"You're going away!"

He nodded gravely.

Slowly, fearfully, she asked, "When?"

"To-night."

"Way off to--those--Philippines?"

He nodded, then unable to bear longer the hurt in her tremulous face, he sought refuge in the ridiculous; he struck an att.i.tude.

"I'm going in quest of adventure--riches--romance! I'm going to sail the Spanish Main--seek golden doubloons--maids in distress--the Fountain of Youth! I'm going to cross strange waters--travel untraveled forest ... see unseen peoples ... know unknown hills...."

An odd light flickered in his eyes, as if he half believed what he spoke. f.a.n.n.y appeared at the kitchen door and with her cheery call of "Merry Christmas," the light faded from his face as he turned in quick response.

He turned to his sister in mock reproof: "Shure and it's ye that has not yet wished me aven a dacent top o' the marnin', let alone the gratin's of the sason! Shame on ye--ye heartless, thoughtless, loveless--"

He broke off, laughing at her bewilderment: she never could keep apace with his quick moods. Noting a tear still glistening he took her cheeks between his hands and kissed the wet eyes, then asked her to get word to Deane that he would be over some time during the evening.

Surprised and pleased that he should ask her to partic.i.p.ate in his affair with Deane, she hurried to the desk set in a deep bay window.

Ellis, sleepy-eyed, came down with his hearty greetings of the day, and was surprised to find Sue bent earnestly over her writing.

"Say," he said, "can't you wait till after breakfast to thank everybody for their presents? What's the rush? Say, d.i.c.k, did you hear yet what Bruce gave to the lady of his heart? No? Well, he out-Bruced Bruce this time! He gave her a patented, electric foot-warmer!"

Terry smiled his appreciation of Ellis' chuckling loyalty and escaped upstairs to his room. Ellis wandered aimlessly over to the Christmas table and noted the number of unopened packages marked with Terry's name, then called up from the foot of the stairs:

"Come right down here, you ungrateful Non-christian, and see what Santa Claus brought you! You got more than any of us and--"

He desisted as he suddenly became aware of his wife's frantic signals, and reading the grievous trouble in her twitching face, he went to her.

Susan, entering Terry's room at dusk, found him standing at the window staring out into the evening, watching the shadows paint out one by one the landmarks he had known from boyhood. Two large leather bags, packed but still open, stood at the side of the bed. The two frames which had held the pictures of his father and mother lay upon the table, empty, beside letters addressed to Father Jennings, Doctor Mather, and Tony Ricorro.

He did not hear her but continued at the window, his relaxed shoulders giving an unwonted aspect of frailty to his body. She tiptoed out of the room, crept back again to look through br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes at the lonely figure silhouetted against the darkening window, then stumbled into her own room and closed the door.

Terry returned to Deane in the sitting room after bidding her father and mother a courteously friendly farewell. Mr. Hunter, vaguely disturbed, had followed his wife upstairs reluctantly; he was not quite confident that his decision regarding the fox skin had been justified, and would have been glad had Terry given him opportunity to discuss it. In a moment his voice sounded down to them as he defended himself against his irate spouse.

"I don't care what you say, Marthy, he's got to settle down and--"

Then their door closed.

For a long time Deane and Terry stood voiceless, each leaden with a dull misery. The shock of his announcement had paled her and she stared hopelessly at him out of wide blue eyes, her full red lips aquiver at the hurt she read in the gray eyes and the queer wistful mouth.

She broke the pulsing silence: "I never understand you, d.i.c.k,--quite.

Is it because of the fox skin?"

He shook his head uncertainly, barely conscious of her words in a last rapt gaze at her, vaguely aware that this was the picture of her that he would carry in his mind through the years to come. Rounded, long of lines, apart from him she looked as tall as he, though there was a two inch discrepancy; the wide eyes and generous, curved mouth indicated her infinite capacity for affection. The shadow of a dimple flickered high on her left cheek: the quickened beat of heart pulsed in the white column of her throat.

"Is it because you hate the town, d.i.c.k?" she asked tremulously.

Again he shook his head slowly: "No, Deane, it is not that. The town is all right--it is not that."

He paused, brooding, then went on: "Last night I did not sleep--much--thinking about it. It's all my fault.... I do not fit. So I am going away, going to try to find my own place, somehow."

Tortured by his patient smile, she followed him out into the dim hall, half blinded by her burning tears. She sobbed unrestrainedly as he slipped into his overcoat.

He came to her, his hand outstretched, his voice husky.

"Good-by, Deane-girl," he said.

Taking his hand she stepped close to him, misty-eyed, atremble.

"Good-by, Di--Oh, d.i.c.k! Don't go! Don't go way over to those awful Islands!"

He steadied her with an arm about the shaking shoulders. She leaned full against him and in the soft contact his pulses leaped. He fought to resist the temptation to take advantage of her mood, knew that for the moment she was his if he but pressed his claim.

Suddenly she looked up at him, glorious in her grief and surrender.

"Shall I--do you want me to--to--wait?"

For a few moments it seemed that he had not heard the low voice.

Then: "Don't wait, Deane-girl,--don't wait."

Then the arm was gone from about her shoulder.

"But I will, d.i.c.k, I will!" she sobbed, but as the words fell from her lips she heard the door close and felt the gust of cold air that chilled the hall.

She was still awake when the midnight accommodation whistled its impending arrival from the north. She listened, tense, as the train came to a stop in the town. A brief halt, then it sounded its underway, the pistons accelerated their chugging beat and it pa.s.sed out of Crampville into the south.

She stood, still-breathed, dry-eyed, till the last grinding rumble died out of the frosty night, then as a full realization of her loss came home, she dropped to the side of the bed and buried her face in the coverlid.

The floor where she knelt seemed cold and hard.

CHAPTER III

MINDANAO