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Jock descended with that laugh of his that always disturbed Billy's preconceived ideas. Then Billy was facing Her as she bent to meet him halfway. The glad smile passed slowly from Constance Drew's face. The others, below, were talking and forgetting the two upon the ladder. "Why Billy have you been sick?" "No, ma'am." "Did they let you come home for Christmas?" "No, ma'am. I jest cum."
He couldn't help calling aloud that name, even though the soberer part of his brain knew there could be no answer. "Shelly!" The blond head turned, and blue eyes looked at him, startled, across a bowed shoulder. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course, but who? The other's open surprise changed to wide-eyed recognition first. "Drew!"
Sometimes that disturbing doubt, hardly strong enough to be classified, made her pause, wide-eyed and still, but it fled before Gaston's laugh and jest. With Drew's coming she grasped the subtle restlessness and comforted herself with the thought that he who understood so much, he, who was, in kind, like Gaston, he would clear away the elusive doubt forever.
Perhaps she felt that she had let herself go too far in the glamour of the moonlight. She was, if anything, gayer than before, full of bright quips and sayings that kept them laughing, but she distributed her favors impartially to all. And she was blandly unresponsive to Drew's efforts to monopolize her attentions. It was so all through that day and the next.
A lurking familiarity of feature gained power in Drew's memory of Gaston. It linked itself into other details. He had always known Gaston had a hidden cause for being in St. Angé. Yes; he was John Dale. For Drew to become convinced was for him to act upon the impulse of his warm heart. "Ruth, dear," he whispered, "make yourself comfortable. I will go to him."
Evidently Joyce was expecting Gaston back; the statement as to her going to her husband was either false, or a subterfuge. With Ruth Dale's discomfort, too, was mingled a fear that Gaston might return and find her there. From Drew's description of Gaston she knew he was a person above the ordinary St. Angé type, and might naturally, and rightly, resent her visit.
"Yes; Jude seems to have a lot to do about Mr. Drew's house, you know." Joyce still kept up a pretty defence of Jude. Not that it was in the least necessary, or even sensible, but it had its part in her detached and dreamy life. "The house is about finished," Gaston replied, tuning up the fiddle. "And then what?" he said, placing the instrument. "I wonder?"
Moreover, he must be away from the house with the dawn-first, because Sally Fortune might waken, guess where he had gone, and follow him; secondly because the news of what had happened at Drew's place might reach Wood at any hour. So he lay trying to fight the thought of Sally from his mind and concentrate on some way of getting back to Drew without riding the gauntlet of the law.
He would much rather have crawled on, you know, and allowed the shot to pass over his head; but he's a Briton old Nevil's the same; but old Nevil's peculiarity is that, as you are aware, he hates a compromise won't have it retro Sathanas! and Drew's proposal to take his arm instead of being carried pick-a-or piggy-back I am ignorant how Nevil spells it disgusts old Nevil.
When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. He put down his cup and caught the Texan's arm. "He made it out of town; I know that. But where is he?" "Ovah theah." Kirby nodded at the blanket-wrapped figure in the shadows. "Seems like he ain't feelin' too well...." Drew wasted no time in getting to his feet.
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