An Unwilling Guest (5 page)

Allison, in obedience to her mother's request, and
in
penance for her ugly thoughts of the morning, came to the piazza and dutifully sat down to talk.

"Who is this Mr. Morris you are expecting?" asked Miss Rutherford at once. "Is he interesting? Does he intend staying long? He isn't your especial property is he?"

"Mr. Morris?" questioned Allison p
uzzled, and laughing as she sud
denly comprehended the mistake, then growing angry as she further realized the import o
f the last sentence, she said in
a dignified tone: "I think you must mean my brother Maurice. He is coming home for a short visit. He will be here a week perhaps."

"Oh, indeed!" said the guest, losing interest at once. "He is away working, I suppose."

Allison hesitated before she answere
d, the color growing brighter in
her cheeks and her eyes shining with the slightest bit
of wickedness. Then she said in
a strained tone:

"Yes, he is away—working."

Why she made such an answer she did not quite understand. It gave her real pleasure to feel that for a little while before he came at least this girl would not look upon her precious brother as a possible subject upon whom to exercise her charm
s. Ordinarily she would have re
sented the
evident slight in
the expression about his working and would have proudly hastened to state that his wo
rk was that of a physician in Bellevue Hospital, in
New York, and that he was about to enter the profession for himself with a fine opening
and every prospect of success in
a worldly way. She was proud of her brother and would not have been willing to let this pass if he were not coming so soon to
speak for himself and show this supercilious young woman that he was in every way superior to her. A little twinge of pride gave her pleasure as she thought of the surprise Maurice would evidently be. Meantime, the other girl was looking dreamily off into the garden.

"Maurice, you said? Maurice Grey
. That's curious," she said mus
ingly; "I know a man by that name and he is awfully nice too. He's fine!"

The girl on the step started almost i
mperceptibly. Had they then al
ready met? There was all the more danger in their meeting in his home. And to have her call him "awfully nice!" It was intolerable.

"Where did you meet him?" she asked, in a cold tone which she forced to be steady. "My brother has been in New York."

"Oh, it isn't your brother, of course. He's quite a different person, I fancy. My Maurice Grey is quite a brilliant man. He is a young doctor and I hear his prospects for the future are remarkable. He's a good friend of mine, or was. I have not seen him for a year. I met h
i
m abroad," and in the moonlight her face took on a softened, dreamy, wistful look.

T
he rush of thoughts into Allison's mind was suddenly checked by the sound of the gate clicking and a strong, manly step coming quickly up the walk. She started to her feet a
nd looked down through the shad
ows. It could not be that any other step could sound just that way, and after poising one instant on the step to make sure, she uttered a smothered "Oh!" and rushed swiftly down the walk.

Miss Rutherford heard the sound of subdued greeting, and knew that the steps lingered while there was the murmur of low-spoken words. Then they came on and a voice that was strangely familiar to her ear said: "Where is mother? Yes, I found I could get away a whole week ahead and I thought I would enjoy giving you a real surprise for once in my life."

The mother's quick ear had caught the sound too, and she was out on the walk before he could reach the door, and had folded the tall form in her arms, saying tenderly, but so that the guest could hear, "Oh, my dear boy!" and Miss Rutherford knew again that she had missed something by having no mother. It made her heart ache with a strange new longing for just an instant, till Allison's clear, cold voice said precisely:

"Miss Rutherford, this is my brother, Dr. Maurice Grey, formerly of Bellevue Hospital."

Dr. Maurice Grey, wondering at the coldness and dignity of his sunny sister's introduction, turned in surprise to face the beautiful girl who stood in a flood of light at the top of the steps in front of the open door.

Was it only the hall light that illumined his face, or did Allison in her keen watch really notice a sudden lighting of his eyes as he smiled
and grasped the white hand held out to his, saying, with true pleasure in his tones: "Why, Miss Rutherford! This is a pleasure, indeed, to find you in my own home. How comes it about? My surprise is double, is it not, mother? I have met Miss Rutherford before."

They sat down to talk while Allison, smarting under this cordial greeting to her foe, went to prepare a hasty supper for her brother. Her cheeks were glowing with a heat that did not come from the fire, over which she was making delicate slices of toast. She was covered with shame over the introduction she had given her brother. The instant the words were out of her mouth she had felt the bad taste and the low motive which had prompted her, and moreover, she anticipated her brother's dislike to being introduced in this way. She had felt his questioning look and the surprise in his face
as he turned to greet the visi
tor. She knew he did not like it. She knew he
preferred not to have any display made of his title or achievements. But w
orst of all was the feel
ing that she had done it in revenge for what her guest had said. She feared she was beginning to hate Miss Rutherford.

There was a verse somewhere in the Bible, she could not remember the exact words, which said you must not be glad when your enemy was brought low. Allison knew she would be very glad if Evelyn Rutherford could be brought very low before her brother so that he would despise her.

The household sat up unusually late that evening. There was much to be talked about, for the son had been away so long, and they could not bear to close their eyes upon the goo
dly sight of him even for a lit
tle while.

Miss Rutherford had the good grac
e and good breeding to take her
self to her room early in the evening. Allison blessed her for this even while she recognized that it would count one with her brother in favor of the instinctive delicacy of their guest. But it was good to have him entirely to themselves, for the first evening at least.

Alone in her room Miss Rutherford lighted the gas, forgetting for once to wonder how people endured it to always have to light their own gas and have no maid to attend to such bothersome details. Then she walked to her mantel and contempl
ated the boyish face in the cab
inet picture that stood there looking with frank eyes into her own, just as the
young man downstairs had done t
-night—and one other time. She understood now why his face had haunted her and stirred pleasant memories. It was like his present self and yet not enough for her to have recognized him, she decided, as she studied his features closely. She knew now why the faint memories had seemed so pleasant. How strange it was that for the third t
im
e she should be among strangers where she did not wish to be and should again meet h
i
m. Who was he? Her fate? Her affinity? The prince that every girl waits for, who will sometime come into her life and fill it full of joy forever? She was not a girl who spent much
time
in dreaming. The eager rush of doing and being and getting pleasure out of life had crowded out the sentimental. There had been little to develop the poetical. But her meeting, or rather meetings, with this young man had been so strange and unexpected that she could but be fascinated by the unusual

She sat down in the low window seat, the picture in her hand, to think it over. Her first meeting with Maurice Grey—she shuddered as she remembered it. Her friend, Jane
Bashford
, had summoned her cousin from his den to attend her home one evening when nothing had been going on worthwhile and the two had spent the evening together. Jane and she were very close and spent much time at each other's home. It was an understood thing that Jane's cousin, or an old house servant, should see her home whenever she was out late and it was not convenient to send her in the carriage.

Jane's cousin had seemed exceedingly animated as they started out and when they were fairly on the street and away from the house, Evelyn, ignorant as she was in such matters,
became aware that she was being escorted by a drunken ma
n. She had not been much fright
ened at first, for she had known him since they were both children, and the way was short. She thought there would surely be
some one
passing in a moment to whom she might appeal for help if necessary; but it was later than she realized and
when Jane's cousin became affec
tionate and attempted noisily to put his arm about her and kiss her, she grew alarmed and started to run, not knowing which way she went. She could remember just how her heart was beating and how the
houses grim and tall looked down upon
her, piling up in dark perspec
tive whichever way she looked. Not a creature seemed abroad, no one to help her. Then suddenly there had been footsteps, a hand placed upon her trembling arm, and a strong manly voice had said:

"Miss Rutherford, can I help you?"

Even in her terror she had not thought to be afraid of this man, his voice seemed so strong and trustworthy. He had led her quickly through
t
he streets to her home, saying with assurance: "Don't be alarmed. He has not control enough over his feet to follow," and had landed her safely at her own door, rung the bell, and waited until she was safely inside the brightly lighted hall with the mere explanation that he had known her brother in college and happened to see her in his company several times. It was all over before she had gathered her wits together to ask any questions. The man was gone and she did not even know his name. The brother, questioned, could not give any clue. He declared that he had a host of friends with strong, trustworthy voices and besides he believed that his sister would have considered almost any voice trustworthy, frightened as she was. She did not seem able to give any lucid description of the man, and so he dropped away from her life again and if it had not been for Jane
Bashford's
cousin, whom she had occasionally to meet in her world, perhaps she might have forgotten him altogether. She had kept away from Jane's cousin as much as possible, he seeming willing that it should be so. Evelyn doubted if he realized how grave his offense had been. Sometimes, though, the dreadful night experience would come back to her vividly and she would live it over again and then hear that strong, clear voice and see the dim outline of a fine face in the darkness. She knew the face had been handsome, even though it had been too dark a night and she too perturbed to examine carefully. She felt certain she should know it again. She had often wondered why she never met any man who made her think of him and began to think she would not know him after all. Perhaps he walked the streets of New York every day and even passed her house and was kind enough not to embarrass her with having to thank him by ignoring the occurrence altogether.

It had been a year later—she started as she thought of it. It was just
about a year ago now. How strange! A year apart each time. A year later she had met him again. She had known him almost at once, even before he spoke.

It was while she was traveling abroad. Her father had left her in care of friends who had a mania for seeing everything that was to be seen, and they had insisted upon dragging her with them. She hated it all They were poky people, who went everywhere with a book and hunted up everything they saw in the book and read about it, and then told each other that it was here such a
woman sat, and there such a m
an walked, and over yonder some
one was murdered or buried or what not.

She had not cared for it. What were ancient battles and dead men and women to her? This was not what she had come to Europe for, she wanted some life and pleasure. Her father, doubtless, hoped she would imbibe some knowledge, but it had escaped from her like water off a duck's back. One afternoon they had taken her to visit a famous ruin. When they reached the ruin it was found that the excursion included a sail across a placid strip of water to a tiny island whereon was located something or other, Evelyn did not now know what, and was not sure that she had ever known. She had determined in her heart not to get into that leaky-looking boat, and the dirty sailor, and swelter in the hot sun while her guardians had all sorts of tiresome things pointed out and explained to them, and hunted out the items about them with slow, near-sighted vision in the volumes they carried. After the rest had embarked and the boatman essayed to help her in, she suddenly declared her intention of remaining where she was till their return, giving as her excuse a headache. There had been some demur. The boatman told her it might be some time. All the more reason why she felt she would not go. Her staying might hurry their return. Each of the party mildly offered to remain with her, but she had declined all their offers. She had longed to get away from them all for a little while. The day was sunny and the place entirely safe, with a comfortable seat under a tree by the water. At last they sailed away and left her.

She could remember now how unhappy she had been as she watched them go, and reflected that she must stay there alone until
their return. She wished herself back in New York, wished her father had not come on this business trip, wished she ever could have anything but poky, commonplace happenings. She had longed for some adventure, and even looked about for some dangerous place to climb or some wild thing to do while they were gone. Suddenly in the midst of her thoughts there had come a tremendous storm.

She had not looked behind her until she heard the low rumble of thunder, and turning saw the whole mass of lowering ruins black against a blacker sky, with lurid flashes of lightning making great clefts and picking out every separate stone of the old castle wi
th fearful dis
tinctness.

She had been terribly frightened. She looked off to the place where her friends had but a moment before been a white speck on the quiet blue lake, and lo, there had been a transformation! The lake was no longer blue but a livid purple, with ghast
ly green lights over it, an omi
nous whirl and strange treacherous ripples blowing across it. The island seemed farther away, and the white sail had disappeared. Perhaps they had rounded the island. Perhaps they had landed. At any rate they were evidently not meditating an immediate return to her. She had sense enough to see that it would not be possible for them to do so now.

A terrible sheet of lightning blinded her eyes for an instant and sent her shivering from beneath the tree. She kne
w that a tree was a con
ductor of lightning. The rain began to fall in
great plashing drops and she had fled to the ruin and wondered i
f that also were a place of dan
ger. She had crept into an alcove with roof enough for protection from the rain and there, facing her in the companion alcove not three feet away stood a man, and his face she knew at once. She seemed to have seen his smile before, though that was impossible in the dark, and when he spoke, as he immediately did, she knew his voice. It all had been so strange. They had seemed good friends at once, as if they had known each other for years. He had seen that she was trembling, that she was afraid of the storm, and had led her inside to a place more sheltered, where the awful flashes that blazed through the whole sky could not be so distinctly seen and where the roar of the thunder and
the sound of the dashing water in the thoroughly aroused little lake would reach but faintly through the great stone walls; and there they had talked.

She had told him how grateful her father was for his service to her a year ago, and how chagrined she was that she had not inquired his name, and how they had tried their best to find him and thank him. When he smiled and said he was glad she had not been afraid of him also, she felt that she had known him a long time.