A moment later Tom Campbell entered the room. To eyes unaccustomed to the darkness nothing was visible. He did not see his wife, who arose as he entered, and stood with bated breath over the form of the girl on the floor.

"By Jove!" he muttered, "this room is as dark as Egypt, and then some--Wonder where Florence is. Those d.a.m.ned servants ought to be shot!

Whole house like a confounded coal-pit! Didn't expect me for hours yet, I suppose! That's no reason for living like a lot of d.a.m.ned bats! 'Fraid of musquitoes, I suppose. Where are those matches? _Florence!_ She's evidently gone out--or to bed. Wonder where her little 'kitten' is?

Umm--wonder how much longer Florence means to keep her here? Don't see how the thing's going to go on much longer this way, with a girl with a conscience like that. Perfectly abnormal! Perfectly ridiculous! Umm--no more tact than--"

Nellie moaned aloud. Florence had held her breath, hoping he would go. He had almost reached the door leading to the hall, after his vain search for matches.

"h.e.l.lo! what was that?" said Campbell, turning again into the room.

His wife knew that escape was not now possible. "Nothing, Tom," she said, in a voice that trembled a little. "Go upstairs. I will come up soon."

"Why, h.e.l.lo, Florence, that you? What are you sitting here in the dark for, all alone? Why didn't you speak to me when I came in? What did you let me--"

Nellie sat up, and in doing so overturned a chair.

Tom's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. He saw the two women outlined before him, and he saw that Nellie had been on the floor, and that his wife stood over her.

"What's the matter?" he demanded. "What's up?"

He came toward them. Nellie sprang to her feet, with flashing eyes and outstretched, imploring hands to wave him back. She was about to rush into a painful explanation. Florence stepped toward her, put both arms about her, and drew her onto the cushioned window-seat at their side.

She knew she must cover the girl's agitation from her husband, and somehow gain time to think.

"Sit down, dear," she said softly. "Sit down here by me. You have been asleep. He frightened you coming in so suddenly. You have been dreaming; you talked in your sleep--but it was all nonsense--about an ancestor, whom you blamed very bitterly."

The girl began to speak impulsively, but Florence checked her.

"Yes, I know. You told me. It was all the greatest stuff. But the part that was true--I doubt if she was to blame. I think, from all I know of--of her, and of the gentleman you mentioned, the one she--seemed to care for--that--oh, no, kitten! I am _sure she_ was not to blame."

Nellie was trembling violently, clinging to her friend in shame and remorse. Tom stood perfectly quiet in the deeper darkness, back from the window, with a smile on his cheerful face and a puzzled light in his handsome eyes.

"Go upstairs, Tom," said Florence again, this time in a steadier tone.

"Nellie's head aches; you waked her up too suddenly. We don't want more light--do we, Nellie? Not just now. We have quite light enough for the present. I a.s.sure you we are better off just now in the dark. You would think so yourself if you could see us as we see ourselves. We are quite battered and out at elbow, I a.s.sure you, and not at all fit for fastidious masculine eyes."

She was pulling herself up well. "To-morrow we will spruce up our bangs, put on fresh gowns, and not know ourselves for the wretches we are tonight. Until then, Sir Knight, no masculine eye shall rest upon our dilapidation. Go!"

Tom Campbell had seen his wife in this mood before. He went.

All the way upstairs he wondered what had happened. "Never could make women out anyway," he muttered; "least of all, Florence. Women are a queer lot. More you live with 'em, more you don't know what they'll do next. Wonder what in thunder's up. 'Kitten' never said a word; but I'm d.a.m.ned if I did't hear her groan! Guess the little goose feels kind of--queer--with me and the old lady both present. Wonder--whew!--wonder how much I said aloud, and how much they heard when I first went in!

Confounded habit, talking aloud to myself! Got to stop it, old boy; must be done--get you into trouble yet!"

Then he turned off the gas, and was sleeping as peacefully as an infant before the two women below stairs had parted for the night.

When Tom left the room, Nellie began to sob again, and Florence stroked her hair with her icy hands and waited for the girl to speak--or grow calm. And for herself--she hardly knew what she waited for in herself; but she felt that she needed time.

After a long silence she said, quite gently; "Nellie, little girl, we will go upstairs now; you will go to bed. If you ever feel like it, after you take time to think it over, and your nerves are quiet--if you ever feel like it, you may tell just what trick your troublesome ancestor has tried to play you; but I want to say now, dear, don't feel that you _must_ tell me, nor that I do not know perfectly well that my little kitten is all right, ancestors or no ancestors, and that we, together can somehow find the combination to that Time Lock that so distresses you, and turn it off again. Meantime, little girl _no one_ shall harm you. You shall be let alone; you are all right! Be _sure_ of that. I am. Now, good-night;" and she kissed the still sobbing girl on the forehead and hands, in spite, of her protests and self-accusations.

Suddenly Nellie sank on her knees again, and grasped Florence's dress as she had turned to go:

"O Florence! O Florence! are you human? How _can_ you? You are not like other women! O my G.o.d! if I could only be like you; but you frighten me!

You are so calm. How cold your hands are! oh--"

"Are they? I did not notice. Oh well, no matter; it is an old trick of theirs, you know."

Florence Campbell's voice was very steady now. Her words were slow and deliberate--they sounded as if she was very tired; and her step, as she climbed the stairs, had lost its spring and lightness.

The next morning Nellie's breakfast was carried to her room, with a message from Florence not to get up until she came to her at their usual hour for reading together.

About noon, as the girl lay thinking for the hundredth time that she must get up and face life again--that she must somehow stop this blinding headache, and go away--that she must die--Florence swept into the room, trailing her soft, long gown behind her, and gently closed the door. She had put on a gay pink tea-gown, with ma.s.ses of white lace and smart little bows in unexpected places.

"Feel better, dear?" she asked, gayly. "Griggs told me your head ached, and that you had not slept well. I confess I did not either--not very.

Tom and I talked rather late; you know he sails for Liverpool at noon.

Sure enough, you didn't know. Well, no matter. The vessel is just about sailing now. Yes, it is _rather_ sudden. We talked so much of it last night that it seems quite an old story to me to-day, though. You know he was to go in two weeks, anyway. It seemed best to go earlier, so I helped him pack, and saw him to the steamer two hours ago. You know a man doesn't have to take anything but a tooth-brush and a smoking-cap.

We thought it would be best for his health to go at once. Tom has not seemed quite himself of late." She did not look at her friend as she talked and her white face was turned from the light. She talked so fast, it seemed as if she had rehea.r.s.ed and was repeating a part with a desire to have it over as soon as might be. "His Travelling Ancestor, the one who wants change--change--change in all things, has had hold of him of late. I'm sure you have noticed how restless he was."

The girl sat up and listened with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. She had known many unexpected and unexplained things to be done in the house of this friend, who had given her a home and a warm welcome a year before, when she had left school, an orphan and homeless. But this sudden departure she had not heard even mentioned before. She thought she understood it.

"O Florence! Florence!" she cried, pa.s.sionately. "It is _my_ fault! I have separated you! I have brought sorrow to you! You, who are so good, _so good;_ and I--oh, how _can_ you be so kind to me? _Hate_ me! _Hate me!_ Thrust me from your house, and tell the world I tried to steal your husband! Tell that I am vile and wicked! Tell--and now I have sent him away from you, who love him--whom he loves! Why do you not blame me? Why do you never blame anyone? Why--"

There was a pause; the girl sobbed bitterly, while the older woman seemed afraid to trust her voice. After a while in a tired, solemn tone, Nellie went on:

"Do you think you can believe a word I say, Florence? Is there any use for me to tell you the truth?"

Her friend nodded slowly, looking her steadily in the eyes. Her lips were tightly drawn together, and her hands were cold and trembling.

"Then, Florence, I will tell you, truly--truly--truly, as I hope for--"

She was going to say "your forgiveness," but it seemed too cruel to ask for that just now. "I did not understand, not at first, either him or myself. I thought he was like you"--she felt Florence shudder--"and loved me, as he said, as you did. I was so glad and proud, until--until--O Florence! how can I tell you that I let him _beg_ me to go away with him! After I understood what he meant, my heart _did_ leap, even in its utter self-abas.e.m.e.nt and wretchedness. I let him beg me twice, and kiss me, _after_ I understood! It must have been my fault; he said it was"--Florence took her friend's hand in hers--"and he said that no one else had ever taken his thoughts away from you."

The girl thought she saw the drawn lips before her curl; but she must free her whole heart now, and lay bare her very soul.

"He said that he had always been true to you, Florence, even in thought, until I--O Florence! I must be worse than anyone one earth. I--he said--"

Florence Campbell sprang to her feet. "Yes, I know, I know!" she exclaimed, breathlessly, "and you _believed_ him! Poor little fool!

Women do. Sometimes a second time, but not a third time, dear--not a third time! Do not blame yourself any more." She stopped, then hurried on as one will do when danger threatens from within. "If it had not been you, it would, it might--my G.o.d! it might have been worse! Some poor girl--"

She stopped again as if choking. The two women looked at each other; the younger one gave a long, shuddering moan, and buried her face in her hands.

Presently Florence said slowly: "All ancestors were not thieves. Some were simply fickle, and light, and faithless."

Nellie raised a face full of pa.s.sionate suffering: "Florence! Florence!

how can you excuse either of us? How _can--_"

Suddenly, with a great sob, Florence Campbell threw herself into the girl's outstretched arms, and with a wail of utter desolation cried: "Hush, Nellie, hush! Never speak of it again, never! Only _love_ me, _love me--love me!_ I need it so! And _no_ one--no one in all the world has ever loved me truly!" It was the only time Nellie ever saw Florence Campbell lose her self-control.

FLORENCE CAMPBELL'S FATE.

_"'Tis the good reader that makes the good book; a good head cannot read amiss; in every book he finds pa.s.sages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakably meant for his ear...._"