Chapter X: Part 10

It was not until they were continuing their bridal trip that Lieutenant Asher considered the subject of mentioning Dick Lancaster to his wife. Then, after considering it, he concluded not to do it. In the first place, he knew that he was getting to be a little bit elderly, and he did not care about discussing the perfections of the young man who had been selected as a suitable partner for his wife's school friend. This was all very foolish, of course, but people often are very foolish.

Thus it was that Olive Asher never heard of the tripartite alliance between her father, her uncle, and her good friend at Broadstone.

When Captain Asher learned, a few days after his brother had left, that the Broadstone family had gone to the seashore, he sat reflectively and asked himself if he were doing the right thing by Olive. The season was well advanced; it was getting very hot at the toll-gate, and at many other gates in that region; and this navy girl ought to have a breath of fresh air. It is wonderful that he had not thought of it before!

At breakfast the next morning Olive stopped pouring coffee when he told her his plans to go to the sea.

"With you, Uncle John!" she cried. "That would be better than anything in the world! You sail a boat?" she asked inquiringly.

"Sail a boat!" roared the captain. "I have a great mind to kick over this table! My dear, I can sail a boat, keel uppermost, if the water's deep enough! Sail a boat!" he repeated. "I sailed a catboat from Boston to Egg Harbor before your mother was born. By the way, you seem very anxious about boat sailing. Are you afraid of the water?"

She laughed gaily. "I deserve that," she said, "and I accept it. But perhaps I have done something that you never did. I have sailed a felucca."

"Very good," said the captain; "if there's a felucca where we're going you can sail me in one."

They went to a Virginia seaside resort, these two, and left old Jane in charge of the toll-gate.

Early in the day after they arrived they went out to engage a boat. When they found one which suited the captain's critical eye, he said to the owner thereof: "I will take her for the morning, but I don't want anybody to sail me. I will do that myself."

"I don't know about that," said the man; "when my boat goes out--"

He stopped speaking suddenly and looked the captain over and over, up and down. "All right, sir," said he. "And you don't want nobody to manage the sheet?"

"No," interpolated Olive, "I'll manage the sheet."

So they went out on the bounding sea. And as the wind whistled the hat off her head so that she had to fling it into the bottom of the boat, Olive wished that her uncle kept a toll-gate on the sea. Then she could go out with him and stop the little boats and the great steamers, and make them drop seven cents or thirteen cents into her hands as she stood braced in the stern; and she was just beginning to wonder how she could toss up the change to them if they dropped her a quarter, when the captain began to sing Tom Bowline. He was just as gay-hearted as she was.

It was about noon when they returned, for the captain was a very particular man and he had hired the boat only for the morning. Olive had scarcely taken ten steps up the beach before she found herself shaking hands with a young man.

"How on earth!" she exclaimed.

"It was not on earth at all," he said; "I came by water. I wanted to find out if what I had heard of the horrors of a coastwise voyage were true; and I found that it was absolutely correct."

"But here!" she exclaimed. "Why here? You could not have known!"

"Of course not," he answered; "if I had known I am sure I would have felt that I ought not to come. But I didn't know, and so you see I am as innocent as a butterfly. More innocent, in fact, for that little wagwings knows where he ought not to go, and he goes there all the same."

Captain Asher was still at the boat, making some practical suggestions to her owner; who, being not yet forty, had many things to learn about the sails and rigging of a catboat.

"Mr. Locker," said Olive, looking at him very intently, "did you come here to renew any of your previous performances?"

"As a serenader?" said he. "Oh, no! But perhaps you mean as a love-maker?"

"That is it," said Olive.

Mr. Locker took off his hat, and rubbed his head. "No," said he, "I didn't; but I wish I could say I did. But that's impossible. I presume I am right in assuming this impossibility?"

"Entirely," said Olive.

"And, furthermore, I truly didn't know you were here. I think you may rest satisfied that that flame is out, although--By the way, I believe I could make some verses on that subject containing these lines:

"'I do not want the flame,
I better like the coal--'

meaning, of course, that I hope our friendship may continue."

She smiled. "There are no objections to that," she said.

"Perhaps not, perhaps not," he said, clutching his chin with his hand; "but some other lines come into my head. Of course, he didn't want the coal to go out.

"'He blew too hard,
The flame revived.'"

"That will do! That will do!" cried Olive. "I don't want any more of that poem."

"And the result of it all," said he, "is only a burnt match."

"Nothing but a bit of charcoal," added Olive.

At this moment up came the captain. Olive had told him all about Mr. Locker, and he was not glad to see him. Olive noticed this, and she spoke quickly. "Here's Mr. Locker, uncle; he has dropped down quite accidentally at this place."

"Oh" said the captain incredulously.

"You know he used to like me too much. But he knows me better now."

"Charming frankness of friendship!" said Locker.

"And as I like him very much, I am glad he is here," continued Olive.

The young man bowed in gratitude, but Olive's words embarrassed him somewhat, and he did not know exactly what would be suitable for him to say. So he took refuge in a change of subject. "Captain," said he, "can you fish?"

A look of scornful amazement showed itself upon the old mariner's face. "I have tried it," said he.

"And so have I," cried Locker, "but I never had any luck in fishing and--some other things. I am vilely unlucky. I expect that's because I don't know how to fish."

"It is very likely," said Olive, "that your bad luck comes from not knowing where to fish."

The young man took off his hat and held it for a little while, although the sun was very hot.

During the course of that afternoon and evening Captain Asher grew to like Claude Locker. The young man told such gravely comical stories, especially about his experiences in boats and on the water, that the captain was very glad he had happened to drop down upon that especial watering-place. He wanted Olive to have some society besides his own, and a discarded lover was better than any other young man they might meet. He knew that Olive was a girl who would not go back on her word.

_CHAPTER XXXI_

_As good as a Man._

The next day our three friends went fishing in a catboat belonging to the young seaman of forty, and they took their dinner with them, although Mr. Locker declared that he did not believe that he would want any.

They had a good time on the water, for the captain had made careful inquiries about the best fishing grounds, and the mishaps of Locker were so numerous and so provocative of queer remarks from himself, that the captain and Olive sometimes forgot to pull up their fish, so preengaged were they in laughing. The sky was bright, the water smooth, and even Mr. Locker caught fish, although it might have been thought that he did everything possible to prevent himself doing so.

When their boat ran up the beach late in the afternoon the captain and Olive were still laughing, and Mr. Locker was as sober as a soda-water fountain from which spouts such intermittent sparkle. Dear as was the toll-gate, this was a fine change from that quiet home.

The next morning, upon the sand, Claude Locker approached Olive. "Would you like to decline my addresses for the second time?" he abruptly asked.

"Of course not" she exclaimed.

"Well, then," said he, extending his hand, "good-by!"

"What are you talking about?" said Olive. "What does this mean?"

"It means," said he, "that I have fallen in love with you again. I think I am rather worse than I was before. If I stay here I shall surely propose. Nothing can stop me--not even the presence of your uncle if it is impossible for me to see you alone--and, if you don't want any of that, it is necessary that I go, and go quickly."

"Of course I don't want it," she said. "But why need you be so foolish? We were getting along so nicely as friends. I expected to have lots of fun here with you and uncle."

"Fun!" groaned Locker. "It might have been fun for you and the captain, but what of the poor torn heart? I know I must go, and now. If I stay here five minutes longer I shall be at your feet, and it will be far better if I take to my own. Good-by!" And, with a warm grasp of her hand, he departed.

Olive looked after him as he walked to the hotel. If he had known how much she regretted to see him go he would have come back, and all his troubles would have begun again.

"Hello!" cried the captain when Locker had entered the house, "I was looking for you. We can run out, and have some fishing this morning. The tide will suit. You did so well yesterday that I think to-day. I can even teach you to take out a hook."

"Take out a hook?" said Locker. "I have a hook within me which no man in this world, and but one woman, can take out. And as this she must not even be asked to do, I go. Farewell!"

"What's the matter with the young man" asked the captain of Olive a little later.

"Oh, he has fallen in love with me again," said Olive, with a sigh, "and, of course, that spoils everything. I wish people could be more sensible."

The captain looked down upon her admiringly. "I don't see any hope for people," he said. And this was the first personal compliment he had ever paid his niece.

When Claude Locker had gone, Olive missed him more than she thought she could miss anybody. Much of the life seemed to have gone out of the place, and the captain's high spirits waned as if he was suffering from the depression which follows a stimulant.

"If that young fellow had been better-looking," said the captain, "if he had more solid sense, and a good business, with both his eyes alike, I might have been more willing to let him go."

"If he had been all that," asked Olive with a smile, "why shouldn't you have been willing to let him stay?"

The captain did not answer. No matter what young Locker might have been, he could never have been Dick Lancaster.

"Uncle," said Olive that afternoon, "where shall we go next?"

"I don't know," said he, "but let's go to-morrow. I don't believe I like so many strangers except when they pay toll."

They traveled about a good deal; and in a general way enjoyed themselves; but they were both old travelers, and mere novelty was not enough for them. Each loved the company of the other, but each would have liked to have Locker along. It grieved Olive to think that she wanted him, or anybody, but she would not even try to deceive herself. The weather grew cooler, and she said to her uncle: "Let us go back to the toll-gate; it must be perfectly beautiful there now, with the mountains putting on their gold and red."

So they started for home, planning for a stop in Washington on their way.

Brightness and people were coming back to Washington. The air was cooler, and city life was stirring. Olive and her uncle stayed several days longer than they had intended; as most people do who visit Washington. On one of these days as they were returning to their hotel from the Smithsonian grounds, where they had been looking at autumn leaves from all quarters of this wide land; many of them unknown to them; they looked with interest from the shaded grounds on one side of the street to the great public building on the other side, which they were then passing, and at the broad steps ascending from the sidewalk to the basement floor.

As they moved on thus slowly they noticed a man standing upon the upper steps of one of these stairs. His back was toward them; and, as their eyes fell upon him he stepped upon the upper sidewalk. He was walking with a cane which seemed to be rather short for him. He stood still for a moment, and appeared to be waiting for some one. Then, suddenly his whole frame thrilled with nervous action; he slightly lowered his head, and, in an instant, he brought his cane to his shoulder, as if it had been a gun. The captain had seen that sort of thing before. It was an air-gun. Without a word he made a dash at the man. He was elderly, but in a case like this he was swift. As he ran he glanced out in the direction in which the gun was aimed. Along the broad, sunlighted avenue a barouche was passing. On the back seat sat two gentlemen, well-dressed, erect. Even in a flash one would notice an air of dignity in their demeanor.

There was not time to strike down the weapon, but before the man had heard steps behind him the captain gave him a tremendous blow between the shoulders which staggered him, and spoiled his aim. Then the captain seized the air-gun. There was a whiz, and a click on the pavement. Then the man turned.

His black eyes flashed out of a swarthy face nearly covered with beard; his soft hat had fallen off when the captain struck him, and his black hair stood up like bristles on a shoe-brush. He was not a large man; he wore a loose woolen jacket; his sleeves were short, and his hands were hairy.

All this Olive saw, for she had been quick to follow her uncle; but the captain, who firmly held the air-gun, saw nothing but the glaring face of a devil.

The man jerked furiously at the gun, but the captain's grasp was too strong. Then the fellow released his hold upon the gun, and, with a savage fury, threw himself upon the older man. The two stood near the top of the steps, and the shock of the attack was so great that both fell, slipping down several of the stone steps.

Olive tried to scream, but in her fright her voice utterly left her. She could not make a sound. As they lay upon the steps, the captain beneath, the man seized his victim by the neck with both hands, pressing his great thumbs deeply into his throat. Apparently he did not notice Olive. All the efforts of his devilish soul were bent upon stifling the voice and the life out of the witness of his attempted crime. Olive sprang down, and stood over the struggling men. Her uncle's eyes stared at her, and seemed bursting from his head. His face was growing dark. Again Olive tried to scream; and, in a frenzy, she seized the man to pull him from the captain. As she did so her hand fell upon something protruding under his woolen jacket. With a quick flash of instinct her sense of feeling recognized this thing. She jerked up the jacket, and there was the stock of a pistol protruding from his hip pocket. In an instant Olive drew it.

A horrid sound issued from the mouth of Captain Asher; he was choking to death. In the same second that she heard it Olive thrust the muzzle of the pistol against the side of the man's head and pulled the trigger.

The man's head fell forward and his hairy hands released their grip, but they still remained at the captain's throat. The latter gave a great gasp, and for an instant he turned his eyes full upon the face of his niece. Then his lids closed.

Now there were footsteps, and, looking up, Olive saw a negro cabman in faded livery and an old silk hat, who stood staring. Before she could speak to him there came another man, a policeman, who, equally amazed, stared at the group below him. Only these two had heard the pistol shots. There were no other people passing on the avenue, and as it was past office hours there was no one in the great public building.

Until they reached the top of the steps the policeman and cabman could see nothing. Now they stood astounded as they stared down upon an elderly man lying on his back on the steps; another man, apparently lifeless, lying on top of him with his hands upon his throat; and a girl standing a little below them with a smoking pistol in her hand.

Before they had time to speak or move Olive called out, "Take that man off my uncle."

In a moment the policeman, followed by the negro, ran down the steps and pulled the black-headed man off the captain, and the limp body slipped down several steps.

The policeman now turned toward Olive. "Take this," she said, handing him the pistol. "I shot him. He was trying to kill my uncle."

The two men raised the captain to a sitting position. He was now breathing, though in gasps, with his eyes opened.

The policeman took the pistol, looked at it, then at Olive, then at the captain, and then down at the body on the steps. He was trying to get an idea of what had happened without asking. If the negro had not been present he might have asked questions, but this was an unusual situation, and he felt his responsibility, and his importance. Olive now stepped toward him, and in obedience to her quick gesture he bent his head, and she whispered something to him. Instantly he was quivering with excitement. He thrust the pistol into his pocket, and turned to the negro. "Run," said he, "and get your cab! Don't say a word to a soul and I will give you five dollars."

The moment the negro had departed Olive said: "Pick up that air-gun. There, on the upper step." Then she went to her uncle and sat down by him.

"Are you hurt?" she said. "Can you speak?"

The captain put his arm around her shoulder, fixing a loving look upon her, and murmured, "You are as good as a man!"

The policeman picked up the air-gun, and gazed upon it as if it had been a telegram in cipher from a detective. Then he tried to conceal it under his coat, but it was too long.

"Let me have it," said Olive; "I will put it behind me."

She had barely concealed it when the cab drove up.

"Now," said the policeman, "you two must go with me. Can you walk, sir?"

"Oh, yes," said the captain in a voice clear, but weak.

Olive rose, holding the air-gun behind her, and the policeman and the cabman helped the captain to the carriage. Olive followed, and the policeman, actuated by some strong instinct, did not look around to see if she were doing so. He had no more idea that she would run away than that the stone steps would move. When he saw that she had taken the air-gun into the carriage with her, he closed the door.

"Did your fall hurt you, uncle?" said Olive, looking anxiously into his face.

"My throat hurts dreadfully," he said, "and I'm stiff. But I'll be stiffer to-morrow."

The policeman picked up the hat of the black-haired man, and going down the steps, he placed it on his head. "Now help me up with this gentleman," he said to the cabman; "we must put him on the box-seat between us. Take him under the arms, and we'll carry him naturally. He must be awfully drunk!"

So they lifted him up the steps, and, after much trouble, got him on the box-seat. Fortunately they were both big men. Then they drove away to police headquarters. The officer was the happiest policeman in Washington. This was the greatest piece of work he had known of during his service; and he was doing it all himself. With the exception of the driver, nobody else was mixed up in it in the least degree. What he was doing was not exactly right; it was not according to custom and regulation. He should have called for assistance, for an ambulance; but he had not, and his guardian angel had kept all foot-passengers from the steps of the public building. He did not know what it all meant, but he was doing it himself, and if that black driver should slip from his seat (of which he occupied a very small portion) and he should break his neck, the policeman would clutch the reins, and be happier than any man in Washington.

There were very many people who looked at the drunken man who was being carried off by the policeman, but the cabman drove swiftly, and gave such people very little opportunity for close observation.

_CHAPTER XXXII_

_The Stock-Market is Safe._

There was a great stir at the police station, but Olive and her uncle saw little of it. They were quickly taken to private rooms, where the captain was attended by a police surgeon. He had been bruised and badly treated, but his injuries were not serious.

Olive was put in charge of a matron, who wondered greatly what brought her there. Very soon they were examined separately, and the tale of each of them was almost identical with that of the other; only Olive was able to tell more about the two gentlemen in the barouche, for she had been at her uncle's side, and there was nothing to obstruct her vision.

When the examination was ended the police captain enjoined each of them to say no word to any living soul about what they had testified to him. This was a most important matter, and it was necessary that it be hedged around with the greatest secrecy.

When Olive retired to her plain but comfortable cot she was tired and weak from the reaction of her restrained emotions, but she did not immediately go to sleep for thinking that she had killed a man. And yet for this killing there was not in this girl's mind one atom of regret. She was so grateful that she had been there, and had been enabled to do it. She had seen her uncle almost at his last gasp, and she had saved him from making that last gasp. Moreover, she had saved the life of the man who had saved the most important life in the land. She knew the face of the gentleman in the barouche who sat on the side nearest her; she knew what her uncle had done, and she was proud of him; she knew what she had done for him; and she regarded the black-haired man with the hairy hands no more than she would have regarded a wild beast who had suddenly sprung upon them. She thought of him, of course, with horror, but her feelings of thankfulness for her uncle's safety were far too strong. At last her grateful heart closed her eyes, and let her rest.

There were no letters found on the body of the black-haired man which gave any clue to his name; but there were papers which showed that he was from southern France; that he was an anarchist; that he was in this country upon a mission; and that he had been for two weeks in Washington, waiting for an opportunity to fulfil that mission. Which opportunity had at last shown itself in front of him just as Captain John Asher rushed up behind him.

This information was so important that extraordinary methods were pursued. Communications were immediately made with the State Department, and with the higher police authorities; and it was quickly determined that, whatever else might be done, the strictest secrecy must be enforced. The coroner's jury was carefully selected and earnestly admonished; and, early the next morning, when the captain and Olive were required to testify before it, they were made to understand how absolutely necessary it was they should say nothing except to answer the questions which were asked them. The coroner was eminently discreet in regard to his questions; and the verdict was that Olive was acting in her own defense as well as that of her uncle when she shot his assailant.

Among the officials whose positions enabled them to know all these astonishing occurrences it was unanimously agreed that, so far as possible, everybody should be kept in ignorance of the crime which had been attempted, and of the deliverance which had taken place.

Very early the next afternoon the air was filled with the cries of newsboys, and each paper that these boys sold contained a full and detailed account of a remarkable attempt by an unknown foreigner upon the life of Captain John Asher, a visitor in Washington, and the heroic conduct of his niece, Miss Olive Asher, who shot the murderous assailant with his own pistol. There were columns and columns of this story, but strange to say, in not one of the papers was there any allusion to the two gentlemen in the barouche, or to the air-gun.

How this most important feature of the occurrence came to be omitted in all the accounts of it can only be explained by those who thoroughly understand the exigencies of the stock-market, and the probable effect of certain classes of news upon approaching political situations, and who have made themselves familiar with the methods by which the pervasive power of the press is sometimes curtailed.

In the later afternoon editions there were portraits of Olive, and her uncle. Olive was broad-shouldered, with black hair and a determined frown, while the captain was a little man with a long beard. There were no portraits of the anarchist. He passed away from the knowledge of man, and no one knew even his name: his crime had blotted him out; his ambition was blotted out; even the evil of his example was blotted out. There was nothing left of him.

When they were released from detention the captain and Olive quickly left the station--which they did without observation--and entered a carriage which was waiting for them a short distance away. The fact that another carriage with close-drawn curtains had stopped at the station about ten minutes before, and that a thickly veiled lady (the matron) and an elderly man with his collar turned up and his hat drawn down (one of the police officers in plain clothes) had entered the carriage and had been driven rapidly away had drawn off the reporters and the curiosity mongers on the sidewalk and had contributed very much to the undisturbed exit of Captain and Miss Asher.

These two proceeded leisurely to the railroad-station, where they took a train which would carry them to the little town of Glenford. Their affairs at the hotel could be arranged by telegram. There were calls at that hotel during the rest of the day from people who knew Olive or her uncle; calls from people who wanted to know them; calls from people who would be contented even to look at them; calls from autograph hunters who would be content simply to send up their cards; quiet calls from people connected with the Government; and calls from eager persons who could not have told anybody what they wanted. To none of these could the head clerk give any satisfaction. He had not seen his guests since the day before, and he knew naught about them.

When Miss Maria Port heard that that horrid girl, Olive Asher, had shot an anarchist, she stiffened herself to her greatest length, and let her head fall on the back of her chair. She was scarcely able to call to the small girl who endured her service to bring her some water. "Now all is over," she groaned, "for I can never marry a man whose niece's hands are dripping with blood. She will live with him, of course, for he is just the old fool to allow that, and anyway there is no other place for her to go except the almshouse--that is, if they'll take her in." And at the terrified girl, who tremblingly asked if she wanted any more water, she threw her scissors.

The captain and his niece arrived early in the day at Glenford station. The captain engaged a little one-horse vehicle which had frequently brought people to the toll-gate, and informed the driver that there was no baggage. The man, gazing at Olive, but scarcely daring to raise his eyes to her face, proceeded with solemn tread toward his vehicle as if he had been leading the line in a funeral.

As they drove through the town they were obliged to pass the house of Miss Maria Port. The door was shut, and the shutters were closed. She had had a terrible night, and had slept but little, but hearing the sound of wheels upon the street, she had bounced out of bed and had peered through the blinds. When she saw who it was she cursed them both.

"That was the only thing," she snapped, "that could have kept me from gettin' him! So far as I know, that was the only thing!"

When old Jane received the travelers at the toll-gate she warmly welcomed the captain, but she trembled before Olive. If the girl noticed the demeanor of the old woman, she pretended not to do so, and, speaking to her pleasantly, she passed within.

"Will they hang her?" she said to the captain later.

"What do you mean?" he shouted. "Have you gone crazy?"

"The people in the town said they would," replied old Jane, beginning to cry a little.

The captain looked at her steadily. "Did any particular person in the town say that?"

"Yes, sir," she answered; "Miss Maria Port was the first to say it, so I've been told."

"She is the one who ought to be hanged!" said the captain, speaking very warmly. "As for Miss Olive, she ought to have a monument set up for her. I'd do it myself if I had the money."

Old Jane answered not, but in her heart she said: "But she killed a man! It is truly dreadful!"

By nightfall of that day the two hotels of Glenford were crowded, the visitors being generally connected with newspapers. On the next day there was a great deal of travel on the turnpike, and old Jane was kept very busy, the captain having resigned the entire business of toll-taking to her. Everybody stopped, asked questions, and requested to see the captain; and many drove through and came back again, hoping to have better luck next time. But their luck was always bad; old Jane would say nothing; and the captain and Olive were not to be seen. The gate to the little front garden was locked, and there was no passing through the tollhouse. To keep people from getting over the fence a bulldog, which the captain kept at the barn, was turned loose in the yard.

There were men with cameras who got into the field opposite the toll-gate, and who took views from up and down the road, but their work could not be prevented, and Olive and her uncle kept strictly indoors.

It was on the afternoon of the second day of siege that the captain, from an upper window, discovered a camera on three legs standing outside of his grounds at a short distance from the house. A man was taking sight at something at the back of the house. Softly the captain slipped down into the back yard, and looking up he saw Olive sitting at a window, reading.

With five steps the captain went into the house and then reappeared at the back door with a musket in his hand. The man had stepped to his pack at a little distance to get a plate. The captain raised his musket to his shoulder; Olive sprang to her feet at the sound of the report; old Jane in the tollhouse screamed; and the camera flew into splinters.

After this there were no further attempts to take pictures of the inmates of the house at the toll-gate.

After two days of siege the newspaper reporters and the photographers left Glenford. They could not afford to waste any more time. But they carried away with them a great many stories about the captain and his erratic niece, mostly gleaned from a very respectable elderly lady of the town by the name of Port.

_CHAPTER XXXIII_

_Dick Lancaster does not Write._

On the third morning after their arrival at the toll-gate the captain and Olive ventured upon a little walk over the farm. It was very hard upon both of them to be shut up in the house so long. They saw no reporters, nor were there any men with cameras, but the scenery was not pleasant, nor was the air particularly exhilarating. They were not happy; they felt alone, as if they were in a strange place. Some of the captain's friends in the town came to the toll-gate, but there were not many, and Olive saw none of them. The whole situation reminded the girl of the death of her mother.

As soon as it was known that the Ashers were at home there came letters from many quarters. One of these was from Mrs. Easterfield. She would be at Broadstone as soon as she could get her children started from the seashore. She longed to take Olive to her heart, but whether this was in commiseration or commendation was not quite plain to Olive. The letter concluded with this sentence: "There is something behind all this, and when I come you must tell me."

Then there was one from her father in which he bemoaned what had happened. "That such a thing should have come to my daughter!" he wrote. "To my daughter!" There was a great deal more of it, but he said nothing about coming with his young wife to the toll-gate, and Olive's countenance was almost stern when she handed this letter to her uncle.

Claude Locker wrote:

"How I long, how I rage to write to you, or to go to you! But if I
should write, it would be sure to give you pain, and if I should go
to you I should also go crazy. Therefore, I will merely state that
I love you madly; more now than ever before; and that I shall
continue to do so for the rest of my life, no matter what happens
to you, or to me, or to anybody.

"Ever turned toward you,

"CLAUDE LOCKER.

"How I wish I had been there with a sledgehammer!"

And then there were the newspapers. Many of these the captain had ordered by the Glenford bookseller, and a number were sent by friends, and some even by strangers. And so they learned what was thought of them over a wide range of country, and this publicity Olive found very hard to bear. It was even worse than the deed she was forced to do, and which gave rise to all this disagreeable publicity. That deed was done in the twinkling of an eye, and was the only thing that could be done; but all this was prolonged torture. Of course, the newspapers were not responsible for this. The transaction was a public one in as public a place as could possibly be selected, and it was clearly their duty to give the public full information in regard to it. They knew what had happened, and how could they possibly know what had not happened? Nor could they guess that this was of more importance than the happening. And so they all viewed the action from the point of view that a young woman had blown out a man's brains on the steps of the Treasury. It was a most unusual, exciting, and tragic incident, and in a measure, incomprehensible; and coming at a time when there was a dearth of news, it was naturally much exploited. Many of the papers recognized the fact that Miss Asher had done this deed to save her uncle's life, and applauded it, and praised her quick-wittedness and courage; but all this was spoiled for Olive by the tone of commiseration for her in which it was all stated. She did not see why she should be pitied. Rather should she be congratulated that she was, fortunately, on the spot. Other journals did not so readily give in to the opinion that it was an act of self-defense. It might be so; but they expressed strong disapproval of the legal action in this strange affair. A young woman, accompanied by a relative, had killed an unknown man. The action of the authorities in this case had been rapid and unsatisfactory. The person who had fired the fatal shot and her companion had been cleared of guilt upon their own testimony, and the cause of the man who died had no one to defend it. If two persons can kill a man, and then state to the coroner's jury that it was all right, and thereupon repair to their homes without further interference by the law, then had the cause of justice in the capital of the nation reached a very strange pass.

Such were the views of the reputable journals. But there were some which fell into the captain's hands that were well calculated to arouse his ire. Such a sensational occurrence did not often come in their way, and they made the most of it. They scented the idea that the girl had killed an unknown man to save her uncle's life; blamed the authorities severely for not finding out who he was; suggested there must be a secret reason for this; and hinted darkly at a scandal connected with the affair, which, if investigated, would be found to include some well-known names.

"This is outrageous!" cried the captain. "It is too abominable to be borne! Olive, why should we not tell the exact facts of this thing? We did agree--very willingly at the time--to keep the secret. But I am not willing now, and you are being sacrificed to the stock-market. That is the whole truth of it! If these editors knew the truth they would be chanting your praises. If that scoundrel had killed me, he would have killed you, and then he could have run away to go on with his President shooting. I am going to Washington this very day to tell the whole story. You shall not suffer that stocks may not fall and the political situation made alarming at election time. That is what it all means, and I won't stand it!"

"You will only make things worse, uncle," said Olive. "Then the whole matter will be stirred up afresh. We will be summoned to investigations, and all sorts of disagreeable things. Every item of our lives will be in the papers, and some will be invented. It is very bad now, but in a little while the public will forget that a countryman and a country girl had a fracas in Washington. But the other thing will never be forgotten. It is very much better to leave it as it is."

The captain, notwithstanding the presence of a lady, cursed the officials, the newspapers, the Government, and the whole country. "I am going to do it!" he cried vehemently. "I don't care what happens!"

But Olive put her arms around him and coaxed him for her sake to let the matter rest. And, finally, the captain, grumblingly, assented.

If Olive had been a girl brought up in a gentle-minded household, knowing nothing of the varied life she had lived when a navy girl; sometimes at this school and sometimes at that; sometimes in her native land, and sometimes in the midst of frontier life; sometimes with parents, and sometimes without them; and, had she been less aware from her own experiences and those of others, that this is a world in which you must stand up very stiffly if you do not want to be pushed down; she might have sunk, at least for a time, under all this publicity and blame. Even the praise had its sting.

But she did not sink. The liveliness and the fun went out of her, and her face grew hard and her manner quiet. But she was not quiet within. She rebelled against the unfairness with which she was treated. No matter what the newspapers knew or did not know, they should have known, and should have remembered, that she had saved her uncle's life. If they had known more they would have been just and kind enough no doubt, but they ought to have been just and kind without knowing more.

Captain Asher would now read no more papers. But Olive read them all.

Letters still came; one of them from Mr. Easterfield. But every time a mail arrived there was a disappointment in the toll-gate household. The captain could scarcely refrain from speaking of his disappointment, for it was a true grief to him that Dick Lancaster had not written a word. Of course, Olive did not say anything upon the subject, for she had no right to expect such a letter, and she was not sure that she wanted one, but it was very strange that a person who surely was, or had been, somewhat interested in her uncle and herself should have been the only one among her recent associates who showed no interest whatever in what had befallen her. Even Mr. and Mrs. Fox had written. She wished they had not written, but, after all, stupidity is sometimes better than total neglect.

"Olive," said the captain one pleasant afternoon, "suppose we take a drive to Broadstone? The family is not there, but it may interest you to see the place where I hope your friends will soon be living again. I can not bear to see you going about so dolefully. I want to brighten you up in some way."

"I'd like it," said Olive promptly. "Let us go to Broadstone."

At that moment they heard talking in the tollhouse; then there were some quick steps in the garden; and, almost immediately, Dick Lancaster was in the house and in the room where the captain and his niece were sitting. He stepped quickly toward them as they rose, and gave Olive his left hand because the captain had seized his right and would not let it go.

"I have been very slow getting here," he said, looking from one to the other. "But I would not write, and I have been unconscionably delayed. I am so proud of you," he said, looking Olive full in the face, but still holding the captain by the hand.

Olive's hand had been withdrawn, but it was very cheering to her to know that some one was proud of her.

The captain poured out his delight at seeing the young professor--the first near friend he had seen since his adventure, and, in his opinion, the best. Olive said but little, but her countenance brightened wonderfully. She had always liked Mr. Lancaster, and now he showed his good sense and good feeling; for, while it was evidently on his mind, he made no allusion to anything they had done, or that had happened to them. He talked chiefly of himself.

But the captain was not to be repressed, and his tone warmed up a little as he asked if Dick had been reading the newspapers.

At this Olive left the room to make some arrangements for Mr. Lancaster's accommodation.

Seizing this opportunity, Dick Lancaster stopped the captain, who he saw was preparing to go lengthily into the recent affair. "Yes, yes," he said, speaking quickly, "and my blood has run hot as I read those beastly papers. But let me say something to you while I can. I am deeply interested in something else just now. I came here, captain, to propose marriage to your niece. Have I your consent?"

"Consent!" cried the captain. "Why, it is the clearest wish of my heart that you should marry Olive!" And seizing the young man by both arms, he shook him from head to foot. "Consent!" he exclaimed. "I should think so, I should think so! Will she take you, Dick? Is that--"

"I don't know," said Lancaster, "I don't know. I am here to find out. But I hear her coming."

The happy captain thought it full time to go away somewhere. He felt that he could not control his glowing countenance, and that he might say or do something which might be wrong. So he departed with great alacrity, and left the two young people to themselves.

_CHAPTER XXXIV_

_Miss Port puts in an Appearance._

The captain clapped on his hat, and walked up the road toward Glenford. He was very much excited and he wanted to sing, but his singing days were over, and he quieted himself somewhat by walking rapidly. There was a buggy coming from town, but it stopped before it reached him and some one in it got out, while the vehicle proceeded slowly onward. The some one waited until the captain came up to her. It was Miss Maria Port.

"How do you do?" she said, holding out her hand. "I was on my way to see you."

The captain put both his hands in his pockets, and his face grew somewhat dark. "Why do you want to see me?" he asked.

She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then answered, speaking very quietly. "I found that Mr. Lancaster had arrived in town, and had gone to your house, and that he was in such a hurry that he walked. So I immediately hired a buggy to come out here. I am very glad I met you."

"But what in the name of common sense," exclaimed the captain, "did you come to see me for? What difference does it make to you whether Mr. Lancaster is here or not? What have you got to do with me and my affairs, anyway?"

She smiled a smile which was very quiet and flat. "Now, don't get angry," she said. "We can talk over things in a friendly way just as well as not, and it will be a great deal better to do it. And I'd rather talk here in the public road than anywhere else; it's more private."

"I don't want a word to say to you," said the captain, preparing to move on. "I have nothing at all to do with you."

"Ah," said Miss Port, with another smile, "but I think you have. You've got to marry me, you know."

Then the captain stopped suddenly. He opened his mouth, but he could find no immediate words.

"Yes, indeed," said Miss Port, now speaking quietly; "and when I saw Mr. Lancaster had come to town, I knew that I must see you at once. Of course, he has come to take away your niece, and that's the best thing to be done, for she wouldn't want to keep on livin' here where so many people have known her. At first I thought that would be a very good thing, for you would be separated from her, and that's what you need and deserve. Young men are young men, and they are often a good deal kinder than they would be if they stopped to think. But a person of mature age is different. He would know what is due to himself and his standing in society. At least, that is what I did think. But it suddenly flashed on me that they might want to get away as quick as they could--which would be proper, dear knows--and it would be just like you to go with them. And so I came right out."

The captain had listened to all this because he very much wanted to know what she had to say, but now he exclaimed: "Do you suppose I shall pay any attention to all the gossip about my affairs?"

"Now, don't go on like that," said Miss Port; "it doesn't do any good, and if you'll only keep quiet, and think pleasantly about it, there will be no trouble at all. You know you've got to marry me; that's settled. Everybody knows about it, and has known about it for years. I didn't press the matter while father was alive because I knew it would worry him. But now I'm going to do it. Not in any anger or bad feelin', but gently, and as firmly as if I was that tree. I don't want to go to any law, but if I have to do it, I'll do it. I've got my proofs and my witnesses, and I'm all right. The people of your own house are witnesses. And there are ever so many more."

"Woman!" cried the captain, "don't you say another word! And don't you ever dare to speak to me again! I'm not going away, and my niece is not going away; and I assure you that I hate and despise you so much that all the law in the world couldn't make me marry you. Although you know as well as I do that all you've been saying has no sense or truth in it."

Miss Port did not get angry. With wonderful self-repression she controlled her feelings. She knew that if she lost that control there would be an end to everything. She grew pale, but she spoke more gently than before. "You know"--she was about to say "John," but she thought she would better not--"that what I say about determination and all that, I simply say because you do not come to meet me half-way, as I would have you do. All I want is to get you to acknowledge my rights, to defend me from ridicule. You know that I am now alone in the world, and have no one to look to but you--to whom I always expected to look when father died--and if you should carry out your cruel words, and should turn from me as if I was a stranger and a nobody, after all these years of visitin' and attention from you, which everybody knows about, and has talked about, I could never expect anybody else--you bein' gone--to step forward--"

At this the face of the captain cleared, and as he gazed upon the unpleasant face and figure of this weather-worn spinster, the idea that any one with matrimonial intentions should "step forward," as she put it, struck him as being so extremely ludicrous that he burst out laughing.

Then leaped into fire every nervelet of Miss Maria Port. "Laugh at me, do you?" cried she. "I'll give you something to laugh at! And if you 're going to stand up for that thing you have in your house, that murderess--"

She said no more. The captain stepped up to her with a smothered curse so that she moved back, frightened. But he did nothing. He was too enraged to speak. She was a woman, and he could not strike her to the ground. Before her sallow venom he was helpless. He was a man and she was a woman, and he could do nothing at all. He was too angry to stay there another second, and, without a word, he left her, walking with great strides toward the town.

Miss Maria Port stood looking after him, panting a little, for her excitement had been great. Then, with a yellow light in her eyes, she hurried toward her vehicle, which had stopped.