Ellen's jaw squared itself.

"I 'spect that's about all I'll ever do again," she returned in a biting tone.

The proposed adventure subsequently resolved itself into a much simpler undertaking than it had promised, for Ellen was light as a feather and Melvina strong, deft, and experienced. Hence without mishap the invalid was transferred to the big chair and rolled to the window, where she could look out on the valley melting into the shadows of evening.

Had she restricted her observations to the scenery she might have returned to her couch refreshed both in mind and body; but unluckily she chanced to let her glance wander to the garden, and there an astonishing sight met her eyes.

In the seclusion of the lilac hedge stood two figures, that of a man and a woman. The man held in his hand a trowel and was transplanting in the rich brown soil some tender green things which the woman was handing him from a basket. The presence of a stranger who was apparently so much at home within her boundaries was in itself sufficient to arouse Ellen's curiosity; but what whetted curiosity to indignation was the manner in which the pair were performing the simple task. Even a person blind to romance and deaf to sentiment could not help realizing that the planting was a very immaterial part of the pastoral tableau, and there was much more significance in the drama than the setting out of young seedlings.

Fascinated, Ellen gazed, her wrath rising.

"Melviny!" she burst out at last, "come here!"

"Yes, Miss Webster."

"Who's that out in the garden?"

"Where?"

"Over there near the lilac hedge," specified Ellen impatiently.

Melvina rubbed her gla.s.ses then smothered a little gasp; but she quickly recovered her wonted stolidity.

"It's Miss Lucy, I reckon," she said slowly.

"But the man--the man!" persisted Ellen. "Who is he?"

"Oh, the man. That's Mr. Howe--the one that lives next door."

"Martin Howe?"

"Yes, I believe they do call him Martin," responded Melvina imperturbably, resuming her interrupted task of turning the mattress and plumping its feathers into luxurious billows of softness.

Ellen did not speak immediately. When she did it was to ask:

"What's Martin Howe doin' on my land?"

"Helpin', I s'pose," Melvina replied with indifference. "He often does."

"He comes over here an' works?"

"Yes, marm."

Ellen brought her fist down on the arm of the chair with an exclamation of anger. Her lips were white, and she trembled. Raising her unsteady finger, she pointed toward the unconscious culprits.

"You go straight out there, Melvina," she cried, "an' tell Lucy I want her."

"Yes, marm."

"Hurry!"

"Yes."

She watched while Melvina plodded across the gra.s.s and delivered her message. Instantly Lucy dropped the basket and hastened toward the house.

Another moment the girl stood before her.

"You're worse, Aunt Ellen?" she said, panting for breath.

But Ellen ignored the question.

"What's Martin Howe doin' in my garden?" she demanded fiercely.

Lucy paled.

"He came over to help me transplant the larkspur."

"By what right does he come over here, I'd like to know?"

No reply came.

"Has he been over before?" interrogated Ellen ruthlessly.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Oh, off an' on. He's been trying to help out since you've been ill."

"Help out!" repeated Ellen scornfully. "The coward! He wouldn't have dared set foot on the place if I'd been well."

"He isn't a coward!"

Lucy had drawn herself to her full height and now confronted her aunt with blazing eyes. Ellen, however, was not to be deterred.

"He _is_ a coward!" she reiterated. "A coward an' a blackguard! A curse on the Howes--the whole lot of 'em!"

"Stop!"

The intonation of the single word brought Ellen's harangue to an abrupt cessation.

"You shan't speak so of Martin Howe or of his family," cried the girl. "He is no coward. If he had been as small-minded and cruel as you, he would have left you to die on the floor the day you fell, instead of bringing you upstairs and going for a doctor--you, who have cursed him! You had better know the truth. Did you think it was I who placed you on this bed?

I couldn't have done it. I am not strong enough. It was Martin--Martin Howe!"

Ellen stared stupidly.

"I'd rather have died!" she muttered between clinched teeth.

"Yes, you would," retorted Lucy. "You would rather have gone down to your grave with bitterness in your soul and a curse upon your lips than to have accepted aid from Martin Howe. You would not have helped him had he been in trouble. You would have been glad to see him suffer--glad!"