Daphne Deane (15 page)

"I know just how you felt," said Emily Lynd smiling. "And you can imagine how startled I was a few nights ago, I think it was Tuesday night, to glance across the meadow and see a small bright light staring at me like an eye."

"Why, how strange!" said Daphne, thinking of her own experience.

"Yes, wasn't it?" went on the old lady. "I couldn't believe my senses at first. But it shone on, quite steadily for a long time, till I finally got out my binoculars and looked at it. And there it was, a little speck of a bright light beaming away, and I couldn't understand it. For it wasn't upstairs in Mrs. Morrell's window, you know. It wasn't even in the first story, it was away down quite near to the ground, as if it might have been in one of the cellar windows. I decided it must be that someone had been in the house and left the light turned on in the cellar, and I wondered if I ought not to send word to the agent and have it looked after. But the next night I looked and it wasn't there, so I didn't know what to think."

"It couldn't be the electric light," said Daphne, puzzled, "because the power is turned off. I know because Mr. Morrell was at our house Tuesday and asked me to go over with him and look around. I had never been in the house, you know."

"Oh," said Miss Lynd, "I'm glad you saw it. It is such a lovely old house. I used to go over so often in the days when I could still get around a little. I'm glad you know Keith. He's such a dear fellow."

"I only know him a little," said Daphne. "We were in high school together, you know."

"Yes, he told me. I hadn't remembered that. Well, perhaps he left a candle down in the cellar and it burned out. That might explain it, except that last night I saw the light again! You see, I had kind of got in the habit of watching for it."

"You
did
?" said Daphne, her eyes wide. "How very strange! I wonder if it has anything to do with what I heard!" And Daphne told of her experience.

"And last night I heard the same noises again, although I didn't see any light," she went on. "Do you suppose that it is just some truck driver from a distance who drives in there to rest a little while? And mightn't he have gone around to the front terrace to smoke a cigarette? Could it have been the bright end of a cigarette you saw?"

"Oh no, it was bigger than that. Brighter than that!" said the old lady decidedly. "I just couldn't make out at all what it could be. I suppose there is some explanation, but I couldn't understand it at all. And of course, I, like a silly fool, had to lie awake and try to think it out."

"Well, I've been in the same fix," said Daphne, "only I haven't seen any more fireflies. I guess we'll have to ask Mrs. Gassner what it is. I'm sure she'd have some solution of the mystery. She always seems to know everything that's going on in the neighborhood. She came over to borrow some salt yesterday just to try and find out if we knew why Mr. Morrell came home last week. She said she heard he was going to turn his old home into a summer hotel and start taking borders, and she wanted to know whether he had asked Mother to take charge of it. She said if he hadn't she might like to apply for the position herself. She said she thought she could run it and still keep her own home going, it was so handy, but she didn't want to snatch the job from Mother if she planned on taking it. Mother told her she didn't think Mr. Morrell had any idea of using his ancestral home for a hotel, that he didn't speak as if he had any such intention. She must have been misinformed. But isn't she the limit?"

"Yes," said Miss Lynd almost gravely, "she is. I'm afraid she makes a lot of trouble for people. I understand she's spreading a terrible story about that poor motherless little Cassie Winters, just because she sees her walking the street arm in arm with Archie Reamer. The poor child hasn't any other place to meet her friends since her home was broken up! She was in here the other day on an errand for Mrs. Mathison, the woman she works for over on the south side, and she was crying as if her heart would break to think that people would say such mean things about her. I declare I was indignant! Mrs. Gassner ought to have been a fiction writer, the ways she invents stories about people. And she has only to say 'I shouldn't wonder if--' and in half a day it is all over Rosedale as a fact. Sometimes I think I'll send word for her to come over here and just reason with her about it. Then I think maybe it would be better just to pray about it and let the Lord work. He never makes blunders the way I do. And while we're praying I wish you'll remember Cassie Winters and Archie, Daphne. He's a steady sort of lad, but he's out of a job. He wants to marry her and have a little home of their own, but that good-for-nothing brother-in-law of his got angry with him and dismissed him from the lumberyard, and Archie can't seem to find another job. I think they're both Christians of a sort, but they've never learned to trust the Lord, and it goes hard with them. And then, Daphne, there's Keith Morrell. I'm sure he needs the Lord. I've known him since he was a baby, you know, and I love him as if he belonged to me. He's in the world a good deal. He told me a few things when he called on me last week, and I can read between the lines. We'll pray for him, too. You lead off, dear."

So Daphne knelt beside the bed with her hand in the soft warm hand of the invalid, as she had often knelt before, and they two brought their petitions to the throne. They had these little times of prayer together now and then, and Daphne, though shy about it at first, had grown to love the fellowship greatly.

And when the prayer was ended Miss Lynd pressed the young hand tenderly, looking into the bright lovely face of the girl.

"Now, tell me, dear, all about the old house. I haven't been there in so many years. I'd like your impression of it. I'd like to see it again through your eyes."

So Daphne told it all, how wide and high the rooms had seemed, how the light swept down the lovely old staircase from the great arched window on the landing above, what joy it had been to look at the fine old paintings and recognize the characteristics of some of the old masters. How she had loved playing on the sweet-toned piano and getting a glimpse of the beautiful furniture. How interesting it had been to see the playroom with its fireplace where she had often seen toys on the floor, and a child playing, when she was small. But she didn't mention the little boy kneeling at his mother's knee. That seemed something she had no right to mention even to so dear a friend of the Morrells as Miss Lynd.

Then she told about the garden and how the vines and plants had made a lovely entanglement everywhere, but how the children were starting to weed and trim, and it would soon be in order. Then she pointed out the bright blossoms that she had picked there this morning among those she had brought.

When at last Daphne had to go, the invalid lay thinking about her. A sweet child she was, so unspoiled, so fine of mind and spirit. Oh, why couldn't Keith have fancied her? Why hadn't he been friends with Daphne in school instead of that Evelyn Avery where he had gone to dinner the night he called upon her? Why hadn't his mother fostered a friendship between him and Daphne?

But then she remembered the days when Daphne's mother was so ill, and she had been much at home. Of course, it was all explainable. Only she felt so sure that Keith's mother would love this girl, if she were here today. And yet, what of Keith? How had he developed? Was he worthy to be the friend of this wonderful girl? Well, it wasn't for her to try to plan for God in such matters. She loved them both, but she mustn't meddle with romances even in thought. That was dangerous business. God had his plans for both of them. She might only pray that they be guided aright to do His will in the days of earthly life that were before them.

And then she turned back to that question about the light in the old house. If it came again she must surely call the police and put it in their hands. She couldn't lie awake every night and get sick over it. It was not her responsibility anyway, except to report and let the police investigate.

Then she picked up her binoculars and studied the view from her window carefully, trying to locate the exact spot where that light had shone. It seemed to her that it had come from behind where the coal trucks stopped to deliver coal. Would it be possible that there was a window on the other side of the cellar opposite the coal chute where the light from the back street could shine through?

But no, for then it would shine every night, and she would have noticed it before. Also, this light was not visible till late at night. Well, it was very strange, that was all.

Meantime, rumor was hard at work spreading more tales.

"Yes," explained Evelyn Avery eagerly to an inquiring friend, "it's true. I happen to know. Keith Morrell is selling the old house. He told me so himself. He was here to dinner the other night. I happened to come on him just as he landed in town to sign the papers or something for the sale, and he told me about it. We had a grand time talking over old times."

"Well, I suppose he won't ever come back, then," said the friend disappointedly. "I always liked Keith Morrell. Of course, he was rather studious and all that, but I imagine he's over that by this time, as much as he's been abroad. Did he say anything about coming back to live? But of course he wouldn't if he is selling that lovely old house."

"I'm not so sure," said Evelyn lightly. "He might. He feels, you know, that a house on that side of the town is quite impossible in these days. Everybody worthwhile has moved over to the hill. He might build. He spoke of Winding Way or Latches Lane. It's so exclusive up there, you know, and he naturally would want to be with the best people, and near the Country Club, after his years abroad. It seems to me I remember he was a great golfer even when he was young."

"Oh, you don't mean it! Latches Lane! Wouldn't that be wonderful! I suppose of course he inherited all his parents' estate. And weren't they fabulously wealthy? I always supposed so, leaving a nice home like that and living in Europe so long."

"Oh, of course!" said Evelyn, who didn't really know a thing about it. "But wouldn't it be wonderful if he should come back to live?"

"Is he engaged? He'd be quite a catch!"

"Well, some say he is, and some say he isn't," said Evelyn quickly with downcast eyes. "I wouldn't want to say what I know. He might not want it talked about. But being engaged isn't being married, you know," and she giggled significantly.

"Well, I'm sure I hope he doesn't bring any impossible foreign bride here for us to have to swallow. I think he ought to be loyal to his native town and come back and take one of his old girls."

"
One
of his old girls!" said Evelyn with asperity. "And who were they, I ask you? His mother never gave him a chance to have any girls. She was terribly snooty. A girl had to walk a chalk line or she wasn't worthy of her precious son."

"Well, she's out of the way, anyway, thank goodness, and I imagine he's changed all that by this time. I always thought he was terribly good looking, didn't you?"

And presently the girl went out to spread forth the news of the coming new Morrell estate on Latches Lane, with a possible bride-to-be in the future. So the story spread until one day it reached Mrs. Gassner, who shook her head ruefully and exclaimed: "Well,
I
think somebody ought to warn that bride before it's too late, him running around holding hands in gardens with that sly little Daphne Deane who pretends to be so religious. Why, you know, they say she doesn't even go to the movies, and yet what did I see with my own eyes, right out my second-story back window!"

 

Keith Morrell seated at the elegantly appointed table across from Anne Casper could not understand the changed atmosphere, the unusual cordiality on the part of Anne's father, the genial friendly attitude. What did it mean?

And what was the matter with him? Why, if this had happened two weeks before when he had gone away from this girl for what he thought was the last time, prepared to eat his heart out for love of her, to consider his life ruined, his rosy future a blank, how happy he would have been if he could have known that in a short time he would be back in her good graces, dining with her and her father as if nothing had ever come between their friendship! And now he didn't seem to feel so happy. Somehow his heart was anxious, uneasy. Did he really love this girl after all?

Oh, she was lovely, there was no doubt about that, brilliant, gifted, desirable, and yet somehow he couldn't thrill at the sight of her as he used to do before they had their difference. Yet she was lovelier in her present garb than ever he had seen her before, and there seemed to be a gentleness upon her that he had never associated with her before, of which he had never thought her capable.

What had happened to him during the interval? What power had awakened him to look beneath the surface, to doubt her, to wonder if, after all, even though she gave in to his convictions and went his way, she was desirable--for him? He hated himself for these thoughts. It did not seem loyal, stable, honorable, to accept them in his heart. He didn't like to think of himself as changeable.

He was looking across at Anne as she talked, her eyes wide and beautiful, the diamond in the hollow of her throat catching the light and flinging it over him in a dazzling point, bringing out the beauty of the girl who wore it. Yet it all seemed unreal. It was a picture that was being held out to him, and he was waiting there to see what it all meant.

He would have been surprised if he could have known that Anne herself had much the same feeling, as if she were seeing him actually for the first time. There was a gravity about him, a dignity that he had never shown to her before. He had been a charming courteous gentleman, a little bit too fastidiously formal, perhaps, in his manners, but now he seemed to have taken on an awesome maturity in these few days since they had been separated. He seemed like a man upon whom responsibility sat, and to whom life meant more than just a continuous round of amusement. She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. It frightened her just a little. That set of his jaw, that firmness about his lips, that look of a man whose mind could no more be made up for him. She gave a swift furtive glance toward her father, wondering how he would cope with this. Would he be able to move a man who stood on his own and was not cringing to success as represented by her father's large income? Or would he lose his temper, which was so uncertain toward any who did not fall in with his plans at once? Would he fling down an ultimatum as she had done, and expect to conquer that way, and get--
nowhere
with Keith Morrell?