"Well, they'd oughter remember, by ginger!"

After a few minutes of rather energetic chewing for him (Martin rarely chewed tobacco vigorously because of the extravagance), he calmly reopened the conversation.

"When are you liable to git through plantin' over there?"

"In a couple of days, if it keeps dry."

"I'll let Bud Jones go over an' help you ef you need him."

"Oh, I c'n git along, I guess."

"I wuz thinkin' a little of sendin' Bud over this week with a couple bushels of potaters fer Jestine. Never seed sich potaters in my born days."

"I think she's got a plenty, Martin."

"You don't say so. Well, how's she off fer turnips?"

"She could use a few bushels of turnips an' some oats an' little corn, I reckon. Dern it, I believe she's purty nigh out of hay, too," said 'Gene, soberly.

"Tell her I'll drive over this week with some," said Martin, wiping his brow.

"She'll pay you fer the stuff when you take it over."

"I didn't 'low to ask fer pay."

"Well, she ain't askin' fer favors, either."

Martin stared down the road for some minutes.

"But I got more'n I c'n use," he said.

"If that's the case you c'n send it over an' she'll be mighty thankful.

An' say, I guess I c'n use Bud to-morrow an' next day."

"We're purty busy an' I don't see how----"

"Don't send him, then. You said you'd thought of it, you know."

"I'll send him, though, come to think of it. You say pore little Jestine 'pears to be discouraged?"

"Kinder so, I should say. Poor little girl, she's----" Here he leaned over and uttered an almost inaudible bit of information. Martin's eyes bulged and he gasped.

"The devil you say! Well, I'll be danged!"

'Gene started down the lane, his jaws set and hard for the moment.

Suddenly he turned, and, with the first chuckle of mirth Grimes had heard from him that day, said:

"Don't fergit to send over them potaters, too, Martin."

Then he trudged rapidly away, leaving Mr. Grimes in a state bordering on collapse. Between the startling bit of information 'Gene had given him, the hint at lawsuits, the insinuation against other women in the locality and his own astounding liberality, he was the most thoroughly confused farmer in Clay township. He went to the house and talked it all over with his wife, and the words of advice that he gave to her savored very much of the mandatory. He dreamed that night that some one sued him for damages and got judgment for $96,000. The next day he sent a wagonload of supplies to Justine, after which he told his wife she could not have the new "calico" he had been promising for three months.

Eugene Crawley's position on the old Van farm was queer. He was a self-appointed slave, as it were. True, he was paid wages and he was given his meals in the little kitchen where Justine and Mrs. Crane ate.

That privilege was the one recompense that made slavery a charm. In his undisciplined heart there had grown a feeling of reverence for the wife of Jud Sherrod that displaced the evil love of the long ago. His love, in these days, was pure and hopeless. He thought only of lifting the burden that another's love had left upon her shoulders. The 'Gene Crawley of old was no more. In his place was a simple, devoted toiler, a lowly worshipper.

Against her will he had attached himself to the farm, and at last he had become indispensable. The fear with which she had once regarded him was gone with the wonderful alteration in his nature. Innocent, unsuspecting child that she was, she thought that his love had died and that it could never be awakened. She did not know the depths of his silent adoration.

At nightfall each day he trudged back to Martin Grimes's barn to sleep, and in the morning, before sunrise, he was at his post of duty again.

So thoughtful was he of her welfare that he never lingered after the night's ch.o.r.es were done, realizing that the least indiscretion would give rise to neighborhood gossip. Their conversations were short, but always free and friendly. They met only as necessity obliged and nothing could have been more decorous than their conduct. Yet 'Gene went to his little room in the barn that night with a troubled heart.

"Sure they cain't talk about her," he thought. "She's an angel, if there ever wuz one."

Months before he had said aloud to himself, off in the field, as he looked toward the house in which his fair employer lived:

"I wouldn't harm her by word er thought fer all heaven. She's honest an' I'm goin' to be. She's Jud's wife an' she loves him, an' I ain't got no right to even think of lovin' her. 'Gene Crawley, you gotter give up. You gotter be honest."

And he was honest.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PURE AND THE POOR.

For four months Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Sherrod wandered over Europe. They saw Paris, Venice, Rome, Amsterdam, Brussels, Vienna and quaint German towns, unknown to most American tourists. Celeste had visited the Old World many times before, but it was all new to her now; she was traveling with the man she loved. To Sherrod, the wonders of the land he had never hoped to see were a source of the most intense delight.

His artistic, romantic nature leaped under the spur of awakening forces; his love for the beautiful, the glorious, the quaint and the curious was satiated daily. He lived in the perfect glory of the present, doggedly disregarding the past and braving everything that the future might bring forth, good or evil.

Basking in the love of this fair girl, adoring her and being adored, he lost all vestige of conscience. The shadow that hung over him on the wedding day drifted away into forgetfulness, and he saw nothing but the pleasures of life. A dread that the law would surely find him out and s.n.a.t.c.h him from the love and respect of two women, devastating the lives of both, was dissipated by degrees until scarcely a line across his brow was left to mark its course within.

Once a week he sent loving letters home to Justine, letters full of tenderness and affection. Often a mist of tears came to his eyes as he thought of her, wishing that she, too, might be with them on this happy tour. At times he saw his selfishness and was ashamed, but the brightness of life with Celeste overcame these touches of remorse and he sank back into the soft cushions of bliss and--forgot. Letters from Justine were rare, and he kissed them pa.s.sionately and read them over and over again--before he destroyed them. Here and there the Sherrods wandered, the rich and loving wife's purse the provider, dawdling and idling in dreamland.

At last she confessed to him that she was tired of the Continent and was eager to get back to Chicago, where she could have him all to herself in the home over which he was to be master. So deep in luxury and forgetfulness was he, that future pain seemed impossible, and he did not even oppose her wish. But as the steamer drew away from the dock he grasped the rail and for an instant his body turned numb.

"Back to America!" he gasped, realizing at last. "Oh! how long can I hold it off? What will be the end of it?"

In the meantime, Clay township was in a turmoil of gossip. Poor Justine was discussed from one prayer service to another, and with each succeeding session of the gossips the stories were magnified. Quite unconscious of the storm brewing about her innocent head, she struggled painfully on with her discouraging work, the dullness of life brightened once a week or so by letters from across the sea. Every night she prayed for the safe return of that husband-lover, and there was no hour that did not find her picturing the delights of meeting after these months of separation.

She heard nothing of the wedding that Parson Marks and Jim Hardesty discussed months before. The few Glenville and Clay township people who saw the account in the papers may have regarded the coincidence in names remarkable, but attached no other significance to the affair.

Certainly no one mentioned it to Justine. Jud's letter swept the doubts and fears from the mind of Mr. Marks and the incident was forgotten.

From her face there began to disappear the glorious colors of health; the bright eyes were deep with a new wistfulness. But her strong young figure never drooped.

At last 'Gene Crawley became aware of the gossip. He saw the sly looks, the indirect snubs, the significant pauses in conversation, when he or she drew nigh. For weeks he controlled his wrath, grinding his teeth in secret over the injustice of it all. In the end, after days of indecision, he told himself that but one course was left open to him. He must leave the country.

But there was left the task of telling Justine of his resolve. Would she despise him for deserting her in the hour of greatest need? He could not tell her that scandal was driving him away for her sake. To let her know that the neighbors had accused her of being false to Jud would break her heart. To run away surrept.i.tiously would be the act of a coward; to tell her the real reason would be cruel; to leave designedly for a better offer of wages would be base under the circ.u.mstances. In the last few weeks she had depended on him for everything; he had become indispensable.

While he was striving to evolve some skillful means of breaking the news to her gently, the populace of Clay township made ready to take the matter in its own hands. Parson Marks, to whom nearly every member of his congregation had come with stories of misconduct at the little place down the lane, finally felt obliged to call a general meeting to consider the wisest plan of action in the premises. The word was pa.s.sed among the leading members of the church, and it was understood that a secret meeting would be held in the pastor's home on a certain Thursday night. Justine had a few true friends and believers, but they were not asked to be present; no word was permitted to reach the ears of either offender.