Chapter SIXTEEN

The next week held unutterable pain for Flea, each twenty-four hours deepening her unhappiness more and more. She made no effort to talk with Shellington, nor did she mention her sorrow to Ann. It did not seem necessary to her that she should again speak to Horace of going away. When she had last suggested it, he had said that nothing she could do would alter his decision about his home being hers until Floyd should be well. Nevertheless, an innate pride surged constantly within her. Any deprivation would be more welcome than the studied toleration that, she thought, she encountered in Horace.

One morning she stood looking questioningly down at her brother.

"How near well are ye, Fluke?"

"Ain't never goin' to get well!" he replied, shivering. "'Tain't easy to get pains out of a feller's bones when they once get in."

"If you do get well soon, I think we'd better go away."

"Why?" demanded Flukey.

"Because we wasn't asked to stay only till you got well."

"Don't ye believe it, Flea! Ye wasn't here last night. Brother Horace and Sister Ann thought I was to sleep, and I wasn't."

"What did they say?" broke in the girl, with whitening face.

"Sister Ann told Mr. Shellington about yer work at school, and he said--as how--"

Floyd waited a moment before continuing, and Flea crept closer to the bed. She was crying softly as she knelt down and bent her face over her brother. The boy passed his hands through the black curls.

"What's the matter, Flea?"

"I want to know what my Prince said to Sister Ann."

"Be ye crying about him?"

"Yes!"

"Ye love him, I bet!"

Flea buried her face deeper into the soft counterpane; but she managed to make an affirmative gesture with her head.

Floyd was silent, and sometime passed before he heard the girl's smothered voice:

"And I'm goin' to love him always--even after we go away!"

"We ain't goin' away," said Floyd.

"Who said so?"

"Mr. Shellington."

"When?"

"Last night."

Fledra lifted her head and grasped the boy's thin hands in hers.

"You're sure it was last night, Fluke?"

"Yep, I be sure. I was layin' here with my face to the wall. When Sister Ann comes in nights, if I don't say anything, she thinks I be asleep, and she kisses me, and I like her to do that. Last night, when she'd done kissing me, Mr. Shellington came in, and then they talked about us."

"And he didn't say we was to go away?"

"No."

Fledra rose in sudden determination, and in her excitement spoke with swift reversion to the ancient manner.

"Flukey, ye be the best da----"

Flukey thrust up a reproving finger which stopped the oath.

"Flea!" he cautioned.

"I were only goin' to say, Flukey," said Flea humbly, "that ye be the best kid in all the world. Don't tell anybody what I said about my Prince."

She went out quickly.

* * * * *

With her hand upon her heart, Flea halted before the library. She knew that Horace was there; for she could hear the rustling of papers. At her timid knock, he bade her enter. Her tongue clove so closely to the roof of her mouth that for a minute she could not speak. She held out her fingers, and Horace took them in his. His face whitened at her touch; but he gazed steadily at her.

"You've--you've something to say to me, Fledra--sweetheart?"

The hope in his voice rang out clearly. Fledra nodded.

"What?"

He was determined she should explain away the black thing that had arisen between them.

"I didn't come to tell ye about what happened," said she; "but to say that, if ye don't smile and don't touch me sometimes, I'll die--I know I will!" Her tones were disjointed with emotion, and she felt the hands holding hers tighten.

"I can't smile when I'm unhappy, Fledra. I can't! I can't! This past week has been almost unbearable."

"It's been that way with me, too," said Flea simply.

"Then why don't you make us both happy by being honest with me? If you didn't care for me, I should have no right to force your confidence; but you really do, don't you?"

"Yes; but I'm never goin' to marry ye, because mebbe I can't never tell ye. I think ye might trust me. It's easy when ye love anyone. I say, ye couldn't marry me without, could ye?" She seemed to suddenly grow old in her sagacious argument. Horace shook his head sadly.

"We'd never be happy, if I should," said he, "because--because I couldn't trust you."

"Oh, I want ye to trust me!" she wept. "I want ye to! Won't you once more? Please do! Won't ye forget that anything ever happened--won't ye?"

For a moment her supplication almost unnerved him; but he thought of their future, of the necessity of having unlimited faith and honor between them, and again slowly shook his head.

Suddenly the twisting hands worked themselves loose from his, and in another instant her feverish arms tightly encircled his neck. By the weight of Flea's body, Horace Shellington knew that her feet were no longer on the floor, each muscle in the rigid girl having so well done its part that she hung straight-limbed against him. Close to his face drew hers, and for a space of time, the length of which he could never afterward accurately measure, he forgot everything but the maddening expression in her face. Her eyelids were closed, and her breath came hot upon his lips.

"I want ye to kiss me like ye did that night--kiss me--please--please--" In her low voice was illimitable strength and passion.

Like burning rivers, his blood was driven through his veins. He flung out his arms and crushed her to him. Just then his lips found hers.

"Dear God! How I--how I love you!" he breathed.

Fledra's arms relaxed and slipped from his shoulders.

"Then forget about what happened!" she panted.

All the bitter apprehensions of the last week swept over him at her words. His love battled with him, and he wavered. How gladly would he have dispelled every doubt and listened to her pleading!

"But I want you to tell me, Fledra."

Flea backed slowly from him.

"I can't.... I can't.... I can't tell anybody!"

The man ran his fingers across his forehead in bewilderment. In his bitter disappointment he turned away.

"When you come to me," his voice broke into huskiness, "when you tell me what happened that night before you saw my sister, I shall--I shall love you--forever!"

Then came a single moment of critical silence; but it needed only the thought of Ann for the girl to toss aside his plea and turn upon her heel.

"I don't want Sister Ann to know that I love ye," she said sulkily. "Ye won't tell her?"

"No, no, of course not--not yet!" He dropped into his chair, his head falling forward in his hands. "I wouldn't have believed," he said from between his fingers, "that my love for you--"

Flea stopped him with an interruption:

"Are ye trying to stop lovin' me?"

Horace shook his shoulders, lifting swift eyes to hers. He noted her expression irrevocable in its decision of silence. She was extraordinarily lovely, and he grew suddenly angry that he had not the power to change her, to draw from her unresistingly the story she had locked from his perusal.

"Don't be foolish, Fledra!" he said quite harshly. "A man can't love and unlove at will. I feel as if I should never know another happy moment!"

* * * * *

For several days Ann watched her brother in dismay. He had grown taciturn and gloomy. The boyish energy had left him. She ventured to speak to Everett about it.

"He doesn't seem like the same boy at all," she said sadly, after explaining. "I can't imagine what has caused the change in him."

Everett remembered Shellington's face as it had bent over Fledra, and smiled slightly.

"Have you ever thought lately that he might be in love?"

"In love!" gasped Ann. "No, I know that he isn't; for it was only at the time of the Dryden Fair that he told me he cared for no one."

"He might have changed since then," Everett said quizzically.

"But he hasn't met anyone lately," argued Ann. "I know it isn't Katherine; for--for he told me so."

"I know someone he met at the fair."

Ann, startled, glanced up.

"Who? Do tell me, Everett! Don't stand there and smile so provokingly. If you could only understand how I have worried over him!"

Brimbecomb put on a grave face.

"Haven't you a very pretty girl in the house who is constantly under his eye?"

Still Ann did not betray understanding.

"Don't you think," asked Everett slowly, "that he might have fallen in love with--this little Fledra?"

An angry sparkle gleamed in Ann's eyes.

"Don't be stupid, Everett. Why, she's only a child. It would be awful! Horace has some sense of the fitness of things."

Everett thought of the evening he himself had succumbed to a desire to kiss Flea.

"No man has that," he smiled, "when he is attracted toward a pretty woman."

"But she isn't even grown up."

How little one woman understands another! In his eyes Fledra had matured; for his masculinity had sought and found the natural opposite forces of her sex. These thoughts he modified and voiced.

"Not quite from your standpoint, Ann; but possibly from Horace's."

Pale and distressed, Ann got to her feet.

"Then--then, of course, she must go," she said with decision. "I can't have him unhappy, and--Why, such a thing could--never be!"

She could scarcely wait for Everett to depart; but suppressed her anxiety and delicately turned the subject out of deference to Horace. She listened inattentively as Brimbecomb explained some new cases that he was soon to bring to court, and kissed him when he bade her goodnight. Then, with beating heart, she sought her brother.

Unsmilingly, Horace asked her to be seated. His face was so stern that she dared not at once speak of the fears Brimbecomb had raised in her mind; but at last she said:

"Horace, I've been thinking since our last talk about the children--" His sharp turn in the desk-chair interrupted her words; but she paused only a moment before going on resolutely. "Don't you think that I might put Floyd in a good private hospital where he would be taken care of, and Fledra--"

His face turned ashen. Her fears were strengthened, and, although her conscience stung her, she continued, "Fledra's getting along so well that I would be willing to put her in a boarding school."

"Are you tired of them, Ann?"

"Oh, no--no, far from that! I love them both; but I thought it might be pleasanter for you, if we had our home to ourselves again."

Horace looked at his sister intently.

"Are you keeping something back from me, Ann?" he demanded.

"Scarcely keeping anything from you, Dear; but I want you to be happy and not to--" Horace rose in agitation, and quick tears blurred Ann's sight.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Dearest?" she concluded.

"No!"

Reluctantly she left him, troubled and perplexed.