She turned over on her side. Then she sat up, staring at the clock. Next she put her feet on the floor and stood erect. "I won't," she said, between set teeth. "I won't. Before God, and all the imps of hell I'll not meddle with it. It's Jane Hemingway's business to look after her silly girl, and not mine."
She went again to the porch and stood staring out into the white moonlight. The steady beat of the hoofs of Luke King's horse, dying out on the still night, came to her. Dear, dear boy! he did love the girl and he never would be the same again—never. It would mean his downfall from the glorious heights he had climbed. He would grapple as a wild beast with the despoiler, and, as he said, go willingly to his own end? Yes, that was Luke King; he had preached of the rugged road to heaven, he would take the easier way to hell, and laugh in his despair at the whole thing as a joke of fate.
Before she knew it, Ann found herself out at her gate. Forces within her raised her hand to the latch and pushed her body through.
"I'll not meddle," she said, and yet she moved on down the road. She met no one, heard nothing save the dismal croakings of the frogs in the marshes. On she went, increasing her speed at every step. Yes, she realized now that she must try to save the girl, for Virginia had done her no personal injury. No, she must abide another time and seek some other means for revenge against the mother. Chance would offer something. Why, the cancer—why hadn't she thought of that? Wasn't that enough for any human being to bear? Yes, Jane would get her reward. It was fast on the road. And for Luke's sake—for the sake of the brave, good-hearted, struggling boy, she would try to save his sweetheart. Yes, that seemed inevitable. The long, white fence of the Chester place suddenly cut across her view. Near the centre Ann descried the tall, imitation stone gate-posts, spanned at the top by a white crescent, and towards this portal she sped, breathing through her big nostrils like a laboring ox.
Reaching the gate and opening it, she saw a buggy and a pair of horses hitched near the door. Ann paused among the boxwood bushes and stared in perplexity. What could it mean? she asked herself. Had Colonel Chester suddenly returned home, or was Langdon recklessly planning to flee the country with the thoughtless girl? Mystified, Ann trudged up the gravelled walk, seeing no one, till she stood on the veranda steps. The big, old-fashioned drawing-room on the right of the dark entrance-hall was lighted up. Loud, masculine laughter and bacchanalian voices burst through the half-open windows. Ann went up the steps and peered in at one of them, keeping her body well back in the shadow. There were three men within—two drummers, one of whom was Fred Masters, and Langdon Chester. The latter, calm and collected, and yet with a look of suppressed fury on his face, was reluctantly serving whiskey from an ancient cut-glass decanter. Ann saw that he was on the verge of an angry outburst, and began to speculate on the cause. Ah! she had an idea, and it thrilled her through and through. Quietly retracing her steps to the lawn, she inspected the exterior of the great, rambling structure. She was now sure that the visit of the men had come in the nature of an unwelcome surprise to the young master of the house, and she found herself suddenly clinging to the warm hope that the accident might have saved the girl.
"Oh, God, let it be so!" Ann heard herself actually praying. "Give the poor young thing a chance to escape what I've been through!"
But where was the object of her quest? Surely, Virginia had not gone back home, else Ann would have met her on the way. Looking long and steadily at the house, Ann suddenly descried a dim light burning up-stairs in the front room on the left-hand side of the upper hall. Instinct told her that she ought to search there, and, going back to the house, the determined rescuer crossed the veranda, walked boldly through the open doorway, and tiptoed to the foot of the broad, winding stairway. Loud laughter, the clinking of glasses, and blatant voices raised in harsh college-songs burst upon her. The yawning space through which the stairs reached upward was dark, but with a steady hand on the smooth walnut balustrade, Ann mounted higher and higher with absolutely fearless tread. She had just gained the first landing, and stood there encompassed in darkness, when the door of the drawing-room was suddenly wrenched open and Langdon and Masters, in each other's arms, playfully struggled into view.
"You really must go now, boys," Chester was saying, in a persuasive voice. "I don't want to be inhospitable, you know, but I have that important work to do, and it must be done to-night. It is a serious legal matter, and I promised to mail the papers to my father the first thing in the morning."
"Papers nothing!" Masters cried, in a drink-muffled tone. "This is the first time I ever honored your old ancestral shack with my presence, and I won't be sent off like a tramp from the door. Besides, you are not open and above-board—you never were so at college. That was your great forte, freezing your friends out of asking questions where your private devilment was concerned. That, and the reputation of your family for fighting duels, kept the whole school afraid of you. On my honor, Dick," he called out to the man in the drawing-room, "I tell you I'm sure I saw a woman with him on the steps of the veranda as we drove up. He had hold of her hand and was pulling her into the hall."
"Ah, don't be absurd," Ann heard Chester say, with a smooth, guarded laugh. "Get in your rig, boys, and drive back to the hotel. I'll see you in the morning."