CHAPTER XVII
REVELATIONS
That sepulchral groan had issued not from a mortal in the agony
of impending death but from the smiling red lips of Viola Gwyn.
The grewsome "death-rattle" was the result of the means
she took to suppress a shriek of laughter by frantically clapping
both hands to her convulsed mouth.
For some time she had been standing at the fence, her elbows on
the top rail, gazing pensively at the light in Kenny's window. A
clump of honeysuckle bushes was between her and the unsuspecting
servants. At first she had paid little or no attention to the gabble
of the darkies, her thoughts being centred on her own serious affairs.
She had been considerably shaken and distressed by the unpleasant
experience of the early afternoon. Somehow she longed to take her
troubles to Kenneth, to rid herself of them in the comfort of his
approbation, to be reassured by his brotherly counsel. She knew
he was sitting beside the table in the cosy sitting-room, poring
over one of his incomprehensible law books. How jolly, how consoling
to her own agitated mind, if she could only be there in the same
room with him, quiet as a mouse so as not to disturb his profound
studies, and reposing in that comfortable new rocker on the opposite
side of the table where she could watch the studious frown on his
brow while she waited patiently for him to lay aside the book.
Indeed, she had come out of the house animated by a sudden impulse
to pay him a brief, surreptitious visit; then to run back home before
she was missed by her mother. This impulse was attended by a singularly
delightful sensation of guilt. She had never been over to see him
at night. In fact, it had never occurred to her to do such a thing
before. But even as she started forth from the house, a strange
timidity assailed her. It halted her impetuous footsteps, turned
them irresolutely aside, and led her not to the gate but to the
barrier fence. She could not explain, even to herself, the queer,
half-frightened thumping of her heart, nor the amazing shyness,
nor the ridiculous feeling that it would be improper for her to
be alone with him at night.
But why, she argued,--why should it be improper? What could be wrong
in going to see her own brother? What difference did it make whether
it was night or day? Still the doubt persisted,--a nagging yet agreeable
doubt that made her all the more eager to defy its feeble authority.
First she sought to justify her inclination by reminding herself
that her mother had never by word or look signified the slightest
opposition to her intimacy with Kenneth. This attitude of resignation
on her mother's part, however, was a constant thorn in her side,
a prick to her conscience. It caused her many a pang.
Then she called to mind certain of her girl friends who had brothers,
--one in particular who declared that she had slept in the same
bed with her brother up to the time she was fourteen years old.
She felt herself turn scarlet. That was really quite dreadful, even
though the cabin in which her friend dwelt was very tiny and there
were six children in the family. She had bitterly envied certain
others, those who told of the jolly good times they had had with
their brothers, the fun they had in quarrelling and the way they
teased the boys when they first began "going out" with
the girls.
What fun to have had a brother when she was little,--a brother to
play with! Kenny was so unreal. He was not like a brother at all.
He was no different from other men,--she did not believe she could
ever get used to thinking of him as a brother,--even a half-brother.
This very thought was in her mind,--perhaps it was an ever-present
thought,--as she stood gazing shyly at his window.
She wanted to tell him about her break with Barry. Somehow,--although
she was not quite conscious of it,--she longed to have him pat her
on the shoulder, or clasp her hands in his, and tell her she had
done the right thing and he was glad. The corners of her mouth were
drooping a little.
But the pensive droop slowly disappeared as she harkened to the
valiant words of Zachariah. It was not until Kenny's servant lifted
his voice in praise of his own deeds at Phineas Striker's that she
became acutely aware of the close proximity of the speakers. Gradually
she surrendered to the spirits of mirth and mischief. The result
of her awesome moan,--even though it narrowly escaped ending in
a shriek of laughter,--has already been revealed. The manner of
Zachariah's flight sobered her instantly. Too late she regretted
the experiment.
"Oh, goodness!" she murmured, blanching. "The poor
fellow has hurt himself--"
The slamming of the door behind Zachariah was reassuring. At any
rate he was alive and far too sprightly to have suffered a broken
leg or a cracked skull. A few seconds later she saw Kenny's shadow
flit hurriedly past the window as he dashed toward the kitchen.
For some time she stood perfectly still, listening to the confused
jumble of voices in the house across the way, debating whether she
should hurry over to explain,--and perhaps to assist in dressing
poor Zachariah's cuts and bruises. Suddenly she decided; and, without
thought of her garments, she scrambled hastily over the fence. Just
as her feet touched the ground, the front door of Kenneth's house
flew open and a figure, briefly revealed by the light from within,
rushed out into the yard and was swallowed up by the darkness. She
whirled and started to climb back over into her own yard, giggling
hysterically. She heard the rush of feet through the weeds and shrubbery.
They halted abruptly, and then:
"Stop where you are, damn you! I've got you covered and, so
help me God, I'll put a bullet through--"
"Kenny! Kenny!" she cried out. "It's I--Viola!"
There was a moment's silence.
"My God! You? Viola?" came in suppressed, horrified tones
from the darkness. "Drop down,--drop to the ground! They may
begin firing at me. You--"
"Firing at you?" she cried, shakily. "What on earth
are you talking about? There's--there's no one here. I am all alone.
I did it. I'm the ghost. It was all in fun. I didn't dream--"
"Do as I tell you!" he called out sharply. "There
is a pack of ruffians--"
"Pack your granny!" she cried, with a shrill laugh. "I
tell you I am all alone. My goodness, what on earth did Zachariah
think was after him? A regiment of soldiers?"
As he came quickly toward her she shrank back, seized by a strange,
inexplicable panic. He loomed above her in the darkness as she half-crouched
against the fence. For a few seconds he stood looking down at her,
breathing sharply. She heard something drop at his feet, and then
both his hands gripped her shoulders, drawing her roughly up to
him.
"Oh-h! Wh-what are you doing?" she gasped as his arm went
around her. That arm of steel drew her so close and held her so
tightly to his breast that she could feel the tremendous thumping
of his heart. She felt herself trembling--trembling all over; the
light in the window up beyond seemed to draw nearer, swelling to
vast proportions as it bore down upon her. She closed her eyes.
What was happening to her,--what was causing this strange languor,
this queer sensation as of falling?
As abruptly as he had clasped her to him, he released her, springing
back with a muttered execration. She tottered dizzily, and involuntarily
reached out to clutch his arm for support. He shook her hand off.
"What is the matter, Kenny?" she murmured, hazily.
He did not answer. He leaned heavily against the fence, his head
on his arm. She did not move for many seconds. Then he heard her
gasp,--a gasp of actual terror.
"Who are you?" she whispered tensely. "You are not
my brother. You are not the real Kenneth Gwynne! Who are you?"
She waited for the answer that did not come. Then as she drew farther
away from him: "You are an impostor. You have deceived us.
You have come here representing yourself to be--to be my brother,--and
you are not--you are not! I know it--oh, I know it now. You are--"
This aroused him. "What is that you are saying?" he cried
out, fighting to pull his disordered wits together. "Not your
brother? Impostor? What are you saying, Viola?"
"I want the truth," she cried. "Are you what you
claim to be?"
"Of course I am," he answered, stridently. "I am
Kenneth Gwynne. Your brother. Have you lost your senses?"
"Then, why--" she began huskily. "Why did you--Oh,
Kenny, I don't know what I am saying," she murmured piteously.
"I--I don't know what has come over me. Something--something--Oh,
I don't know what made me feel--I mean, what made me say that to
you. You are Kenneth Gwynne. You are my half-brother. You are not--"
"There, there!" he interrupted, his voice shaking a little.
"You were frightened. I came so near to shooting--Yes, that
is it. And I was so happy, so relieved that I--I almost ate you
alive,--my little sister. God, what a horrible thing it would have
been if I had--fired and the bullet had--"
She interrupted him, speaking rapidly, breathlessly in her effort
to regain command of herself. "But you didn't--you didn't,
you see,--so what is the use of worrying about it now?" She
laughed jerkily. "But, my goodness, it is a good lesson for
me! I'll never try to scare anybody else again as I did poor Zachariah."
He stooped and, feeling among the weeds, recovered not one but both
of the long duelling pistols.
"I was after bigger game than you," he muttered. "Here
are my pistols,--all primed and ready for business."
She stretched out her hand and touched one of the weapons. "Ready
for what business?" she inquired. "What did you mean by
a pack of ruffians?" As he did not answer at once, she went
on to explain what had actually occurred, ending with, "I suppose
Zachariah ran in and told you that old Black Hawk and his warriors
were attacking the town."
"I couldn't get much out of him, he was so excited. But I was
mortally afraid they had stolen a march on us, and you were already
in their hands. You see, Isaac Stain was to have kept me informed
and we were to have laid a trap for them. Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed
in sudden consternation. "I am letting the cat out of the bag."
"Will you please tell me what you are talking about, Kenneth
Gwynne?" she said impatiently.
He came to a quick decision. "Yes, I will tell you everything.
I guess I was a fool not to have told you before,--you and your
mother. There is a plot afoot, Viola, to abduct you. Stain got wind
of it, through--well, he got wind of it. He came to me with the
story. I don't suppose you will believe me,--and you will probably
despise me for what I am about to say,--but the man you love and
expect to marry is behind the scheme. I mean Barry Lapelle. He--"
"When did you hear of this?" she interrupted quickly.
"After the Revere came in?"
"More than a week ago. He came home on the Revere to-day. His
plan is to--"
"I know. I saw him. We quarrelled. It is all over between us,
Kenny. He was furious. I thought he may have--but you say you knew
of this a week ago? I don't--I can't understand it. A week ago there
was no heed of--of carrying me off against my will."
"It is all over between you?" he cried, and he could not
disguise the joy in his voice. "You have ended it, Viola?"
"Yes,--it is all over," she said stiffly. "I am not
going to marry him. I was coming over to tell you. But--go on. What
is this cock-and-bull story about abducting me? Goodness, I am beginning
to feel like a girl in a story-book."
"It is no laughing matter," he said, a little gruffly.
"Does it look like it when I come rushing out here with two
loaded pistols and come near to shooting you? Come up to the house.
We will talk it all over, and then,--" he hesitated for a moment,--"then
I'll go over and see your mother."
He took her arm and led her up to the house. As they entered the
front door, Zachariah's groans fell upon their ears. She looked
at Kenny in alarm, and for the first time realized that he was without
coat or waistcoat. His hair was tousled in evidence of his studious
application to the open law books that lay on the floor.
"He must be quite badly hurt," she cried miserably. "Oh,
I'm SO sorry."
Kenny went to the kitchen door. "Zachariah! Stop that groaning.
You're not hurt. Here! What are you doing with that rifle?"
"Ah was jes' co-comin' out, Marse Kenny, fo' to he'p yo' kill--yas,
suh! Ah was--" The remainder was lost as Kenneth deliberately
closed the door behind him and walked over to the negro, who was
squatting in a corner with a rifle in his hands. Viola, left alone,
crossed to the window and looked out. She was pale and anxious.
Her wide, alarmed eyes tried to pierce the darkness outside. Suddenly
she started back, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
"Oh, my soul!" she murmured. "They could have shot
him dead. He could not have seen them." She felt herself turn
faint. Then a thrill of exaltation swept over her and she turned
quickly toward the kitchen door, her eyes glowing. "And he
was not afraid! He ran out to face them alone. He thought they were
out there,--he risked being shot to save me from--" The door
opened and Kenneth came swiftly into the room. He stopped short,
staring at her radiant face.
"Oh, Kenny, you--you really believed they were out there,--a
crowd of them,--trying to carry me off? Why,--why, that was the
bravest thing a man--"
"Shucks!" he scoffed. "My tragedy turns out to be
the most uproarious farce. I've never seen a funnier one in the
theatre. But there is a serious side to it, Viola. Sit down for
a minute or two, and I'll tell you. Zachariah is all right. Barked
his shins a little, that's all."
At the conclusion of his short, unembellished recital, he said:
"There is nothing for you to be worried about. They cannot
carry out the plot. We are all forewarned now. I should have told
you all this before, but I was afraid you would think I was trying
to blacken Lapelle. I wanted to catch him red-handed, as the saying
is. Isaac Stain is coming in to sleep here to-morrow night, and
Zachariah, for all his fear of ghosts and lightning, is not afraid
of men. We will be ready for them if they come,--so don't you worry."
There was a puzzled frown in her eyes. "I don't see why he
should have planned this a week ago, Kenny. I had told him I would
marry him. There must be something back of all this."
"Do you know anything about a friend of his who is going to
be married soon? He spoke to me about it the other day, and asked
if a parent could legally deprive a daughter of a share in her deceased
father's--"
"Why,--that's me, Kenny," she cried excitedly. "I
told him that mother would disinherit me entirely if I married him
without her consent."
A light broke over him. "By jingo!" he cried. "I
am beginning to see. Why, it's as plain as day to me now. The beastly
scoundrel!"
"What do you mean?"
"Could your mother very well carry out her threat if he made
off with you by force and compelled you to marry him, whether or
no?"
She stiffened. "I would never,--never consent, Kenny. I would
die first."
"I suppose you imagine there could be no worse fate than that?"
he said, pity in his eyes.
She looked puzzled for a moment and then grasped his meaning. Her
face blanched.
"I said I would die first," she repeated in a low, steady
voice.
"Well," he cried, starting up briskly from his chair,
"I guess we'd better hurry if we want to catch your mother
before she goes to bed. And that reminds me, Viola,--I would like
to speak with her alone. You see," he went on lamely, "you
see, we're not friends and I don't know how she will receive me."
She nodded her head without speaking and together they left the
house.