Waldstricker's coachman met him near the end of the station and relieved him of his suit case. One glance at the newcomer's emaciated face, bearing the tell-tale spots of hectic red, told the man why Graves had been in the mountains.
"Mr. Waldstricker sent me down to meet you, sir," the servant told Frederick. "Your wife is up to our house and I'm to take you there. It's a bad night, but I'll get you through all right."
Frederick hesitated a moment before getting into the covered sleigh. He hadn't calculated to go to Waldstricker's. But the servant's next words decided him.
"You see, sir, Miss Elsie's lost. She went out this afternoon and hasn't been seen since; at least, hadn't been found when I left there about seven o'clock. Mr. Waldstricker's tearing around through the snow like a wild man and every one at Hayt's is out hunting for her."
Warmly wrapped, Frederick leaned back in the sleigh. While the horses plodded slowly against the storm up the long hill, he renewed his meditations and reviewed the course of action he'd determined to follow.
His unsatisfied passion for Tess had grown more insistent during the months spent alone in the mountains. He'd written her many letters which had not been answered or returned to him. Indeed, he hadn't heard of or from her, directly or indirectly, for many weeks. Her failure to reply to his letters, as well as her hostile attitude, the last time he'd seen her, he ascribed to Young's influence. That Tessibel had become actually indifferent to him, he couldn't comprehend at all.
Surely, the love she'd shown him couldn't die! The separation had only made his passion the greater. It might be that, through his neglect, her love had grown dormant, but nothing could destroy it. Freed from the lawyer's control, and in new surroundings, the well remembered sweetness of their short honeymoon would become a present experience.
He'd been able to secrete, when he'd been in charge of the California office, considerable sums of money. By careful management, he had increased his takings to an amount that would be a comfortable fortune for himself and the squatter girl. There had been no break between him and Madelene, but he had persuaded himself she would be glad to separate from him. It was too late to do anything about it tonight, though.
Tomorrow, or the next day, he'd take his dear ones away.
As soon as they were settled in some distant city and were secure from the elder's wrath, he'd write Madelene. He chuckled grimly to himself at the thought of their rage when they learned of her anomalous position as his unmarried wife.
Then, his fancy played about the home he'd have. He pictured Tess moving through the rooms in the intimacies of domestic life. Almost, so vivid the picture his passion painted, he held her in his arms. He'd do wonderful things for the boy. He should have the best education possible! Lost in his dreams, the time slipped rapidly away, and he found himself, all at once, in front of his brother-in-law's brilliantly lighted home.
When he came into the great hall, Madelene hurried out of the library to meet him. She presented a cool cheek for the customary kiss of greeting and helped him out of his extra wraps.
"Take off your coat, dear, and come into the library," she urged. "The man told you about Elsie? But Eb's sure to find her. I'll see about something to eat while you're getting thawed out."
She bustled off to the kitchen and her husband went into the library and dropped into a chair before the grate.
When Madelene came back, she stopped by the table impressed, suddenly, by the pathetic weariness of his appearance. The change in him startled her and reawakened all the love she'd ever felt for him. In addition, there was, in her affection for the sick man, an element of maternal devotion, as though the unsatisfied desires of her empty arms demanded him. She crossed the room and seated herself on the arm of his chair.
"Fred, dear," she said, "you must have had an awful trip. Now, that I have you home again, I'm going to look after you, myself."
One after another, she noted the symptoms of decay and dissolution presented. His clothes no longer fitted but hung, bag-like, upon his emaciated frame. His shoulders were stooped and his chest sunken. The high linen collar he'd always been so particular about, no longer set close to a shapely neck, but sagged away from the taut cords below his bony jaw and chin. She lifted one of his hands and stared, through the tears that welled into her eyes, at the claw-like fingers resting in hers. Her husband's pitiful plight completely softened her heart and wiped away the memory of her jealousy and dissatisfaction with him. He needed her, now, and everything that love could do for him, she'd give him.
Lifting his fingers to her lips, they sat, thus, in silence, before the log fire until Frederick withdrew his hand and let it fall into his lap.
Madelene shifted her position a little and slipped one arm around his neck. Although somewhat amazed at the demonstration, Frederick submitted to the caresses and found in them something of peace.
"I'm awfully sorry, Fred," she whispered, after the lapse of a few moments. "Let's begin again and do better. I do love you, so. Put your arms around me and tell me you'll forgive and forget."
Convinced that it was easier to humor his wife's soft mood than to risk the strain of repulsing her, Frederick slipped his arms around her and held her close.
"There's nothing to forgive, Madie," he muttered. "I've been awful selfish and I'm paying the penalty, that's all. You better let me go and forget me."
Supposing he referred to his approaching death, Madelene cried out sharply, in protest.
"No, no, Fred, you mustn't say such things. You make me feel like a murderess."
She wound her arms tightly around him and kissed him stormily.
"I love you and you love me," she continued. "That's all there is to it.
We'll be happy, yet!"
For a few moments, she rested in his embrace, happier than she'd been in many a long day. Then, she disengaged herself and stood up.
"Come, dear," she smiled, "your supper is ready."
After he was seated at the table, she told him of the quarrel between her brother and his wife, of the loss of Elsie and the search then going on.
"Helen's most crazy," she concluded. "She's lying down, now. I gave her a powder and I think she's sleeping."
Frederick toyed with the food before him. He made occasional monosyllabic comments that kept the running fire of his wife's chatter going. Unable to pretend to eat more, he leaned back in his chair.
"I'm not much of an eater," he smiled, "but I've enjoyed your lunch very much."
The sound of steps on the stairs interrupted him.
"Hark, Fred!" his wife exclaimed. "That's Helen, now."
Together they left the dining room and went to the library, where Mrs.
Waldstricker had preceded them.
Helen's distraught manner prevented anything like a conventional welcome to her brother-in-law. After Frederick had expressed his sympathy for her anxiety about Elsie and tried to quiet her fears, Madelene carried him off to his room. When she had seen to the details for his comfort, she returned to the library to share Mrs. Waldstricker's vigil.
Frederick found, when he was left alone, that he was in no mood for bed.
He was too tired to sleep, too nervous to be quiet anywhere. It seemed to him as though there were some unusual quality in the air, some mysterious whispering to his inner consciousness. He felt vaguely excited. He tried to read but the words conveyed to him no meaning. To an extent never before experienced, possibly because he was again in the Storm Country, he wanted Tess. After a time, he heard the banging of the front door downstairs and confused cries in the hall, but paid little attention to them. In the silence that succeeded, the narrow walls of the bedroom became unbearably close. He'd go downstairs to the library.
It might be he'd be able to rest in a chair before the log fire.
CHAPTER LIII
THE HAPPY DAY
Like the kindly eyes of a welcoming friend, the two great lights upon the posts of Waldstricker's gateway met Tessibel Skinner as she struggled between the tall stone pillars to the private driveway. In sheer fatigue, she allowed Elsie to slip to the snow and sank down beside her. Her heart sang with joy and thanksgiving. She was going to give Helen her dear, golden-haired baby. There was no thought, now, of her hatred for Ebenezer, only wondrous anticipation of his joy at receiving his little girl out of the storm. Through the white light, Tess could outline the rounded figure in the snow. Rhythmical breathing assured her the little one slept in security. Once more, Tess got to her feet and, once more, she gathered up the living bundle. She was almost at the end of her journey. The short rest had given her new strength, and when she got to the stone porch she was able to mount the steps, and move laboriously, almost breathlessly, to the door. Memories keenly bitter-sweet rushed over her. The last time she was on that spot she was going to sing for the master's friends. What numberless happenings loomed before her mental vision, happenings to her and to Waldstricker.
She was too dazed, too cold, to consider them in sequence. In the confusion of her soul, only two things stood out distinctly. Her marriage to Frederick Graves and Boy's shining face when the assurance had come to her that he lived and would ever live. Then Deforrest Young--Ah, yes, she had forgotten him! In a little while she would see him, and he would take her back to Mother Moll and Andy.
She was directly in front of the heavy portal, now, and with one stiff set of fingers she laid hold of the handle and twisted the knob. The door opened under her pressure and displayed the long reception hall. A rush of warm air welcomed her, and she uttered one little cry and staggered across the threshold.
Helen Waldstricker and Madelene Graves were waiting wearily for some message from the searching party. Hours had passed that seemed like centuries strung into eternities, hours that had brought no word of the lost baby. Suddenly, Helen sat up as an unusual sound came to her ear.
"Did I hear something?" she asked. "I thought it was a voice."
"Only the wind," answered Madelene, drowsily.
The girl was thinking of Frederick and dreaming what their life might be, now that they were beginning again. Of course, he was ill--very ill, but she'd take him away and nurse him back to health again.
Then, another hoarse little sound forced its way through the closed door, and Helen got up and opened it. In that moment, when she looked the length of her spacious hall, the whole world took on a gladness unsurpassed. True, the door was open and the blizzard battled in and flung its snowflakes to her very feet; but across the doorway was a human body--Tessibel Skinner, and at her side, a rosebud face from which the blanket had fallen. Mrs. Waldstricker gave a glad cry and sprang forward. Tess tried to get up but failed. All she could do was to whisper,
"I've brought you back your baby." Then, she crumpled forward over Elsie Waldstricker in a forlorn, snow-covered heap.