"I could ask nothing better than this. Sister Margaret is most kind in every way. Helen and I have had a peaceful twenty-four hours--the first in two years--and I feel that at last we have found safe harborage."

"Best a.s.sured of it, Miss Holbrook! The summer colony is away off there and you need see nothing of it; it is quite out of sight and sound. You have seen Annandale--the sleepiest of American villages, with a curio shop and a candy and soda-fountain place and a picture post-card booth which the young ladies of St. Agatha's patronize extensively when they are here. The summer residents are just beginning to arrive on their sh.o.r.e, but they will not molest you. If they try to land over here we'll train our guns on them and blow them out of the water. As your neighbor beyond the iron gate of Glenarm I beg that you will look upon me as your man-at-arms. My sword, Madam, I lay at your feet."

"Sheathe it, Sir Laurance; nor draw it save in honorable cause," she returned on the instant, and then she was grave again.

"Sister Margaret is most kind in every way; she seems wholly discreet, and has a.s.sured me of her interest and sympathy," said Miss Patricia, as though she wished me to confirm her own impression.

"There's no manner of doubt of it. She is Sister Theresa's a.s.sistant.

It is inconceivable that she could possibly interfere in your affairs.

I believe you are perfectly safe here in every way, Miss Holbrook. If at the end of a week your brother has made no sign, we shall be reasonably certain that he has lost the trail."

"I believe that is true; and I thank you very much."

I had come prepared to be disillusioned, to find her charm gone, but her small figure had even an added distinction; her ways, her manner an added grace. I found myself resisting the temptation to call her quaint, as implying too much; yet I felt that in some olden time, on some n.o.ble estate in England, or, better, in some storied colonial mansion in Virginia, she must have had her home in years long gone, living on with no increase of age to this present. She was her own law, I judged, in the matter of fashion. I observed later a certain uniformity in the cut of her gowns, as though, at some period, she had found a type wholly comfortable and to her liking and thereafter had clung to it. She suggested peace and gentleness and a beautiful patience; and I strove to say amusing things, that I might enjoy her rare luminous smile and catch her eyes when she gave me her direct gaze in the quick, challenging way that marked her as a woman of position and experience, who had been more given to command than to obey.

"Did you think I was never coming, Aunt Pat? That sh.o.r.e-path calls for more strenuous effort than I imagined, and I had to change my gown again."

Helen Holbrook advanced quickly and stood by her aunt's chair, nodding to me smilingly, and while we exchanged the commonplaces of the day, she caught up Miss Pat's hand and held it a moment caressingly. The maid now brought the tea. Miss Pat poured it and the talk went forward cheerily.

The girl was in white, and at the end of a curved bench, with a variety of colored cushions about her and the bright sward and tranquil lake beyond, she made a picture wholly agreeable to my eyes. Her hair was dead black, and I saw for the first time that its smooth line on her brow was broken by one of those curious, rare little points called widow's peak. They are not common, nor, to be sure, are they important; yet it seemed somehow to add interest to her graceful pretty head.

It was quite clear in a moment that Helen was bent on treating me rather more amiably than on the day before, while at the same time showing her aunt every deference. I was relieved to find them both able to pitch their talk in a light key. The thought of sitting daily and drearily discussing their troubles with two exiled women had given me a dark moment at the station the day before; but we were now having tea in the cheerfullest fashion in the world; and, as for their difficulties, I had no idea whatever that they would be molested so long as they remained quietly at Annandale. Miss Pat and her niece were not the hysterical sort; both apparently enjoyed sound health, and they were not the kind of women who see ghosts in every alcove and go to bed to escape the lightning.

"Oh, Mr. Donovan," said Helen Holbrook, as I put down her cup, "there are some letters I should like to write and I wish you would tell me whether it is safe to have letters come for us to Annandale; or would it be better to send nothing from here at all? It does seem odd to have to ask such a question--" and she concluded in a tone of distress and looked at me appealingly.

"We must take no risks whatever, Helen," remarked Miss Pat decisively.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "We must take no risks whatever, Helen."]

"Does no one know where you are?" I inquired of Miss Patricia.

"My lawyer, in New York, has the name of this place, sealed; and he put it away in a safety box and promised not to open it unless something of very great importance happened."

"It is best to take no chances," I said; "so I should answer your question in the negative, Miss Holbrook. In the course of a few weeks everything may seem much clearer; and in the meantime it will be wiser not to communicate with the outer world."

"They deliver mail through the country here, don't they?" asked Helen.

"It must be a great luxury for the farmers to have the post-office at their very doors."

"Yes, but the school and Mr. Glenarm always send for their own mail to Annandale."

"Our mail is all going to my lawyer," said Miss Pat, "and it must wait until we can have it sent to us without danger."

"Certainly, Aunt Pat," replied Helen readily. "I didn't mean to give Mr. Donovan the impression that my correspondence was enormous; but it is odd to be shut up in this way and not to be able to do as one likes in such little matters."

The wind blew in keenly from the lake as the sun declined and Helen went unasked and brought an India shawl and put it about Miss Pat's shoulders. The girl's thoughtfulness for her aunt's comfort pleased me, and I found myself liking her better.

It was time for me to leave and I picked up my hat and stick. As I started away I was aware that Helen Holbrook detained me without in the least appearing to do so, following a few steps to gain, as she said, a certain view of the lake that was particularly charming.

"There is nothing rugged in this landscape, but it is delightful in its very tranquillity," she said, as we loitered on, the shimmering lake before us, the wood behind ablaze with the splendor of the sun. She spoke of the beauty of the beeches, which are of n.o.ble girth in this region, and paused to indicate a group of them whose smooth trunks were like ma.s.sive pillars. As we looked back I saw that Miss Pat had gone into the house, driven no doubt by the persistency of the west wind that crisped the lake. Helen's manner changed abruptly, and she said:

"If any difficulty should arise here, if my poor father should find out where we are, I trust that you may be able to save my aunt anxiety and pain. That is what I wished to say to you, Mr. Donovan."

"Certainly," I replied, meeting her eyes, and noting a quiver of the lips that was eloquent of deep feeling and loyalty. She continued beside me, her head erect as though by a supreme effort of self-control, and with I knew not what emotions shaking her heart. She continued silent as we marched on and I felt that there was the least defiance in her air; then she drew a handkerchief from her sleeve, touched it lightly to her eyes, and smiled.

"I had not thought of quite following you home! Here is Glenarm gate--and there lie your battlements and towers."

"Rather they belong to my old friend, John Glenarm. In his goodness of heart he gave me the use of the place for the summer; and as generosity with another's property is very easy, I hereby tender you our fleet--canoes, boats, steam launch--and the stable, which contains a variety of traps and a good riding-horse or two. They are all at your service. I hope that you and your aunt will not fail to avail yourselves of each and all. Do you ride? I was specially charged to give the horses exercise."

"Thank you very much," she said. "When we are well settled, and feel more secure, we shall be glad to call on you. Father Stoddard certainly served us well in sending us to you, Mr. Donovan."

In a moment she spoke again, quite slowly, and with, I thought, a very pretty embarra.s.sment.

"Aunt Pat may have spoken of another difficulty--a mere annoyance, really," and she smiled at me gravely.

"Oh, yes; of the youngster who has been troubling you. Your father and he have, of course, no connection."

"No; decidedly not. But he is a very offensive person, Mr. Donovan.

It would be a matter of great distress to me if he should pursue us to this place."

"It is inconceivable that a gentleman--if he is a gentleman--should follow you merely for the purpose of annoying you. I have heard that young ladies usually know how to get rid of importunate suitors."

"I have heard that they have that reputation," she laughed back. "But Mr. Gillespie--"

"That's the name, is it? Your aunt did not mention it."

"Yes; he lives quite near us at Stamford. Aunt Pat disliked his father before him, and now that he is dead she visits her displeasure on the son; but she is quite right about it. He is a singularly unattractive and uninteresting person, and I trust that he will not find us."

"That is quite unlikely. You will do well to forget all about him--forget all your troubles and enjoy the beauty of these June days."

We had reached Glenarm gate, and St. Agatha's was now hidden by the foliage along the winding path. I was annoyed to realize how much I enjoyed this idling. I felt my pulse quicken when our eyes met. Her dark oval face was beautiful with the loveliness of n.o.ble Italian women I had seen on great occasions in Rome. I had not known that hair could be so black, and it was fine and soft; the widow's peak was as sharply defined on her smooth forehead as though done with crayon. Dark women should always wear white, I reflected, as she paused and lifted her head to listen to the chime in the tower of the little Gothic chapel--a miniature affair that stood by the wall--a chime that flung its melody on the soft summer air like a handful of rose-leaves. She picked up a twig and broke it in her fingers; and looking down I saw that she wore on her left hand an emerald ring identical with the one worn by her aunt. It was so like that I should have believed it the same, had I not noted Miss Pat's ring but a few minutes before. Helen threw away the bits of twig when we came to the wall, and, as I swung the gate open, paused mockingly with clasped hands and peered inside.

"I must go back," she said. Then, her manner changing, she dropped her hands at her side and faced me.

"You will warn me, Mr. Donovan, of the first approach of trouble. I wish to save my aunt in every way possible--she means so much to me; she has made life easy for me where it would have been hard."

"There will be no trouble, Miss Holbrook. You are as safe as though you were hidden in a cave in the Apennines; but I shall give you warning at the first sign of danger."

"My father is--is quite relentless," she murmured, averting her eyes.

I turned to retrace the path with her; but she forbade me and was gone swiftly--a flash of white through the trees--before I could parley with her. I stared after her as long as I could hear her light tread in the path. And when she had vanished a feeling of loneliness possessed me and the country quiet mocked me with its peace.

I clanged the Glenarm gates together sharply and went in to dinner; but I pondered long as I smoked on the star-hung terrace. Through the wood directly before me I saw lights flash from the small craft of the lake, and the sharp tum-tum of a naphtha launch rang upon the summer night.

Insects made a blur of sound in the dark and the chant of the katydids rose and fell monotonously.

I flung away a half-smoked cigar and lighted my pipe. There was no disguising the truth that the coming of the Holbrooks had got on my nerves--at least that was my phrase for it. Now that I thought of it, they were impudent intruders and Paul Stoddard had gone too far in turning them over to me. There was nothing in their story, anyhow; it was preposterous, and I resolved to let them severely alone. But even as these thoughts ran through my mind I turned toward St. Agatha's, whose lights were visible through the trees, and I knew that there was nothing honest in my impatience. Helen Holbrook's eyes were upon me and her voice called from the dark; and when the clock chimed nine in the tower beyond the wall memory brought back the graceful turn of her dark head, the firm curve of her throat as she had listened to the mellow fling of the bells.

And here, for the better instruction of those friends who amuse themselves with the idea that I am unusually susceptible, as they say, to the charms of woman, I beg my reader's indulgence while I state, quite honestly, the flimsy basis of this charge. Once, in my twentieth year, while I was still an undergraduate at Trinity, Dublin, I went to the Killarney Lakes for a week's end. My host--a fellow student--had taken me home to see his horses; but it was not his stable, but his blue-eyed sister, that captivated my fancy. I had not known that anything could be so beautiful as she was, and I feel and shall always feel that it was greatly to my credit that I fell madly in love with her. Our affair was fast and furious, and lamentably detrimental to my standing at Trinity. I wrote some pretty bad verses in her praise, and I am not in the least ashamed of that weakness, or that the best florist in Ireland prospered at the expense of my tailor and laundress.

It lasted a year, and to say that it was like a beautiful dream is merely to betray my poor command of language. The end, too, was fitting enough, and not without its compensations: I kissed her one night--she will not, I am sure, begrudge me the confession; it was a moonlight night in May; and thereafter within two months she married a Belfast brewer's son who could not have rhymed eyes with skies to save his malted soul.