She shook her head, though with a smile on her lips.
“No! That is an impossible thing. And this idea of my helping you—I haven’t the least bit of patience with that—not the least. You were born free but you have wasted your freedom. If once you were to labour with your hands—to know the toil of the men down below—you would see life differently, and all beautiful things would mean more to you. You are big and strong and you can be a man if you want to be. But I’m going to do a foolish thing—the most foolish thing I could do, I suppose—I’m going to be friends with you—just as long as you will let it be that; and I’m saying this—I wonder if you know why?”
“You are kind, that is all I need to know.”
“I’m not in the least kind—don’t misunderstand me. But,” she smiled brightly, confidently, “I trust you; I believe in you; and I like you. If that suits you I’m ready to begin.”
She put out her hand with a frank gesture and her smile won him to instant acquiescence, though there were stipulations he wished to make as to this new relationship. He caught a glimpse of the motor bringing his father and Mrs. Craighill from the station as it flashed past the windows to the carriage entrance. The desire to possess, to protect, to defend this woman set his heart singing. She did not fear him, an evil, abhorred castaway, an ugly wreck on the shoals of time; she had spoken to him rather as a man might have done, but his response was to the woman heart in her. His hand trembled in her clasp, and the wholesomeness, the sweetness, the earnestness of her own nature kindled the hope of life in his heart. He felt a new ease, as of lifted burdens, and a light was round about him; and well for this exalted moment that he could not see ahead into the circling dark.
“Good-bye, Jean!” He bent down and held her hand an instant to his cheek—the hand that had known labour!
“Good-bye, Wayne Craighill,” she replied, soberly.
A moment later he left the house by the front door, unnoticed by his father and Mrs. Craighill, who at the same moment appeared in the side hall.
CHAPTER XXV
COLONEL CRAIGHILL IS ANNOYED
MRS. CRAIGHILL had seen her husband manifest anger on the night of Wayne’s departure for Philadelphia, but she had not until this morning found him crabbed and petulant. A night in a sleeping-car is not conducive to serenity, but a wife has a right to expect her lord to bring a bright countenance home from the wars. Colonel Craighill greeted Jean with his habitual courtesy, but scarcely heeded his wife’s explanation of the young woman’s presence in the house. He excused himself, going to his room to retouch his sleeping-car toilet, and Jean went directly to the Institute. Mrs. Craighill bade her come often to see her; but the invitation lacked warmth and as Jean passed out of the grounds through the snow-walled path she wondered much about the Craighill household. But it was not of Mrs. Craighill or the handsome, courteous Colonel Craighill that she thought most, but of Wayne.