"That is Albert's horse," he said. "Yes, he is headed this way. That means that he will stay all night again. I think I could get that money from him, but I don't want to ask for more right now. He has done as much as I could expect already. No, I'll not ask him for it. Besides, of all the discourtesy known, to borrow money from a guest seems to me to be the worst. He seems worried over what you intend to do in his case," and Rowland was smiling pointedly. "He says you won't say one thing or another positively. He seemed to be hinting the other day that he'd like for me to take a hand in it, but I'll never do that. You must be your own judge. He is away beneath you in the matter of birth, but—"
"Father," Mary suddenly broke in, "you have not let him know that the boys are in the barn, have you?"
"No, I never let on about that," Rowland said, wearily, his eyes on the approaching horse and buggy. "I promised you I wouldn't, and, while I saw no reason—"
"He mustn't know; he mustn't know!" Mary broke in again. "I can't tell you now why, but he mustn't know that. He must not put up his horse, either, unless the boys are warned. It is getting dark and they may not see him coming. But keep him here, chat with him, and I'll slip to the barn by the back way and warn the boys."
"Well, I'll do that," Rowland promised, "but hurry on back. I can't entertain him. He comes to see you, not me. He is daft about you—actually crazy. He'd give his right arm to have you agree to—"
But Mary had vanished into the hall and with lowered head was scudding through the shrubbery to the barn. The buggy was stopping at the gate, and Rowland went down the walk with a stately step to meet the incongruous suitor for the hand of his daughter.
CHAPTER XX
In his corn-field, Charles took up his hoe and set to work. Now and then his eyes furtively swept the thicket on the hillside where Kenneth had seen the lurking stranger. Something seemed to tell Charles that the man was still in the neighborhood and was only waiting for the darkness to veil his further operations. He heard the sound of Frazier's horse on the road and saw Mary slip from a rear door of the house and steal rapidly down to the barn, but he did not understand what it meant. It became plain a moment later when Mary was seen hurrying back and the sound of hoofs and wheels at the gate had ceased. That it was Frazier making another call he did not doubt, and a sense of helpless discontent descended upon him, seeming to gather weight and substance from the very thickening darkness, and disconsolate voice from the dismal croaking of the frogs in the near-by marshes. Fireflies were flitting over the corn and about the shrubbery bordering the walk to the house. Charles now gazed more frequently and keenly toward the thicket. It was growing so dark that he felt that his pretense at working could not be kept up longer without exciting undue suspicion in the mind of the possible observer. He had decided to stop, when something among the branches of the young trees on the hillside caught his eye. To his astonishment he saw the vague outlines of a masculine figure emerge, stand out from the trees, and then slowly advance toward him. That he had been under the eye of this person the greater part of the day and was still being watched he did not doubt. That the man knew he was there and was coming toward him for a purpose he was sure. What could it mean other than that the man, if he was a detective, had decided to reveal his purpose and seek an interview from a man so recently hired that he ought to be a disinterested witness? That must be it, and Charles steeled himself for an ordeal he dreaded in many ways. With his hoe on his shoulder he made his way between two rows of corn toward the path leading up to the house. The man was still approaching. He was not a hundred feet away when, as Charles was turning toward the house, the stranger suddenly and softly coughed.
"Ahem!" the man cleared his throat, coughed again, and waved his hand. Charles turned quite around and stood hesitating.