Chapter 10

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_ CHAPTER X

Mr. McGowan left the highway a little beyond the Fox estate, and followed a crooked, narrow old footpath across-lots. The path dipped and rose with the contour of the land till at last it lost itself in the white level stretch of sandy beach. He walked on and on, so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he was unmindful of the blistered foot. It was only when hunger pains conspired with the irritation of his foot that he dropped on a log. He drew the sandwiches from his pocket, and proceeded to devour them with genuine relish. For hours after he had finished his lunch, he sat with his back to the warming rays of the afternoon sun, and gazed vacantly across the wide stretches of sand-dunes.

The chill of the evening air roused him at length to the fact that he must be going home. But when he tried to rise, he discovered that his long walk had produced an ill effect on Miss Pipkin's remedy for sprained ankles. He dropped back again on the log, pondering on how he was to retrace his steps. The sun slipped into the misty haze that hung low above the horizon of the autumn sky. The shadows crept slowly up out of the waters and over the landscape. A thin cloud drifted in over the Sound, through which a pale moon pushed a silvery edge. With the gathering darkness there came a deep mystery over land and sea which seemed to creep round and envelop him.

Suddenly, the chill of the evening air was filled with a glowing warmth, as when one senses the presence of a friend. He stared about him. He listened intently. Could it be possible that this sudden change was only a mental fancy? He hobbled a short way up the beach, and as he rounded a promontory his weakened ankle turned on a loose stone. With an exclamation he settled down on the sand.

A figure near the water's edge rose as though startled. She paused, ready for flight. Then with an involuntary cry came toward the man huddled up on the sand.

"O dear, you are hurt!" she cried, as he attempted to rise.

"Elizabeth!" He spoke her name without thought of what he did, even as she had unknowingly used the word of endearment in her exclamation of surprise and concern.

"You should not have walked so far," she said, her tone cordial, but her eyes holding a smoldering fire. She helped him to a near-by stone, and sat down beside him.

"I somehow felt that you were near."

"You thought--what?"

"No, I did not think it, I just sensed it."

"You certainly have a very fertile imagination."

"Yes. It has been both my blessing and curse."

"But how did you come to feel I was about here?"

"I don't know. It does seem strange, doesn't it?" he mused. "But I was certain----"

"Perhaps you were thinking----" She stopped abruptly.

"Of you," he finished for her. "I was. I was feeling quite lonely, and couldn't help wishing I could talk with you."

"I heard to-day that you are thinking of leaving Little River," she suggested, tactfully changing what she considered a dangerous subject.

"You heard that I intend to leave? Pray, tell----"

"Then you're not going?"

"Quite to the contrary, I intend to fight this thing through if it takes a whole year."

"I'm so glad!" There was deep relief in her voice. She hesitated before continuing. "I had a terrible quarrel with Father this evening."

"Why did you do that?"

"I was very angry, and left him to come out here. It is the first time we have ever really fallen out. I've thought over some of the unkind things I said to him, and I am ashamed. I was about to go back to him when you fell on those stones and hurt yourself."

"You are right, Miss Fox. Go back to him. He will see differently, too, now that he has had time to think it all over."

"That is what worries me. He won't see differently, though I know he is in the wrong. I'm afraid we'll quarrel again."

"Then, I should wait. He will come to you in time."

"Father will never do that," she said, sorrowfully. "I hurt him more than I had any right." Searching the minister's face under the dim light, she concluded: "Please, Mr. McGowan, don't blame Father too severely for what happened last night! He is not himself."

"Miss--Elizabeth! Did you quarrel with your father about me?" His heart gave a bound into his throat.

She nodded, looking for the world like a child grown tall. Her eyes did not waver as they met the hungry look in his own.

"About me?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes."

A wild passion swept through him as he listened to the quiet affirmative.

"It began about you and the Athletic Club. Father does not understand about your work among the boys. It ended about you and the action of the church last night."

"But that action was not voted through."

"I know. But the end is not yet."

"Do you think that my relations with the Boys' Club is all that was behind the abortive action last night?"

"I----"

"Would you advise me to give that work up for a while till all this blows over?"

"No, indeed!" she declared strongly. "I think----Well, he says that you are not orthodox. Do you need to preach like that?"

"If my theology is of poor quality, I can't help it. I can preach only what is truth and reality to me."

"But couldn't you be more careful how you do it? Couldn't you be less frank, or something? Should you antagonize your people so?"

"I'm sorry if I have really antagonized any one by what I say. Do you find anything unorthodox in my sermons?"

"That isn't a fair question to ask me. I'm not familiar with such things. I thought you might preach less openly what you believe so strenuously. Coat the pills so they'll go down with the taste of orthodoxy." She smiled faintly. "I hate to see you putting weapons in their hands."

"And do you honestly think I'd be dealing fair with myself or with those to whom I preach to sugar-coat my thoughts with something that looks like poison to me?"

She did not reply, but with a quick look she flashed from her wonderful eyes a message he could not fail to catch even in the semi-darkness. She dropped her hand lightly on his sleeve, and his fingers quickly closed over hers. She drew nearer. He could feel the straying wisps of fair hair against his hot cheek. His emotions taxed all his powers of self-control.

"We must be going," she said, rising. "Oh, I forgot your foot! You must wait here till I send the trap for you along the beach."

"Don't do that. I'll get on very well, if you'll help me a little."

"Please, wait till I send Debbs. You'll hurt yourself."

"Your father might object to my riding in his carriage," he remarked, with a light laugh.

"Mr. McGowan, you must not talk like that. I know you don't like him, but he is really the best father in all the world!"

"Forgive me, Miss Fox. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm afraid I was just trying to be funny. As a matter of fact, I do like your father, but there has been no opportunity----"

"Have you tried very hard to find an opportunity? You've stayed away from our house pretty consistently, and have not asked him one thing about the church work."

"I stayed away because I was requested to."

"That was only for the time he was ill."

"I'd be glad----"

"Why will you grown men act like children sometimes?"

"Miss Fox, please be seated again," requested the minister, a note of authority in his voice. "I have something important to say to you, and the time may not come again."

The girl obeyed, taking her place close beside him on the stone.

"I see you do not understand what has brought this trouble between your father and me. Neither do I, but I don't think that it's a matter of doctrine. Nor do I believe that it's the work I've been doing down at the Inn with the boys. Some cause strikes deeper than both. They are merely excuses. You remember that he made no objection to me in the beginning along these lines, and I preached no less strenuously then, as you call it, than I do now. In fact, had it not been for your father I doubt very much if the installation had gone through last summer. Behind the scenes there is another man, and he is pulling the strings while he directs the play. When I was ordained to the ministry in the New York Presbytery, that man fought me desperately, while he raised no objections to others who were ordained at the same time, and who held views far more radical than mine. That man was at the installation. When your father told me that he was coming, I made no protest, for I saw that there was a fast friendship between the two. You know what that man tried to do at the installation. You doubtless know, too, that he has been much with your father of late. You also saw him at the meeting last night.

"Miss Fox, if we knew all the facts, we should be able to lay the blame for this trouble and your father's condition right where it belongs."

"You refer to Mr. Means?"

"I do. What it is----"

"Mr. McGowan, if you think any man can influence my father, you do not know him. I dislike Mr. Means, maybe because he is so preachy. But he cannot influence Father."

"I wish I could believe that!"

"You must believe it. You are letting your imagination color your judgment."

"I should like to believe anything you tell me, but I can't believe anything else than that Mr. Means stands behind this whole mess. Just why, I don't know, but it looks very much as though there is a skeleton concealed in his closet, and he's afraid that I'm going to let it out."

"Why did you say that?"

"I don't know. I can't see what connection I could possibly have with the man."

"You are talking nonsense!"

"Perhaps, but truth sometimes masquerades in the garb of the court fool."

"Just what do you mean?"

"I wish to heaven I knew!"

"Do you think----" She paused. She searched his face, which was dimly and fitfully lighted by the moonbeams as they broke through the phantom-like clouds that were beginning to sweep the heavens. "Tell me, please, just what it is you are thinking."

"I dare not. But there is some reason not yet come to light, and it is sheltered in the mind of Mr. Means."

"Perhaps he knew you before you entered the ministry?" she half suggested, half questioned.

"I have no recollection of even so much as meeting him before coming before the ordaining Presbytery of which he was a member. So far as the history of my life is concerned, he may find out the whole of it, if he so wishes. It wouldn't make very interesting reading, though. Miss Fox,"--his voice took on the quality of his earnestness,--"if you have any way of finding out what the actual cause is for the conditions in my church, I shall do all in my power to make amends, providing the fault is mine."

"Why don't you go to him? He might be reasonable, and listen to you."

"Didn't I go to him? Didn't I try to find out what I had done till you and the doctor forbid my coming again?"

"I don't mean Father. Why don't you go to Mr. Means?"

"Would you, if you were in my position?"

She shook her head decidedly. "But I don't like him."

"Perhaps that may be my reason, too."

"But I thought all ministers had to love everybody."

"We might love the man, but not his ways."

"There's no merit in saying a thing like that when a man and his ways are one and the same thing, as is the case with Mr. Means."

"I'm honest when I say I have nothing against Mr. Means. I don't know the man well enough for that. I suppose he can't help his ways."

"There, you've gone and spoiled it. I was beginning to think that you are like other men."

"Like other men?"

"Men who love and hate. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you are really fond of that man who fought you at the Inn."

"He was a good boxer," was the enthusiastic reply.

"And you like him?"

"I might if I knew him."

"Can you fight everybody like that, and still have love for them?"

"Self-control is the better word. Unless a man can learn that, he had better stay out of the ring. What is true in boxing, is just as true in life."

"But, when there are those who threaten to wreck your whole life and your work, what are you going to do?"

"That is the time when one needs to summon every ounce of self-control he possesses. It is when the other man is seeking to land a knock-out blow that one needs to keep his head the coolest, for unless he does he can't make his best calculations."

"Oh, Mr. McGowan! You'll keep that way in this trouble, and not let any of them get in that kind of blow?"

"Yes, if you will only help me."

"I help you? But I can't!"

"No one else can."

"Oh!" cried the girl, beginning to take in the meaning of his words.

"Elizabeth----"

"Don't say it, please!" Her fingers went to her lips in a hurt gesture. "You may spoil everything."

"I must speak. I love you! I have loved you from the first day beneath that old elm-tree on the Captain's place."

"Oh!"--she sprang to her feet and faced him,--"now, you have made it impossible for me to help you, where before I might have done something!"

"Only if you say so."

"I did so want to help you! You seem so alone in this trouble! I thought you were going to give me an opportunity. I thought you would tell me how!" Her mobile lips puckered as the shadow of pain flitted across the light of her eyes.

"Elizabeth!" he called, holding out his hand.

"Why did you say that to me?" she cried, her youthful face deeply furrowed as though she had grown suddenly very tired.

"Because I could not help it. I've known so little of love in my life that since this has come to me it hurts like the turning of a knife. I've never been accustomed to human care like other men. Had I been, I should have been able to hide my feelings behind the screen of pretense. You asked me a while ago why I do not love and hate like other men. I do love, and I hate! I have been schooled all my life to hide my hates, but experience neglected me with the other. Elizabeth----"

She drew farther from him.

"I don't think I understand you," she said, her eyes widening in the light of the moon till they appeared like two shining orbs. "Have I given you any reason to think of me like that?"

"No. But I thought----"

She drew into the shadows that he might not see the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. "Forgive me, if I have!"

"I'm the one to be forgiven. I've never had much instruction concerning social custom. I was reared where they were little known. In school I was too busy to bother about them. I'm crude. But, Elizabeth, I love you. I see now that I've no right to tell you, but I couldn't help it. I've been driven to desperation. I have been like a caged animal for weeks past. I've been wild for just a little love and understanding in the midst of all I've gone through. But you don't love me!" His breath was coming hard. He trembled as he rose. "You will love me some day! God will not let a man love as I do and give nothing in return!"

Stirred with pity, Elizabeth came to him from out the darkness.

"Forgive me," he said as she came nearer. "I had no idea it would be like this."

She did not take the hand he extended, but folding her arms behind her, she stood quite still and stared. "I'm so sorry! But I don't understand you at all."

"You need not try. I don't understand myself. I have never been through anything like this in all my life. I thought instinct would lead you right to me. I never questioned but that you would understand. But don't try, for I can't explain. This afternoon I had just one thought: to tell you how I love you. I thought it would make me happy. Happy!" He laughed bitterly. "I didn't stop to reason. It seems I have no reason."

"Mr. McGowan, please stop! You frighten me," cried the girl, drawing away again as he limped a step in her direction.

"Hate!" That one word was like the sharp sudden sting of a whip. "I hate this age of social position, where money stands above the man. I hate the shell of so-called good families, as if lineage made the man, instead of man making the lineage. I hate----"

"You must stop! Love that gives such torment as you have been describing to me is apt to turn out as nothing more than infatuation. I care for you, but in no such way as you have indicated to me. I want you for a friend. Don't spoil that!"

He hobbled off down the beach as rapidly as his limping foot could travel. The girl came to his side and slipped her arm through his. "Lean on me just as heavily as you like," she urged. "I know you think me unkind and cruel, but I do so want to help you." Her voice broke unsteadily.

"I don't think you unkind, Miss Fox," replied the minister as he accepted her proffered assistance. "The cruel thing is this that has been burning within like fire. If you only knew----"

"Mr. McGowan,"--she interrupted kindly,--"I cannot tell you as to the height of esteem in which I hold you. Nothing can ever harm that. But even if I cared for you as you ask of me, don't you see how impossible it would be for me to go back on Father? I can't help but think there must be some real reason for the attitude he has taken against you."

"Do you honestly believe what you have just said?"

"Is there any reason why I should not believe it?"

"I suppose not," he replied, heavy fatigue in his voice.

She saw from his averted face that her question had pained him. She wanted to speak, to soften her question, but no words came to her dry lips.

The way home was traveled in silence. They reached the pile of stones below her father's place, and Elizabeth released her aching arm. In silence they watched the strangely mottled effect where the moonlight fell in patches across the water as the clouds flitted past. A patter of rain, accompanied by a sharp whistle of wind, warned them of coming storm.

"I'll go up the path with you, and go home by the road," volunteered the minister.

"No, indeed. It will be much easier walking for you along the beach, and you'll not need to climb any hill. I'll call to you from the back gate, and you'll know I'm safe." She turned toward him once more. "Harold came home to-day, and Father has been worse since that. Harold found out something about the man he went over to Australia to look up. He must have told Father about it to-day. Since then he has been in a terrible state of mind. It seems that Harold found out something about you, too."

Mr. McGowan was too surprised to reply.

"Against you, Father says. I was not going to tell you this, but you have compelled me to do it by what you said to me. I know nothing of your past life."

"Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to explain?"

"I have nothing to explain. All I know is that from the way Father acted it must not be to your credit."

He looked his amazement.

"Good night," she said, extending her hand. "You will not forget what you said about the way one should do in boxing, will you?"

He smiled faintly.

"Mr. McGowan, you are not going to disappoint me, are you?"

"Would it make much difference? You seem to have already formed your opinion from the things you have heard."

"If you are going to give up like that it will make no difference what you do. I thought you were more of a man than that."

She turned and ran up the path. At the top of the pile of stones she stopped, her slim outline silhouetted in clear-cut lines against a patch of moonlight, and her loosened hair giving the suggestion of a halo as the mellow light played through. She lifted her hand as she declared, "And you are more of a man. I do not believe that whatever Father thinks he has found out can harm you in the least. That is what we really quarreled about to-day. Does that tell you how much I care? 'Now is the time when you need to summon every ounce of self-control you possess. When other men are seeking to land the knock-out blow you should keep your head the coolest, for unless you do you cannot make your best calculations.' You see, I have not forgotten, and neither must you. And in everything, Mack," she finished, hurriedly.

The rear gate clicked, and she sent him a light trill.

The minister went to his study as soon as he reached home. For hours he sat, his mind a blank. He was roused at last by the opening of his study door. He looked up into the face of his old friend. The blue eyes, usually clear and steady, had a faded look as though the fire in them had suddenly gone out. _

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