Helena had gone up-stairs to put David to bed. There was some delay
in the process, because the little boy wished to look at the stars,
and trace out the Dipper. That accomplished however, he was very
docile, and willing to get into bed by shinning up the mast of a
pirate-ship--which some people might have called a bedpost.
After he had fallen asleep, Helena still sat beside him in the darkness, her
absent eyes fixed on the little warm body, where, the sheets kicked
off, he sprawled in a sort of spread-eagle over the bed. It was very
hot, and she would have been more comfortable on the porch, but she
could not leave the child. When she was with David, the sense of
aching apprehension dulled into the comfort of loving. After a while,
with a long sigh she rose, but stopped to draw the sheet over his
shoulders; then smiled to see how quickly he kicked it off. She pulled
it up again as far as his knees, and to this he resigned himself with
a despairing grunt.
There was a lamp burning dimly in the hall; as she passed she took it
up and went slowly down-stairs. Away from David, her thoughts fell at
once into the groove of the past weeks. Each hour she had tormented
herself by some new question, and now she was wondering what she
should do if, when Lloyd came to fulfill his promise, she should see a
shade, oh, even the faintest hint, of hesitation in his manner. Well;
she would meet it! She threw her head up, and came down with a quicker
step, carrying the lamp high, like a torch. But as she lifted her
eyes, in that gust of pride, young Sam Wright stood panting in the
doorway. As his strangled voice fell on her ear, she knew that he
knew.
"I have--come--"
Without a word she put the lamp down on the table at the foot of the
stairs, and looked at him standing there with the darkness of the
night behind him. Instantly he was across the threshold and at her
side. He gripped her wrist and shook it, his eyes burning into hers.
"You will tell me that he lied! I told him he lied. I didn't believe
him for a second. I told him I would ask you."
"Please let go of my arm," she said, faintly. "I don't know what you
are--talking about."
"Did he lie?"
"Who?" she stammered.
"My grandfather. He said your brother was not your brother. He said he
was your lover. My God! Your lover! Did he lie?" He shook her arm,
worrying it as a dog might, his nails cutting into her flesh; he
snarled his question out between shut teeth. His fury swept words from
her lips.