show my boat to Cooper.”
"He's not there," said Mr. Ring, surveying the
child wistfully, as though envying him his light
heart. "Better stay here and I'll tell you a story.”
“What about ?" demanded Roddy.
“About a boy who had dinner-plates for front
teeth.” Roddy's grin widened. "No, no, I beg your
pardon, With-a-d, I really d u do," cried Mr. King,
feigning to be in a paroxysm of embarrassment over
246


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
his slip. “It was tombstones I meant to say, tomb-
stones for front teeth—” He broke off with a gasp
of horror, his broad babylike face wearing so comi-
cal an expression of dismay at his lack of tact, that,
in spite of my own miserable thoughts, I joined in
Roddy's delighted laughter.
“There you go," said the promoter of our mirth,
"a-laughin' your heads off at your elders. Once
upon a time some naughty children like you two
was eat up by bears, for poking fun at a bald-headed
gentleman like myself—I think I hear them growl-
ing now!"
"No, you don't,” began Roddy; who then held up
his hand, enjoining silence. “Hush !” he said, “I
heard the gate," and he ran to peep down the path.
“It's Uncle Rollis !” he whispered, coming back on
tiptoe to deliver this piece of news, “I shall skip.”
Then, leaning confidentially against Mr. King's
knee, he added: “It's not a bear that he looks like,
no, sir-ree! But I'm not going to talk about that
any more; Pop said I mustn't.” And he slipped
away down a side path as Mr. Lannion's step was
heard close at hand.
Mr. King thrust his hands deep into his pockets,
stretched out his legs and, all in a moment, became
the picture of lazy contentment.
“Well, Rollis, old man, here you are!” he ex-
claimed as Mr. Lannion emerged into the hot sun-
shine. “Come and sit down; we'll make room for
you. It's nice in this damp shade."
Mr. Lannion was manifestly well pleased by the
heartiness of Mr. King's greeting. It was quite ap-
parent to me that he had not expected to be wel-
comed, and that he felt relieved by the other's
friendly mood. Following the lead, I moved and
made room, but I kept beside Mr. King. Seated
thus, in the middle of the bench, I was enabled to
heartiness of that he had relieved by thoved and
247


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
watch both men as they talked together. Mr. Lan-
nion observed me closely. Mr. King spoke again:
“You needn't look to see if she's in a fitting state
to hear your news, Rolly," he said with good-natured
carelessness, "for I up and told her myself. Hence
those traces of tears already dried.”
“That was just like you, Tom," said Mr. Lan-
nion; "you're the best fellow in the world, always!
I might have known that you would stand my
friend.”
He spoke with a frank heartiness of appreciation
that was very flattering. It seemed an outburst of
genuine admiration and friendly affection, coming
straight from the heart. I glanced at Mr. King,
remembering his description of Mr. Lannion's win-
ning manner. How might he be impressed ? He
withdrew his hand from his pocket and waved it
deprecatingly; he did not look at his genial host.
"Don't mention it, Rolly; don't mention it!” he
murmured modestly.
Mr. Lannion, apparently satisfied, transferred his
entire attention to me.
“They are almost unnoticeable," he said earnestly,
"painted white, and of a really graceful shape.”
I looked at his anxious face in wonder. Of what
was he speaking ?
"Many people in the suburbs have them,” he con-
tinued, "even on their drawing-room windows. You
will forget they are there, after a day or two."
"If we might know the subject of this eloquent
discourse, Lannion,” Mr. King remarked with airy
politeness, “doubtless we should (being persons of
really elegant manners) now make the fluent and
beautiful comments that you evidently (and, Lord
knows, very naturally) expect."
“I thought you said that you had told her ?” said
Mr. Lannion.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
began to sway—yet no breeze fanned my cheek.
How might I get back to the house?
Mr. King stepped forward and drew my hand be-
neath his arm.
"If you'll just fetch a glass of wine, Lannion,”
he said. “I think you can get it here in time.”
Mr. Lannion began a remonstrance; he preferred
that Mr. King should go, but the latter cut him
short.
“We will follow slowly,” he said in quiet tones,
"but I must help her-since you have chosen to cross
the Rubicon."
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Mr. King he said he'd always had to put up with
second-best. He must have been a mighty funny
minister—are you a Baptist, miss ?”
I said that I was not.
"Nor me neither. I'm a Presbyterian, leastways
I was when a boy'—his voice became tinged with
melancholy—“but there's no use thinkin' about that!
Mr. King, as I was sayin'"-dismissing his own
past with resolution—"must have been a funny
minister. 'I never try to help folks, Cooper,' he
says, 'but I do more harm than good. I'd better let
them be. When I was in the ministry,' he says, 'I
tried to pay out an old cuss who made his daughter's
life a hell on earth,' says he, 'an' what come of it?
he says; 'why, I got the sack. It was like this,
Cooper,' he says, says he, 'the old man got religion
and was all for jinin' the church to wash away his
sins. An'he chose the Baptist, I s'pose,' Mr. King
says, says he, “because of his need of a lot of water
for the purpose, his sins bein' double-dyed, so to
speak,' says Mr. King. It was two weeks before
the immersion—that's what Mr. King called it-
that Mr. King himself got took with queer attacks,
kinder spasms of prayin'. He'd get agoin', he says,
and he couldn't seem to let up till he'd prayed out.
Have you ever been in one of them Baptist churches ?”
I said that I had not.
“Nor me neither," continued Cooper; "but as Mr.
King giv me to understand, there's a big tank with
steps leadin' down into it an' up from it, in a room
just back of the pulpit. The minister he gets into
a kind of rubber suit under his—well, whatever he
wears-an' the feller what's going to be immersed
wears somethin' loose that ain't water-tight, and
into the tank they go. Well, what do you s'pose
happened when Mr. King was immersin' that old
sinner ?"
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
to show for her keep. She tried to eat me some
yesterday.” He laid down the saddle, and rolling
up one of his shirt sleeves, disclosed a wide purple
mark upon his upper arm. “Ashtie's teeth," he re-
marked quietly. “You can most count 'em, she
grabbed so tight.” He sighed deeply as he drew the
sleeve over the bruise. "I don't blame her none,"
he said, with the tolerance that accompanies resig-
nation to incurable evils. “She's vicious because
she was broke wrong. It's the same with Mr. King,
I guess. He must have been wrong brought up.
He's an awful pleasant man; but he must have been
badly broke, or he'd been a minister yet. I'm usin'
the side-saddle,” he continued, “because she may
calliate to rub it off by rollin', an' this was bought
second-hand, and anyway ain't needed, no lady wish-
ing to "
He here remembered that I did wish to ride, and,
without finishing his sentence, picked up the saddle
again and betook himself to Ashtaroth’s box stall. I
followed, wondering if Mr. King had endeavored to
help me and increased the difficulties of my posi-
tion! I did not wonder at Mr. Lannion's breaking
his word in regard to selling Ashtaroth.
"She's giv me no trouble about bridlin' her,"
Cooper announced, pausing to look at the mare
through the bars above her door before entering, “but
I just slipped in a snaffle thought even the feel of
a curb might send her off; she's terrible tetchy lately.
The hot weather, I guess."
Ashtaroth looked apathetic. She stood very still,
her head a-droop, making no movement to rid herself
of the bridle, the reins of which were knotted well
up out of harm's way.
"She seems quiet enough," I said, observing her
closely.
“Can't never tell by looks,” was the unhopeful
254


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
keret the beat this was swuns, il at *
in the stall alone. I opened the outer door softly,
and taking the mare by the bridle, led her across the
threshold. Then I did what, in spite of my early
training, I believe would have been at any other
time impossible. Laying my hand lightly upon the
second pommel, I vaulted into the insecurely girthed
saddle, desperation doubling my strength.
In an instant Ashtaroth was off; plunging, rear-
ing, striving furiously to rid herself of her burden.
Failing, she started on a flying gallop up the road
toward the house. By the time we reached it and
rushed past, I knew that I was upon the back of no
fear-driven, terror-blind creature, but a practised
runaway. And because of this—if the saddle did not
turn-I might hope to attain the freedom I sought.
The mare would run herself tired. If only I could
keep on! She was heading straight for the highway,
and the gate at the end of the avenue was closed.
Fortunately this was not very high. Ashtaroth took
the leap flying and swung around the broad curve
into the high road with a skill at which I marvelled.
I managed somehow to keep myself and the rapidly
loosening saddle in position, and on we sped.
I knew that we should be instantly pursued, and I
knew, also, that Nonios was fleeter than the mare.
He and Abatos were both in the stable, but they had
been out already and were a trifle jaded, while the
mare was fresh. And the sound of following hoof-
beats would increase her speed. What menaced us
were the hills down which we must go. It was easy for
me to stick on, and for Ashtaroth to keep up her even
gallop, so long as we remained on the level; but the
moment we should start upon our downward journey,
she might lose her head through inability to check
her pace.
As we neared the descent I again strove to gain
mastery by my voice, but in vain. And the reins
256


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
were useless, for the mare had taken the bit in her
teeth. In another instant she was plunging down
hill. What I had feared quickly followed. The
levels between the hills were so short as to be almost
unnoticeable; mere breathing-places for the up-climb-
ing teams. Ashtaroth realized her danger too late.
She tried to check herself and, failing, became crazed
with fear, rushing downward like a mad thing. Her
quick indrawn gasps of terror, the noise of the
stones spurned by her hurrying feet, and the now
irregular strokes of her hoofs upon the road, made it
impossible for me to hear if we were pursued. Sud-
denly we rounded a corner-and the end came.
Just in front of us the road flattened. It was one
of the resting-places. Here a rough drinking-trough
caught the water of a tiny rivulet that else must have
rippled across the road. The storm of the previous
night had caused the trough to overflow, and the
road was wet and muddy. Ashtaroth's feet slipped ;
she slid for a way, struggling frantically to right her-
self, then lost her balance and fell. Keenly on the
watch for this—my past training in the ring now
serving me in good stead—I managed to spring clear
of all danger before she struck the ground. She had
crashed flat downward and slid some distance upon
her knees from the momentum of her fall. But she
was up and away almost instantly, maddened to
frenzy by the saddle that, turning as she rose, now
hung beneath her belly. Kicking, screaming, she
disappeared down the hill. Above the noisy clangor
of her crazed descent I heard the sound of hoof-
beats coming from the opposite direction. The chase
was on!
To my left a low stone wall edged a stretch of
rough fields, where many little knolls and up-crop-
ping rocks promised hiding-places. On the other
side of the road was a thick wood, in which I might,
th her bellyat, turning a maddened to
257


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
horse's back. He placed me in front of him and,
holding me carefully, turned Nonios toward the high-
road.
The horse bore his double burden bravely, and
started up the grassy slope encouraged by Osiris,
who circled before us barking. I wondered that Mr.
Lannion should choose to return thus openly, and I
searched the distances eagerly, hoping still for a
miracle to happen. But I quickly realized that my
captor knew what he was about, when, after follow-
ing the wall for a few hundred paces, we came upon
a breach through which we passed. Crossing the
highway we entered the little forest by a rough
track or wood road. Turning off this track in among
the trees, Mr. Lannion headed Nonios toward Ornith
Farm. His sigh of relief told me how great had been
his previous anxiety, and the extent of his satisfac-
tion in having successfully accomplished a dangerous
task. I knew also that to a man of his neat method-
ical ways, it would have been an intense mortification
to be seen by any one in so disordered a dress. It
was the more curious, I thought, that so precise a
person should have behaved as he had in regard to
me.
Nonios picked his way between the trees cleverly.
His firm tread crushed sweet woodsy odors from
moss and fern as he wound in and out. The after-
noon was hot in the open; under the trees, where the
ground and underbrush were still damp from the late
storm, the atmosphere was oppressive, enervating.
Suddenly the intense quiet, broken thus far only by
the soft thud of the horse's hoofs and the snapping
of twigs as the dogs brushed through the thicket, was
disturbed by the report of a pistol. I started and
looked up anxiously at Mr. Lannion.
“The mare ?" I questioned. “She has injured
herself ?!
261


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
is that I have failed. I generally am liked—when
I wish to be.”
As he spoke, we came upon another wall of rough
stones. This proved to be the boundary of Ornith
Farm. The woods extended, I knew, but a short
distance beyond, although the house, with the broad
sweep of open land, was still screened from view.
Here again the stones of the wall had, in one place,
been pulled down, and as we rode through the gap,
Mr. Lannion grumbled over the laziness of ser-
vantshey must don't in the ul won't
“They must always go the shortest way,” he said
severely, "and don't in the least mind destroying other
people’s property. If you won't consider it ‘illtreat-
ment on my part, I will ask you to wait a moment
while I replace these stones.”
"I would rather be here than at the house,” I said.
“It is something to be out of sight of a prison for
even an hour's space.”
Mr. Lannion lifted me from the horse and, after
tying Nonios, set to work. I wished to walk about
under the trees, but this he forbade.
"If you will kindly stay where I can see you, the
work will become play,” he said with mock gallantry.
“Which means," I commented gravely, as I seated
myself on the wall close beside the opening, “that
you fear I may make another attempt to run away.”
"Yes,” he said simply, and went on piling up the
stones with strong, swift exactitude.
I watched him in silence, thinking that I never
could have liked him, even had we met and been
thrown together under different circumstances. No,
never, although we had many tastes in common; for
he was a thorough horseman, and he was fond of
music and of a country life. He stopped working
and looked at me.
“A penny for your thoughts !” he said gruffly.
263


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
you at once the conclusion at which I have ar-
rived— ”
"I knew it !” I interrupted, my intense relief mak-
ing it impossible for me to let him finish his sen-
tence. “I felt sure that you would, sooner or later,
realize your”—I hesitated—“your mistake. And
it can be easily arranged. I ask no vengeance. I
forgive you, yes," I asseverated, carried away by a
very delirium of happiness at thought of the free-
dom I imagined already mine, “I forgive you from
my heart."
"Thank you," said Mr. Lannion dryly.
He did not share my enthusiasm. This was but
natural, I thought, since he probably was fancying
that he must face unending disagreeables before
getting through with the matter of giving me back.
But these he should be spared. I dreaded them as
much as he.
"I know of what you are thinking," I said, smiling
up at him, "but I will arrange all that.”
He drew his hands from his pockets and clasping
my feverish fingers held them closely. I let them lie.
The parting having come, I could afford to give way
in trifles.
“You arrange matters," he said gently; "a little
girl like you !"
I met his indulgent smiling eyes gravely. "I
must,” I said. “I alone can persuade my people
that,” I broke off. This plan seemed suddenly
impossible.
“What, a difficulty already ?" asked Mr. Lannion.
“Yes," I said. “What we will have to do is—not
to tell the truth. It will be hateful, of course. We
must make up some story—that was what I intended
to propose. But I find it harder to invent one than
I thought." I looked at him wistfully.
“Come and sit down,” he suggested. We seated
265


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
"I shall not marry you," I said firmly. "You
know that I am already engaged.”
“To a man you do not love," he replied quickly.
I laughed a little. I had recovered my courage.
“A truce to nonsense, as you wisely observed a
moment since, Mr. Lannion.” Then looking at him
earnestly I said, very gravely: "It is time that you
should be told that I love Max Errol—with all my
heart."
I colored hotly as I spoke; but my heart swelled
with pride, with devotion to Max. Mr. Lannion
shook his head, smiling. His moment of anger was
over.
"I doubt if your love is strong enough to endure
any severe test,” he said good-temperedly. “But you
may not realize how matters stand-although you are
such a wise little woman. You may not be aware
that should you succeed in an attempt to leave me,
I should follow you. And I should, most assuredly,
make it impossible for Mr. Errol to rejoice over your
return."
“You would—you would—” I faltered, broke
down.
“I would shoot him," was the composed reply, "and
then, I suppose, myself.”
We were both silent for a long moment. Then Mr.
Lannion spoke again.
"If you get away, Hope, it will be because I am
unable to catch up with you in time—as I have just
done. Should that happen, my chances for anything
would be about over. So I should make the best of
bad fortune by removing Max Errol, along with my-
self, from this world. If you want him to live, you
had better stay with me. I'm not such a—well, such
a wolf, as you would make out. Honestly, I will
try to make you happy."
He held out his hand to me. I did not lay mine
267


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
in it. At last I asked a question. My voice sounded
odd and dull.
"Is—what you have donepunishable by law ?”
“Very much so,” he said curtly. “A bullet would
be less bitter medicine. But Max Errol, I promise
you, shall go shares with me. I'll drink my last cup
with him."
"I feel rather—rather tired,” I said faintly. "If
you please I am ready to—to go."
Uttering an exclamation of alarm, Mr. Lannion
sprang forward and caught me in his arms.
"No, no," I insisted, as he begged me to sit down
and rest for a moment; "put me on Nonios and take
metake me” A flood of tears stopped my speech.
I could not force myself to say “home.”
With anxious haste Mr. Lannion obeyed, and I
was soon behind the white bars of my room—again
a prisoner at Ornith Farm.
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XXIII
Although fully believing that Mr. Lannion's
threat was no empty one, and that he would at once
send for the man who was to marry us, yet because
of my buoyant temperament my despair did not last
long. Before I had made a fresh toilet—my pretty
summer frock had been sadly marred by my wild
ride-I thought I had lost courage too soon. Mrs.
Despard and Mr. King would never stand by and
allow Mr. Lannion to carry out this last evil pur-
pose. I would tell Mr. King at once, I thought.
He would interfere thus far in my behalf, surely.
As for what Mr. Lannion had said in regard to Max
-time enough to think of that when I had seen and
consulted Mr. King.
Just before supper, hearing a slight noise in the
hall, I opened the door and looked out. It was
Roddy, apparently absorbed in perfecting himself
in his latest study—that of walking upon his hands.
I suspected that he was really waiting for me. Of
this I became certain when, feigning not to notice
me, he made his unsteady way into his own little
room, and dropped down upon the floor with a sigh
of satisfaction.
“Bravo, Roddy!” I cried with assumed gayety;
"you'll be walking the tight-rope next,” and I en-
tered after him.
His room was a middle one, between the two cor-
ner rooms occupied respectively by Dr. and Mrs.
Despard. Over his bed hung the picture in which
he delighted—Grace Darling rowing her boat
269


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Yes, 'a dewy flower'! A flower of encourage-
ment, bidding men earn their bread by the sweat of
the brow, rather than by the easy cheating of their
fellows.
“Yes, 'a dewy flower'! A flower fragrant with
the sweet faith of a young girl's soul-pure, free
from taint of evil.
“ 'The violets gushed up along the wayside.'
Yes, violets of deep affection from the heart of a
brave child. Blossoms of wholesome respect in the
breast of a callous, world-worn woman. The first
returning bloom of a humble belief in God's justice,
in the long bedimmed soul of mea sinner.
“But‘As the bird by wandering, as the swallow by
flying, so the curse causeless—shall not come.'
"I have sinned, and the hand of the Most High
is heavy upon me.
"In my folly I believed I knew well what awaited
me should my sin be found out. Not so. For who
may foretell the judgments of God ? He ordains
that for my punishment I must stand passive in the
torture chamber where, on the rack, lies Innocence,
bound hand and foot.
“I go to prepare my grave. With plowshare and
harrow, with rake and spade will I make it ready.
May it please God to shorten this task and, because
of my great misery, may it please Him to let me lie
down in my grave full soon. My petty, wretched
body, is aweary of His glorious world.
"Farewell forever to all happiness; farewell to
Hope.”
Roddy watched me eagerly as I folded the sheet
and put it in my pocket. He nodded his head vio-
lently, winking away the tears.
"Yes," he said, in earnest confirmation of what
he fancied I had just read, "gone for good-hired
271


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
out, controlling with a great effort my alarm and
displeasure. The next moment Mr. Lannion placed
me in the chair he had just vacated, and left the
room, saying that he had matters of importance to
attend to.
“I don't grudge her to you, Luther,” he added,
smiling at us affectionately from the doorway,
“though I own I would to any one else. She will
do you more good than any medicine-my sunny
little girl!”
I looked at Dr. Despard as the door closed, but
he had shut his eyes, and it was impossible for me
to know how Mr. Lannion's extraordinary behavior
had impressed him. His face, always white, showed
ghastly gray against the pillow. I doubted if he had
long to live. Presently he opened his eyes, and fix-
ing them upon me thanked me, in a weak voice, for
honoring him with my company. He looked so
desperately ill that my heart was suddenly wrung
with pity. Forgetting my previous bitter dislike, I
asked impulsively if there were not something I
could do to make him more comfortable. Should I
read to him? Or, perhaps, if he had had a bad
night, I might sing him to sleep. I would sing very,
very, softly-might I try?
A faint gleam of pleasure lighted up his face as
he murmured a grateful assent to this last sugges-
tion. We were quite alone, since Roddy, too, had
left the room. À cool, green twilight-subdued,
grateful to tired eyes—filled the large apartment.
I began to sing softly, very softly, as to a little child.
I sang drowsy cradle songs; the lullabies of many
nations; but all alike in their swinging rhythm, for
the rhythm of a rocking cradle is everywhere the
same.
Soon, forgetting time and place, the sick man,
everything save the songs, and the pictures they
278


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
evoked as I sang; remembering only the need of
singing softly, soothingly—soon I drifted into the
chants of our church and low-toned, plaintive
hymns. I leaned my head against the back of my
chair, and, while crooning softly, very softly, I my-
self fell fast asleep.
My sleep was the dreamless sleep of exhaustion,
and it had lasted for fully an hour, when I was
awakened by the sound of a carriage rolling briskly
up the avenue. For a moment I did not know where
I was, and, sitting erect, I stared in wonder about
the unfamiliar, dimly lighted room, with its pun-
gent odor of medicines. Then I remembered, and
looked at the sick man, pleased to find that he still
slept.
I felt less hardly toward Dr. Despard, somehow.
I asked myself if I had not condemned him too
quickly. He might really think that I was mentally
unbalanced. Doctors had made grave mistakes be-
fore; why not in my case ?
As this fear of having been unjust crossed my
mind, I heard Mrs. Despard's voice. She was evi-
dently mounting the staircase, for the sound grew
louder each moment, and as evidently venting her
displeasure upon some one who remained below.
Roused by the shrill noise, Dr. Despard opened his
eyes and, seeing me, smiled.
“I have had a refreshing sleep,” he said; "it has
strengthened me wonderfully. I thank you."
Going to his side I asked to be of further use.
He let me slip another pillow beneath his head, and
said that he would take his medicine. As I gave
it to him the door opened and Mrs. Despard bounced
in. She looked overheated, angry, and self-absorbed.
Her exuberant presence seemed to change the very
atmosphere of the sick-room; it was as if a glaring
light had been roughly admitted. Her toilet was
279


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
do know about that unwise communication. I am
glad that it found its way into my hands.”
“What?” gasped Mrs. Despard, apparently un-
willing to credit her ears. “Do you mean to say
that you—my own husband-took-kep back-de-
stroyed, perhaps "
“Yes, I did destroy it,” the doctor broke in im-
patiently. “It was a most imprudent document.
And I wonder, Henrietta, at your obstinate persist-
ence in meddling with what does not in the least
concern you. I must beg you in future to allow me,
and Mr. Lannion, to manage our affairs as we see
fit.” His voice trailed away weakly, he looked ex-
hausted, unfit for further speech.
Mrs. Despard's high color had died away. She
had become almost as pale as her husband. She took
my hand in hers and, after a moment spoke. Her
voice was very low, as if borne down by a weight of
new thoughts, of new ideas. Ideas—so it seemed
—that she could not as yet quite grasp.
“Do you mean," she asked, speaking slowly, as
though forming the words had suddenly become dif-
ficult, “do you mean that, after this, my letters are
to be examined into? Do you mean that I'm to be
kep’ watch on-like this poor girl here?”
Her husband moved impatiently. "Don't talk
like a third-rate tragedy queen, Henrietta !” he said.
“Of course, if you insist upon behaving like a per-
son devoid of sense, you're not to be trusted—that
is all.”
Mrs. Despard laughed; an odd, nervous laugh.
I hated to hear it. She tossed her head defiantly.
“Which if you ain't square,” she cried, “I am.
So I give you warning. I mean to make it my busi-
ness to see fair play in this house. I mean to make
it my business to take care of this unfortunate girl.
I mean to tell everybody, yes, every human soul
282


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“She objected to what her husband felt obliged
to tell her. It did not concern you, or your affairs,"
he added hastily; "it was a private family matter;
I give you my word. I would have been glad to
have her go but for Luther's condition. As it
is-
He stopped speaking and looked at me.
"If he is ill I will do what I can,” I said.
“No, no,” was the quick response, “I could not
ask that of you.”
“If he is ill,” I reiterated, beginning to climb the
staircase with leaden feet, "please call me. I will
do what I can,” and I made my slow way back into
my room.
I heard the door of the back staircase-it was
between the rooms occupied by Aileen and Mr. Lan-
nion-close softly as I passed. Some one had been
on the watch for me. Upon my bed I found a
clumsily wrapped package. Within was Roddy's
cherished picture-Grace Darling in her life-boat.
Tucked into the frame was a folded paper with these
lines written in Roddy's big, childish hand:
“MY DEAR HOPE:
“Mother and I are going away. Except Grace
Darling with my love. They will not let me say
good-bye. Father will take care of you. I asked
him to.
"Your loving freind,
"L. ROGERS DESPARD.”
He had left out the d.
286


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
have to get up. I need you. Please hurry. The
doctor has a bad attack—do you understand ?”
It was impossible to affect longer the stupidity of
one just aroused, yet I was unwilling to give the aid
I had freely offered so short a time before. I was
unable to understand my own reluctance, and, con-
quering it, I had begun to say that I was awake and
would come at once, when an exclamation from Mr.
Lannion caused me to stop short.
“You, Luther!” he ejaculated under his breath.
“Why, I thought you were sound— ”.
He broke off, remembering, as it seemed, what he
had just said to me.
"I thought I would wait until later before taking
it,” said Dr. Despard. “I hoped that I might sleep
without it. Why are you waking Miss Darling,
Rollis ?”
"Dray has come,” was the reply. He spoke in a
whisper. I heard only because I had crept to the door
to listen.
“What of that ?" asked the doctor sharply, making
no effort to lower his voice.
"I thought it had better be done at once," Mr.
Lannion said; "you know there is no time to lose.
It need not trouble you, Luther. Jasper and Zayma
can act as "
“Yes, and have the girl in hysterics,” said Dr.
Despard. “You know she dislikes them both. Wait
until morning, Rollis. In the morning "
"No, no,” Mr. Lannion interrupted, but he spoke
in so low a tone that I lost what he said.
I crouched down upon the floor and placed my ear
close to the crack beneath the door. Dr. Despard
spoke again.
"In the early, early morning I shall be ready,"
he said. “Before five I will be witness.”
There was silence. Although the night was warm
289


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
repeatedhould be my I placed the
ever! I repeated the Lord's Prayer, but by rote,
childishly, even stupidly. Then, opening the pen-
knife, I pressed its blade tentatively against the veins
of my wrist. At its touch a violent shudder shook me
from head to foot. I withdrew it quickly. I must
wait a moment. I would count-how much should
I count? I fell to choosing a number, idly, foolishly.
My mind was strangely inclined to turn to, to play
with, little things. I found it difficult to decide this
question of the number I should count before cut-
ting-
The clock in the hall below began to strike the hour.
I tried to number the strokes but failed, my thoughts
drifting away when I strove to concentrate my atten-
tion upon the repeated sound.
Seven, yes, seven should be my number! Seven,
to match the sevens in the frieze. I placed the blade
carefully. One-two-three-
I stopped counting. I sat like a stone. A hand
had been thrust through the bars of the other win-
dow. Mr. Lannion was below. Had the rescuers
come?
"Hope!” The merest whisper, but I knew the
voice.
Still holding the knife I went quickly to the
window. Dr. Despard peered in at me, his finger on
his lips. He was but half dressed, wearing neither
coat nor vest, and I saw that his feet were bare.
Without speaking he handed me a key, the key that
unfastened the bars. Closing my knife I slipped it
into my pocket, then, with painstaking care, put the
key into the lock, dreading lest by clumsiness I lose
all. But the bars swung open noiselessly. Dr. Des-
pard took my hand and, pointing downward to sig-
nify that I must use great caution, motioned me to
step out upon the roof. In another instant I stood
beside him—under the open sky.
291


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
Although he was barefoot and I without shoes, I
realized that it would be more than difficult to move
silently. Should the roof creak even a little Mr.
Lannion or his companion must hear us. Dr. Des-
pard, still holding my hand in his, began to make
his slow way toward the window of Mr. Lannion's
room. We kept close, close to the wall of the house,
our backs almost touching it, and inch by inch crawled
toward our goal.
I thank God that I never for one instant doubted
my companion's honesty of purpose, that I trusted
him wholly, entirely. I asked no questions but, be-
lieving in him, followed where he led.
It seemed a very long time before we reached the
desired window, which was really close at hand.
Inside a light burned low, making it easier to enter
quietly. Dr. Despard led me across the room to a
door on the opposite side. This opened upon the
back staircase. Closing it behind us we were in total
darkness, but, although moving very slowly, Dr.
Despard guided me downward as though he knew his
way well. We did not stop at the first floor, but
passing through the pantry, went on down the second
flight to the basement. I noticed that these stairs,
like those we had just left, were thickly carpeted.
Below, a faint light was visible. This served to
show the heavily barred outside door and the shadow
of Zayma’s cat, Ebenezer, silhouetted against the wall.
Uttering a cry of welcome he slid forward toward
Dr. Despard, then, catching sight of me, halted,
staring with dilated yellow eyeballs. Evidently dis-
turbed by the creature's wakefulness, Dr. Despard
pushed me back into the blind staircase and, con-
trolling his labored breathing with manifest effort,
stood motionless, listening. Satisfied after a moment
that the cat kept vigils alone, he drew me quickly to
the door, unbarred it with the noiseless precision of
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
the greater strength. And I suffered much; my
heart straining at the leash in its mad desire for
speed.
Arrived at the edge of the open line of avenue just
above the stables, Dr. Despard halted. On the op-
posite side of the road a thicket of fruit-trees offered
a shelter. But to reach it one must cross the open
space.
“Go over first,” he commanded, “and wait under
the trees. Your white dress may betray you to
Jasper, who is now outside the house on guard. He
may be where he will spy you. If he starts in chase
I will stop him. Do you, meanwhile, skirt the
garden, climb the wall, cross the high-road, and go
down over the fields toward the north-east. A mile
from the road is a farm-house. Make for it. That
is your one chance." I would have started but he
detained me. "If you are not seen,” he said, “I
will join you. Wait for me.”
“Yes,” I said, and fitted across the road, on among
the trees. There I paused, and gave battle to an
almost irresistible desire to fly. The farm-house
was but a mile distant. Mr. Lannion had said that
the nearest dwelling was two miles away!
The south-west wind swept through the tree-tops
with an inspiring rush onward. It was a wild night,
although warm, and filled with summer scents. And
the hurrying breeze had infected all nature with its
I own reckless haste. The branches above me swayed
restlessly, sighing over their inability to follow on
through the night. And I, who had entered on a
race for life, stood trembling with eagerness for the
starting signal.
From the direction of the distant woodland there
now came the baying of dogs. I had forgotten the
Great Danes. Was the sound coming nearer? My
impatience had become an anguish when Dr. Despard
starei for life, night. Antheir inab above me with its
294


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
u
re-
“Come,” said Dr. Despard, "we have no time to
lose!”
"Let me go on alone,” I pleaded, “and do you re-
turn to Ornith Farm.”
"I cannot,” he said shortly. "I have betrayed my
friend— ”
The path seemed to lengthen out interminably;
but at last, when I had almost lost hope, we came
suddenly upon an old farm-house nestling against the
hill. At the same instant Dr. Despard stumbled
heavily, strove to regain his footing, then, in spite
of my efforts to support him, sank to the ground. His
overtaxed strength had given way.
I lifted his head and fanned him with my hand-
kerchief.
"Go on”-he spoke with difficulty, struggling to
retain consciousness—“knock-say that you are
Hope” He sank back, fainting.
I obeyed quickly. A picket fence shut off a garden
strip before the old gray house. Opening the little
gate I ran up on the porch and knocked loudly.
No answer. Realizing my folly in having chosen the
front door, I hastened to the kitchen wing. There,
fetching a big stone, I pounded upon the door with
all my strength. A dog in the barn barked furiously,
and a light appeared in one of the lower windows of
the house. I knocked again.
"Help,” I cried. “Oh, help!"
The window was partly raised, and a woman's
voice demanded my name and what I wanted.
"I am Hope Carmichael," I answered. Before I
could explain further the window was shut smartly
and the light disappeared.
I was in despair. The dog at the barn never
ceased his warning clamor. Were Mr. Lannion in
pursuit he would need no better guide. I must make
à second appeal. As I raised my hand the door was
296


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
was keeping to the grassy edge of the high-road, as
he galloped away.
Going to the table I took up the gun and extin-
guished the candle. Mrs. Stephens returned as I did
so, carrying the lamp. She had busied herself closing
the windows in the room occupied by the dead.
“We're best upstairs," she whispered, “but we'll
barricade a bit here first. Can you shoot ?" she added,
seeing the gun in my hands.
"I think so—if I have to," I said.
Laying it down, I helped her move the heavy
kitchen table against the door. This done we passed
into the narrow hall of the house. Here Mrs.
Stephens paused to point toward a poster fastened on
the wall, upon which was a rough picture and a full
description of
THE MISSING MARY CARMICHAEL-
CALLED "HOPE.”
"That's how we knew you,” she said, and led the
way upstairs.
Going into the little hall bedroom directly above
the front door, she opened the window and bowed the
shutters, then put out the lamp.
“The dawn is close at hand,” she said, “and we're
best without a light. Do you peek through the shut-
ters—you're eyes are young."
The stars had paled; the south-west wind was sink-
ing to rest. The flowers in the strip of garden below,
and the honeysuckle that clambered over the roof of
the old-fashioned porch, filled the air with sweetness.
As I looked from between the shutters, straining eyes
and ears alike, Mrs. Stephens began to talk. She had
seated herself close behind me; she held the gun across
her knees.
"I can't understand about Mr. Lannion," she
seated heroke, Mrs. Steen the shut
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
mused. “That bill says you're held for money—and
he's a rich man.”
"You won't give me up?" I pleaded, turning from
the window.
"No," she said, “I won't. But I'm free to confess
that I can't make it out. Mr. Lannion's a rich man.
He's been a good neighbor to me.”
My heart sank. "If you would let me have the
gun?” I suggested timidly. I longed to get it into
my own hands.
"I wish David wasn't away,” she said, “and I
wish Ezra hadn't loaned his gun to Jake. Jake's our
hired man,” she explained. “He's gone home for a
couple of days. Well, we've got to do the best we
can. No, I'll keep the gun. I could shoot when I
was a girl "
"Hush !" I murmured.
The dog at the barn was sounding a low note of
warning. In the gray twilight neighboring objects
had become dully visible. The lichen-covered boul-
ders, between which ran the narrow track Dr. Despard
and I had so lately travelled, showed in separate
masses upon the hill above the house. The dog, silent
for an instant, now gave vent to a gruff bark.
"Rover's uneasy," whispered my companion.
"Some one's round.” A moment of intense watch-
fulness followed. "Perhaps only some beast”
Mrs. Stephens muttered as if speaking to herself.
“I wish Ezra had thought to bring the dog inside;
but no, if he had we couldn't pretend not to hear in
case ”
She broke off abruptly. Down the dusky hillside
there slipped two shadows. Rover gave tongue. He
barked loudly, fiercely. The two men advanced
toward the house, then paused, whispering together.
“Mr. Lannion and his man—the Injun-darky ?”
Mrs. Stephens asked.
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“Yes,” I said.
They had finished their short consultation. Jasper
disappeared around the corner of the house; Mr. Lan-
nion, opening the garden gate, came up on the porch
and knocked. The dog barked himself hoarse. Mr.
Lannion, hardly waiting for an answer, knocked
again, this time very loudly. Mrs. Stephens neither
spoke nor moved. Again Mr. Lannion waited an in-
stant, then knocked unceasingly.
"I've got to answer now," said Mrs. Stephens.
“You stand aside, and don't you say a word.” She
fumbled with the shutters as if feeling for their
fastenings, then asked who was there.
“Mr. Lannion," came the quick response. “Is
that Mrs. Stephens ?" He left the porch as he spoke,
moving back toward the gate that he might look up
at the window.
“Yes, sir,” she said civilly, opening the shutters
so that he might see her, but not Ainging them wide.
“What brings you here at this hour?"
“My ward, Miss Darling, has wandered from
home, was the answer. "Did she come here ?”
“No, sir,” said Mrs. Stephens steadily.
“The poor child is deranged," continued Mr. Lan-
nion, "and her insanity has lately taken a new form.
She imagines herself to be the Miss Carmichael whose
picture has been in all the newspapers—the young
girl who is supposed to have been kidnapped because
of her large fortune. My poor Aimée resembles her
closely—being slight and blonde. Where is your
son ?
"David is away,” said Mrs. Stephens. I thought
that a note of anxiety had crept into her voice.
“Are you alone in the house ?" Mr. Lannion asked.
“None of my family are at home,” was the evasive
answer.
“You would not deceive me, I am sure, Mrs.
304


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
“You see, Mrs. Stephens !” he spoke quietly.
“This is proof positive that my ward is in your house.
I don't blame you for believing the poor child's story,
but I must beg you to let me see her at once. Please
come down and open the door.”
“I believe in law and order, Mr. Lannion,” said
Mrs. Stephens mildly. “Do you go home and wait
till daytime. Then fetch a couple of doctors to show
the young lady is insane, and lawyers to prove your
right as guardian, and I'll give her up fast enough."
Mr. Lannion was silent a moment. Then went to
Jasper, who was waiting outside, and gave him some
order. The man again betook himself to the back of
the house. Mr. Lannion returned to his former post.
"I hoped for a kinder welcome, Mrs. Stephens,"
he said reproachfully. “You were glad enough to
see me when I brought Dr. Despard to your daughter-
in-law's sick-bed last winter. I came in the small
hours then, but you made haste to let me in.”
(It seemed to me that he was talking against time.
What task had been set Jasper? I slipped down
from my chair and out into the dark hall.)
"How is the doctor—why didn't you bring him this
time ?” asked Mrs. Stephens, in tones so calmly con-
versational that I marvelled at her self-control.
"He is ill,” was the answer. "He suggested the
chance of my finding our lost lamb here, and took
comfort in the thought that you would shelter her.
If he were with me he would convince you of the
truth of my statement. You would believe him."
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stephens ; "I believe him."
“Then you will let me in?” cried Mr. Lannion.
“I knew that you would hear reason at last !”
There came from below an odd sound, a soft
tinkle, as of the falling of glass. I moved into the
bedroom and shut the door. I knew that Mrs.
Stephens heard me, although she did not turn her
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THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
other instant, and I knew also that behind me stood
Jasper, ready to catch and hold me should I attempt
to fling myself from the window before his master
came. And all the time I never once ceased in my
frantic appeal for aid.
The sun, rising grandly, now flooded all the world
with light, and I saw Mr. Lannion halt as he reached
the corner of the house. Then my voice died sud-
denly—its strength failed. For pouring down over
the steep hillside came a little troop of horsemen.
They rode at break-neck speed, each man apparently
actuated by but one desire, to reach the farm in
time.
Mr. Lannion stood quite still, staring at two men,
who, distancing the others, now rode first. One of
them reined up his horse so soon as he came within
speaking distance.
“Game's up, Lannion !” he cried. “Better sur-
render quietly."
The other rider came straight on. The sun lighted
up his firm figure, irradiated his eager, clear-cut
face. I forgot Mr. Lannion, forgot his threat. I
leaned far, far from the window; I held out my
arms.
“Max!” I cried. “Oh, Max!”
Mr. Lannion sprang forward, raised his revolver,
fired.
The knowledge of what I had done closed down
upon my senses like a pall, dulling them, blinding
my vision. And it was as if that one report would
reverberate forever in my ears! I tried to shut it
out, but the effort was beyond me. And for a time
I did not know where I was nor what had befallen
me. All was a blank.
When my mind awoke I was upon a lounge drawn
close to an open window. From below rose the scent
310


THE PRISONER OF ORNITH FARM
The news of my being at the Stephens' had spread
like wild-fire, and my story had long since touched
the warm heart of the people. Max and I will never
forget the sympathy shown us at this supreme moment
of our lives.
We have had the great happiness of seeing Roddy
grow into a wise and useful man. We sent him to
school and to college, and later gave him a few years
of study in Europe. He now holds a professorship
in one of our finest universities. He is always with
us in the summers, and will, we hope, consider our
home his own until he chooses to marry.
Mrs. Despard changed her name a year after her
husband's death, marrying a former playmate, who
had become a person of importance in the neighboring
town. She was well pleased to transfer to us the
guardianship of her son, and even consented to his
dropping the d from his middle name.
Once a year, in mid-July, there comes to me a gift
of flowers. With them is always a slip of paper
bearing these printed words:
Wherever she set her blessed foot, there was at once a
dewy flower. The violets gushed up along the wayside.
I know that it is Tom King who thus remembers
me, and I like to believe that he has found peace in
leading an upright life, with Mother Earth as teacher
and consoler.
I am a very happy woman. So happy, indeed,
that at times I feel afraid, having known sudden
shipwreck. And because of the seeds of evil—the
Pomegranate Seeds of Ornith Farm—the world can
never again be quite the same to me. If Proserpina
paid heavily for the six pomegranate seeds that
passed her lips, I, too, pay for the six weeks spent
in captivity. The knowledge I then learned of life's
shadows must ever remain to dim its sunshine.
314





By FRANCES POWELL
THE HOUSE
ON THE HUDSON
Izmo, $1.50
“There is good characterization in this book. Miss
Powell has a true sense of drama. Her situations are
never spasmodic in character. They gain in excitement
and force as the story proceeds and effectively lead up to
a startling climax." —New York Tribune.
" The interest is absorbing. ... Frances Powell
is clever, and she has written a briskly entertaining book
with much imaginative force.”—The Literary Digest.
“ It belongs to the one more chapter and I'll come
to bed' school, and has more claims to merit than most
of its class." -Life.
“It is capital reading, not a bit the kind to go to
sleep over." —Boston Courier.
"Since the House on the Marsh' there has not
been another story which so skillfully and potently ex-
cites the curiosity and interest of the reader.”
–Washington Post.
“ Interesting and fascinating."-St. Louis Republic.
“ Nothing if not interesting."— Chicago Daily News.
“ A capital tale of mystery."
- New York Evening Mail.
Charles Scribner's Sons, New York