Under the Law

by Edwina Stanton Babcock

Oh, how could Sard prevent the gate from closing, the lovely thing from ending, unless she did the thing that it seemed to her she could not do? Instinctively the girl looked to him for help; but he, it seemed, either could not or would not help. No, "Colter" would not make it easy for her.

"I came too suddenly," said he decisively; there was a stern note of self-condemnation. "Dear, I wasn't fair to you; I should have thought things out," stammered the man. A swift look of sorrow swept over his face. "Things aren't quite the same, are they?" He hesitated.

Oh, no, they were not the same; they were not the same! The girl's heart, plunging, recognized this. It has been so easy to be tender to a baffled, helpless man, someone in trouble; it was so hard to meet this strange, glad, powerful person who attracted her like fatal fire, who, some way, had mastery of her.

The gruff cough sounded again outside, the curtain was pulled aside and the Judge entered. He had a furtive air of curiosity and exultation. It was plain he could not keep his hands off. "Hum—ha——" he said. "I've been comparing your—um—papers with Mr. Shipman's—very strange experiences, very strange experiences! Well, sir, I'm glad you came out as you have." The Judge, realizing that he addressed Martin Ledyard, a man whose name ranked high in universities all over the world, was almost humble. He stood straighter, his gooseberry eyes shot honest congratulation. Down deep in his heart, like all men, he honored the man of adventure, more than the man of science. He could not, however, keep the ring of pride from his voice as he turned benevolently to his daughter.

"I congratulate you." The Judge blew his nose; he pushed his handkerchief back in his pocket. He stared rather nervously at Sard. "Hum—you've made a distinguished friend."

The blunt, carefully-concealed apology went home. Sard drew a long, fluttering breath. This was the man who had stood between her and the world all her life; this was the hard, stern man who had made life possible and impossible for her, who had hindered and ignored and indulged and scouted her; who had insulted and protected her! Some sense of the conflicting laws of parenthood got to Sard's heart, something new and keen leaped to life, this man's blood ran through her veins, something mysterious, a great bond, connected them. Ah! it was the Law. In spite of everything it was the Law! "We love Foddy, little Sard." It was the Law!

"Dad," said the girl breathlessly, "you—you know now?"

Sard sobbed just once. It was like her to fly to this stern man, to bury her tawny head on his breast. The Judge detached himself, resolutely, with decision. Women did these things, they were to all logic absurd. What did another man, under such circumstances, do? The gooseberry eyes rather shamefacedly consulted the quiet eyes of "Colter." "There," said the Judge to his daughter, "there, I don't know what all this is about!"

But the other man knew, and he knew that when the Judge made his embarrassed exit that there was no one for Sard to turn to but him! Therefore, when she, with that little desperate sob, did turn, she did not see his face, for he, somehow, contrived that her own could be hidden. "Colter's" arms tightened about her and his lips whispered on her hair. "I think," said the man softly, "that if we are very quiet we can hear the river freshening." It was the old remembered voice, like a quieting hand laid on her. It was the voice that had spoken that midsummer night in the orchard. Sard, with a little quivering sigh, gave herself to it.