CHAPTER XXXVI
The babe smacked loudly. The September wind whirled its rain and dead willow leaves over the hut floor. A rasping sound, like the filing of a saw, came from the tin roof.
Frederick Graves took in the scene with one sharp glance. He saw the fisherman, in ugly doggedness, towering over the small figure of the squatter-girl. Then he flung himself upon Ben Letts. He tore Ben's fingers from Tessibel's neck, leaving the skin reddened and scratched by the nails. Tess sank to the floor. The student's fist came down with a stunning blow upon the partly upturned face of the squatter Ben, and the fellow tumbled over.
"Stand up," said Frederick to Tessibel, lifting her gently to her feet. Her hand fluttered to her eyes, then to her throat. Still dizzy from the choking, she sank into the rocking-chair.
"What were you two fighting over?" demanded Frederick impetuously.
Tess gathered her senses at the sound of his voice.
"He were a-tryin' to make me come to his shanty with him—to be his'n—and I ain't a-goin'!"
She whimpered a little, but choked back the tears, and raged:
"A squatter-girl can't live a minute without some damn bloke wants to take her from her Daddy's shanty.... I ain't a-goin', I says!"
How brave she felt, with the student near! for there was an expression upon his face that gave her courage. He looked so strong, so brave—and he had come when she had prayed. Something took from her the terror of the night when she had proclaimed her motherhood to him. Perhaps Teola had told him the truth. When he had turned from her in the agony of the confession, he had scorned her with his proud, dark eyes. Now he threw her the same protective glance that she had received before the tragedy.
The silence in the room became oppressive.
"I ain't a-goin'," she said again, to break it.
Ben was upon the floor. He feared to rise, for Frederick stood threateningly over him.
"She goes to my shanty," insisted Ben, screwing his face to peep through the swollen lids. "She and the brat goes to my hut.... I air its pappy!"
Frederick staggered back against the door with a groan, Tess catching her breath in a sob. She could not exonerate herself because of Teola; she knew from Frederick's emotion at Ben's assertion that his sister had not told him. But he should not believe the lie that Letts had uttered.
She saw the fine face of the student fall into his hands, and shudder after shudder run over the giant frame. Ben Letts leered at him with his twisted face, as a demon might at a soul in torment. The boy suffered for her—that was enough. The front portion of her skirt had been almost torn away in her struggle, and unconsciously she lifted it, and pinned a thorn more closely in its place. But for an instant she held back the words ready upon her tongue, and with one long step she reached Frederick, placing her hand upon his arm.
"Don't touch me, please," he shuddered. "It's awful—awful! And I—I loved you so!"
"Haw!" chuckled Ben, settling back against the child's box. "I says as how the gal comes to my shanty. She brings the brat to its pa."
Frederick moodily considered the ugly face. The sneer that accompanied the declaration roused his rage; the brute had sealed the doom of Tessibel Skinner. Again the student was oblivious of his love for the profession he had chosen; forgot that the one book he had studied more than any other taught him that the God he worshiped would avenge all wrong. In one step he was upon the fisherman. He lifted Orn Skinner's stool, and brought it down with a crash upon Ben's head.
Tess uttered a sharp, frightened cry, speeding to interrupt another blow.
"Get out of the way," cried the student, pushing her from him. "I am going to kill him!"
With no ungentle touch she grasped Frederick's arm, holding the stool in the air.
"Ye air to wait," she said, in low, swift tones, her gaze dominating his flashing eyes. "Ye'll kill him if ye hit him again.... Wait till I says what I's a-goin' to ... I loves my Daddy, that ye knows—better'n anything in the hull world—better'n God—better'n—better'n—"
"Better than the child?" demanded Frederick, placing his foot upon Ben.
A grunt issued from the girl's lips.
"Yep, a hundred times better than the brat! And I says this: that I hopes my daddy's neck'll be twisted by the rope, I hopes that I never sees him again"—her voice was raised high above the whistling wind and dashing rain—"I hopes," she finished, "that his soul'll shrivel in hell—"
"Stop! stop!" muttered Frederick. "Why are you saying such things?"
"I hopes it all," insisted Tess, bending her head nearer, "and I swears that I hopes it if Ben Letts ain't a liar!"
Frederick's foot slipped from the round, fat body. He took a long breath, brushing a damp lock from his brow.
"I believe you," he surrendered slowly. "Oh, God! Tessibel, I believe you—and I love you, in spite of that!"
His glance swept over Ben's prostrate body to the death-like child. Letts sat up with an oath, rubbing the inflicted bruises. Frederick helped him to his feet.
"You go home," he said, piercing the fisherman with his burning eyes. "And let me warn you against fastening any of your lies upon this girl, for whatever she is, or whatever she has done, I know that you lied to-night.... Now go!" Frederick pointed toward the door.
Letts, muttering threats and curses against the student and the squatter-girl, stumbled out into the storm. Ben's head was splitting with pain. A gash on his nose bled until his torn sleeve was thickened with blood. He staggered out of the rays of the candle, and took the path to the hill. The sound of footsteps caused him to sink down beside the way and wait. Was the student—? No, the person was coming from the other direction.
In the dim light he saw a man dripping with water totter toward him. Ben peered out upon the wobbling legs, and in another instant had fallen back, shivering with fright and superstitious fear. Ezra Longman, his face haggard and ghastly white, stood directly in front of him.
Frederick closed the door upon Ben, and Tess turned upon him sharply.
"It were a lie he told ye," said she, "and he weren't worth killin'."
"I don't want to speak of him," stammered Frederick, "I came to talk to you. It nearly killed me to-night, when my father whipped you, and I want to save you from such things in the future.... My father gives me an allowance—I want to buy the milk for the little child. Will you let me, Tess?" His face had grown scarlet, his eyes fell before hers. The girl seemed glued to the spot. "It will save you from stealing," resumed the boy. "I can't bear to have you steal."
The tragic tone stung Tessibel. Teola had promised to tell him. She herself would; it was only right that he should know. She took two impetuous steps forward, opened her lips—but again remembered her oath.
"I air a-thankin' ye for the milk," was all she said.
With an embarrassed air, Frederick tendered her a silver dollar. Tessibel stepped back, hesitant.
"It will make me happier, if you will take it," he urged.
Tess extended her fingers, blushing crimson, but took the coin from his hand. A sob choked the utterance of further gratitude.
"Professor Young says," broke in Frederick, after a painful silence, "that he is going to bring your father back here before the winter.... But, Tess, I don't want you to live in this shanty. I want you to be a better girl, Tess. Will you? Will you?"
His eyes rested upon the child. The darkness of the night, the ghostly sound of the wind, the swish of the thousands of wet leaves over the roof, roused the romance in the girl until she felt an impulse to tell him the whole painful story; to feel his kisses warm upon her face, to have his arms about her, to kneel with him again, and hear his earnest voice interceding for Daddy Skinner.... But her oath! It was Teola's secret, not hers.
"Ye couldn't go on a-trustin' me the same as before ye knowed of him?" Her head inclined toward the infant in a large-eyed question.
Frederick shook his head.
"No," he ejaculated; "no! Nevertheless, I would save you from—worse. The more I think of it, the more I believe that you were honest in your desire to know God and the truth. He will forgive you your sin, Tessibel, if you ask Him."
"If God air forgivin'—then couldn't ye forgive, too?"
It took a desperate effort to utter the words. Nothing but her love for him could have forced them from her.
"That's different," reddened the boy. "I wanted—I wanted to marry you some day."
To marry her! She drew a great, heaving breath, more strongly tempted to tell him than before. But, as she struggled with her desire, her face grew paler, and the drooping mouth gathered sad lines.
She did not reply, and the student continued,
"You have one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard, Tess. It is a God-given gift, and He will hold you responsible for it if you neglect it."
"I air only a squatter," she moaned forlornly, shaking the red curls. "Daddy air a squatter, too, and if he air a-comin' home, then I stays with him. If he says as how we stay in the shanty, then we stays, even if it air yer Daddy's. I asks Daddy Skinner to give it back, but a brat can't boss her Pappy, can she?... Ye sees, don't ye?"
"Yes, Tess, I see," slowly replied Frederick. "But it's not because of my father I want you to go. You have the squatter's rights, and may remain if you wish.... It is for your own sake. You are sixteen ... But, of course, the—child—has changed your life."
"It ain't changed my lovin' you!"
This was the first open confession of her love. She made it emphatically, almost sullenly. Frederick whitened, and turned his face away. In the terror of the thought that she would lose him again, Tess sank upon her knees beside him. This time he did not thrust her aside. The strong young hands pressed upon his shoulders, and the sensitive chin trembled. Tess turned her face up to his.
"Don't!" he breathed hard. "Don't, Tess!"
But the girl heeded him not. Of a sudden, Frederick raised his eyes and looked directly into hers. The jealousy that had risen tiger-like in his breast, forcing him from her, and demanding that he should never look upon her face again, yielded precedence to a nobler and stronger thought. He would help the girl with her living secret—help her, and make her better. Long and fixedly he studied the beautiful face, until he had read to the finish the tale of passion and longing. The auburn head bent nearer and nearer, the panting lips imparting the sweet breath of youth. Then they both forgot the whistling wind and the falling rain ... forgot even the wriggling, fire-branded babe in its bed.
Frederick's lips closed down upon the girl's, and the dark hair of the student mingled with the red curls of the squatter.
"I shall never let you go again," murmured Frederick, his lips roving in sweet freedom over the flushed cheeks.
"And I ain't a-goin' ter let yer go, nuther," whispered Tess. "I works, fishes and berries the years through—but I air yer squatter."
The child, as if in pain, cried sharply. The student's arms slipped limply from Tessibel, and he stood up.
"I had forgotten it for a moment, Tess. The infant has changed your life and mine.... I have loved you dearly—I love you still. But the child is between us, and always will be ... I must remember it.... Ah! I have forgotten one thing I came for. Here!"
He was holding a small Bible out to her.
"In my temper I burned yours. I'm sorry. I was bringing you this when I heard you cry."
Tess took the book in her hand mechanically, and the hope rekindled in her heart died. Frederick bent over her for one short moment, looking into her eyes.
"Forgive me if you can, Tess—and—and be a good girl!"
He opened the door, and was gone before she could stop him. With chattering teeth, she flung herself upon the stool, resting her head in her arms on the table, heeding not the second whining command from the infant.
Suddenly, with flashing eyes, she bounded up. She would tell him. Teola had promised that he should know. Why not be happy, and make him happy? She would call him back, and—
The door opened under her impulsive hand. She faced the storm—and the tall, gaunt, emaciated form of Ezra Longman.