He sent the last words out between his teeth as if he loathed the idea expressed in them. If they brought a sombre red to the girl's cheeks, it was not because she did not have sympathy with him.

Sudden leaping flames of pa.s.sion yellowed the man's eyes, and he staggered up.

"May G.o.d d.a.m.n the best in him! May all he loves wither and blight! May black Heaven break his heart----"

Jinnie sprang forward and clutched him fiercely by the arm. "Don't!

Don't!" she implored. "That's awful, awful!"

Singleton sank back, brushing his foaming lips with the back of his hand.

"Well," he muttered, "he followed me abroad and did for me over there!"

"Did for you?" Virginia repeated after him, parrot-like, gazing at him in a puzzled way as she sat down again.

"Yes, me! If I'd had any sense, I might have known his game. In the state of his finances he'd no business to come over at all. But I didn't know until he got there how evil he was. Oh, G.o.d! I wish I had--but I didn't, and now my only work left is to send you somewhere----Oh, why didn't I know?"

The deep sadness, the longing in his voice brought Virginia to her feet once more. She wanted to do something for the thin, sick man because she loved him--just that! Years of neglect had failed to kill in the young heart the cherished affection for her absent parent, and in some subtle way he now appealed to the mother within her, as all sick men do to all heart-women.

"I'd like to help you if I could, father," she said.

The man, with a quick, spasmodic action, drew her to him. Never had he seen such a pair of eyes! They reminded him of Italian skies under which he had dreamed brave dreams--dreamed dreams which would ever be dreams. The end of them now was the grave.

"Little girl! My little girl!" he murmured, caressing her shoulders.

Then he caught himself sharply, crushing the sentiment from his voice.

"Hide yourself; change your name; do anything to keep from your uncle.

When you're old enough to handle your own affairs, you can come out of your hiding-place--do you understand me?"

"I think I do," she said, tears gathering under her lids.

"I don't know of any one I could trust in this county. Jordan Morse would get 'em all under his spell. That would be the last of you. For your mother's sake----" His lips quivered, but he went on with a masterful effort to choke down a sob,--"I may honestly say, for your own sake, I want you to live and do well."

There was some strain in his pa.s.sionate voice that stirred terrific emotion in the girl, awakening new, tumultuous impulses. It gave her a mad desire to do something, something for her father, something for herself. At that moment she loved him very much indeed and was ready to go to any length to help him. He had told her she must leave.

Perhaps----

Virginia glanced through the window into the darkness. Through the falling snow she could see a giant pine throw out appealing arms. They were like beckoning, sentient beings to the girl, who loved nature with all the pa.s.sionate strength of her young being. Yet to-night they filled her with new wonder,--an awe she had never felt before. Despite her onrushing thoughts, she tried to calm her mind, to say with eager emphasis:

"Shall I run to-night--now?"

"No, not to-night; don't leave me yet. Sit down in the chair again; stay until I tell you."

"All right," murmured Virginia, walking away.

The father watched the fire a few minutes.

"I'll give you a letter to Grandoken, Lafe Grandoken," he said presently, looking up. "For your mother's sake he'll take you, and some day you can repay him. You see it's this way: Your mother trusted your uncle more than she did me, or she'd never have given you into his care in case of my death. Well, he's got me, and he'll get you."

With no thought of disobedience, Virginia slipped from the chair to her feet.

"He won't get me if I run now, will he?" she questioned breathlessly; "not if I go to--what'd you say his name was?"

She was all excitement, ready to do whatever she was bidden. Slowly, as she stood there, the tremendous suspense left her.

"Why couldn't we both go, you and me?" she entreated eagerly. "Let's both go to-night. I'll take care of you. I'll see you don't get wet."

Her glance met and held his for a few seconds. The vibrant voice thrilled and stirred the father as if he had been dead and suddenly slipped back to life again. A brave smile, tenderly sweet, broke over Virginia's lips.

"Come," she said, holding out her hands. "Come, I'll get my fiddle and we'll go."

He was struck by the vehemence of her appeal. He allowed himself to listen for a moment--to overbalance all his preconceived plans, but just then his past life, Jordan Morse, his own near approaching end, sank into his mind, and the fire in his eyes went out. There was finality in the shake of his shoulders.

"No, no," he murmured, sinking back. "It's too late for me. I couldn't earn money enough to feed a pup. I'm all to pieces--no more good to any one. No, you'll have to go alone."

"I'm sorry." The girl caught her breath in disappointment. She was crying softly and made no effort to wipe away her tears.

The silent restraint was broken only by the ticking of the shadowy clock on the mantel and Virginia's broken sobs. She stifled them back as her father spoke comfortingly.

"Well, well, there, don't cry! If your mother'd lived, we'd all 've been better."

"I wish she had," gasped the girl, making a dash at her eyes. "I wish she'd stayed so I'd 've had her to love. Perhaps I'd 've had you, too, then."

"There's no telling," answered Singleton, drawing up to his desk and beginning to write.

Virginia watched the pen move over the white page for a s.p.a.ce, her mind filled with mixed emotions. Then she turned her eyes from her father to the grate as a whirl of ashes and smoke came out.

Matty's story came back to her mind, and she glanced toward the window, but back to the fire quickly. The blizzard seemed to rage in sympathy with her own riotous thoughts. As another gust of wind rattled the cas.e.m.e.nts and shook down showers of soot from the chimney, Virginia turned back to the writer.

"It's the ghosts of my mother's folks that make that noise," she confided gently.

"Keep quiet!" ordered Singleton, frowning.

After the letters were finished and sealed, Mr. Singleton spoke.

"There! I've done the best I can for you under the circ.u.mstances. Now on this,"--he held up a piece of paper--"I've written just how you're to reach Grandoken's in Bellaire. These letters you're to give to him.

This one let him open and read." Mr. Singleton tapped a letter he held up. "In this one, I've written what your uncle did to me. Give it to Grandoken, telling him I said to let it remain sealed unless Jordan Morse claims you. If you reach eighteen safely, burn the letter."

He paused and took out a pocketbook.

"Money is scarce these days, but take this and it'll get you to Grandoken's. It's all I have, anyway. Now go along to bed."

He handed the envelopes to her, and his hand came in contact with hers. The very touch of it, the warmth and life surging through her, gave a keener edge to his misery.

Virginia took the letters and money. She walked slowly to the door. At the threshold she halted, turning to her father.

"May I take the cats with me?" she called back to him.

She started to explain, but he cut her words off with a fierce e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"h.e.l.l, yes!" he snapped. "d.a.m.n the cats! Get out!"