Chapter XXIV: Colina Relents

As Ambrose and Tole started in the gate they were hailed from the dark doorway under the porch. "Stand, or I fire!" It was the voice of Macfarlane.

"It is Ambrose Doane and Tole Grampierre," cried Ambrose.

They heard an exclamation of astonishment from the door.

"What do you want?" demanded the voice.

"To help you defend yourselves."

From the sounds that reached him, Ambrose gathered that the door was open and that Macfarlane stood within the hall. From farther back Colina's voice rang out:

"How dare you! Do you expect us to believe you? Go back to your friends!"

"They are not my men," Ambrose answered doggedly.

"Wait!" cried still another voice. Ambrose recognized the smooth accents of Gordon Strange. "We can't afford to turn away any defenders. I say let him come in."

Ambrose was surprised, and none too well pleased to hear his part taken in this quarter. There was a silence. He apprehended that they were consulting in the hall. Finally Macfarlane called curtly:

"You may come in."

As he went up the path Ambrose saw that the windows of the lower floor had been roughly boarded up. The thought struck him oddly: "How could they have had warning of what was going to happen?"

"There's barbed wire around the porch," said Macfarlane, "You'll have to get over it the best way you can."

Ambrose and Tole helped each other through the obstruction. They found Macfarlane sitting on a chair in the doorway, with his rifle across his knees.

"Go into the library," he said.

The door was on the right hand as one entered the hall. Within a lamp had just been lighted; even as Ambrose entered Colina was turning up the wick.

Heavy curtains had been bung over the windows to keep any rays of light from escaping, and the door was instantly closed behind Ambrose and Tole.

Inside the little room that he already knew so well Ambrose found all the defenders gathered. The only one strange to him was little Pringle, the missionary, who sat primly on the sofa. It had much the look of an ordinary evening party, but the row of guns by the door told a tale.

John Gaviller sat in his swivel chair behind his desk, leaning his head on his hand. Ambrose was shocked by the change that three months' illness had worked in him.

The self-assured, the scornfully affable trader had become a mere pantaloon with sunken cheeks and trembling hands. Ambrose looked with quick compassion toward Colina.

She went to her father and stood by his chair with a hand on his shoulder. She coldly ignored Ambrose's glance.

"What have you to say for yourself?" Gaviller demanded in a weak, harsh voice.

"Do you know the reason for this attack?" demanded Ambrose.

Several voices answered "No!"

"All the flour was stored in Michel Trudeau's shack. Some wretch set fire to it and destroyed it all. Naturally they thought it was done by John Gaviller's orders. This is their reprisal."

"You dared to think we would stoop to such a thing!" cried Colina.

The general animosity that he felt like a wall around him made Ambrose defiant.

"I said they thought so," he retorted. "I harangued them until my throat was sore. I couldn't hold them, and I hid myself and came with them, thinking perhaps I could help you."

"How did they come?" asked Strange smoothly.

"In my boat that they seized," said Ambrose.

"It all comes back to you whichever way you trace it," cried Gaviller. "If you had not attacked us yesterday, they would never have dared to-day! You have brought us to this! I hope you're satisfied. I warned you what would happen as a result of your tampering with the natives. If we're all murdered it will be on your head!"

"On the contrary, if we're murdered it will be because they found whiskey in your store," retorted Ambrose.

"Impossible!" cried Gaviller and Strange together.

Ambrose laid a hand on Tole's shoulder. "This man saw it on the counter," he said. "I sent him to the store to get guns for us both. It had no business to be there, as you all know."

"They must have brought it with them," said Strange. "I locked the store myself."

"Of course they brought it," said Gaviller.

"Not much use to discuss that point," said Ambrose curtly. "They have it, and it has robbed them of the last vestiges of manhood. They're nothing but brutes now."

The old man rose. "Silence!" he cried quaveringly. "You are insolent! By your light-mindedness and vanity you have raised a storm that no man can see the end of! You have plunged us into the horrors of Indian warfare after thirty years' peace! How dare you come here and attempt to hector us! Silence, I say, and keep your place!"

"Father," murmured Colina remonstratingly. "You must save your strength."

He shook her off impatiently. "Must I submit to be bearded in my own house by this scamp, this fire-brand, this destroyer?"

Ambrose could not bandy words with this wreck of a strong man. He signed to Tole, and they went outside and joined Macfarlane.

The three of them waited in the doorway in a kind of armed truce, smoking and watching the Indians across the square. At any moment they expected to see the yelling demons turn against the house.

By and by Ambrose heard the library door open. The light inside had been put out again for greater safety.

He heard Colina come out, and go the other way in the passage. He knew her by the rustle of her skirts. She went up-stairs on some errand.

His heart leaped up. He could no longer deceive himself with the fancy that he had ceased to love her. Not with death staring them both in the face. He quietly made his way back into the house to intercept her on her return.

When he heard her coming he whispered her name. Here in the middle of the house it was totally dark.

"You!" she gasped, stopping short. But the scorn had gone out of her voice, and somehow he knew that he was already in her thoughts when he spoke. He put out a hand toward her.

"Don't touch me!" she whispered, shrinking sharply.

There, in the compelling darkness, with danger waiting outside, they could not hide their souls from each other. "Colina," he whispered, "don't harden yourself against me to-night. I love you!"

Her breath came quickly. She could not speak. Her anger against Ambrose was, at the best, a pumped-up affair. She felt obliged to hate him because she loved her father. And her overweening pride had supported it. All this fell away now. She longed to believe in him.

Perceiving his advantage he followed it close.

"It may be the last night," he whispered. "I'm not afraid to speak of death to you. You're no coward. Colina, it would be hard to die thinking that you hated me!"

"Don't!" she murmured painfully. "Don't try to soften me. I need to be hard."

"Not to me," he whispered. "I love you!'"

She was silent. He heard her breathing on a shaken breast.

"If I knew it was my last word I should say the same," he went on. "I came back to Enterprise because I thought I had to come to save you!"

"It hasn't turned out that way, has it?" she said sadly and bitterly.

"There is some evil influence working against us all," he said. "If I live I shall show you."

"I don't know what to think," she murmured.

They were standing close together. Suddenly the sense of her nearness in the dark, the delicate emanation of her hair, of her whole person, overwhelmed his senses like a wave.

"Oh, my darling," he murmured brokenly. "Those devils outside can only kill me once. You make me die a thousand deaths!"

"Ah, don't!" she whispered sharply. "Not now. First, I must believe in you!"

He beat down the passion that dizzied him. He sought for her hand and gripped it firmly. She allowed it. "Listen," he said. "Take me into the light and look in my eyes."

Her hand turned in his and took command of it, drawing him after her. Crossing the stair-hall they entered the dining-room. Colina closed the door and lighted the lamp.

Ambrose gazed at her hungrily. She came to him straight and, offering him both her hands, looked deep into his eyes.

"Now tell me," she murmured.

This was the real Colina, simple as a child. Her eyes--the lamp being behind her--showed as deep and dark as the night sky.

Her lovely face yearned up to his, and Ambrose's self-command tottered again--but this was no moment for passion. His voice shook, but his eyes were as steady as hers.

"I love you," he said quietly. "When you hated me most I was doing the best for you that I could. I--I'm afraid I sound like a prig. But it is the truth. I stood out against you when I thought you were wrong because I loved you!"

Her eyes fell. Her hands crept confidingly up his arms. "Ah! I want so to believe it," she faltered.

He thought he had won her again. His arms swept around her, crushing her to him. "My love!" he murmured.

She went slack in his arms and coldly averted her head. "Do not kiss me," she said.

He instantly released her.

"It's not the time," she murmured. "It seems horrible to-night. I--I am not ready. By what happens to-night I will know for always!"

"But, Colina--" he began.

She offered him her hand with a beseeching air. "I do not hate you any more," she said quickly. "You have a lot to forgive in me, too. Be merciful to me. Show me--to-night."

He drew a steadying breath. "Very well," he said. "I am contented."