Part 2

"I don't acquit you--quite; but what an egregious cad the man must have been!"

"No, no, don't think that. He never dreamed I would really dare. But I was determined to show him I wasn't afraid--wasn't afraid of anything--not even of him."

"Of him?"

"Yes."

"O-oh!" he said slowly. "I see. Well, _were_ you afraid--afterward?"

She swung her hands from behind her back and struck them together with a sudden gesture of anger.

"No, but I hated him. I hate him! Not that he wasn't game. When I turned to him with that dear flag dangling in my hand, he swept me off in a two-step, flag and all. But he smiled. Oh, how he smiled!" She drew a long breath. "D---- his smile!" Her desperate little oath was only pathetic. "I can see that triumphant twist about the corner of his mouth now, like a crooked scar."

"Good Lord! Charlie Danton!"

Her startled look confirmed the guess her words denied. "No, no."

"By Jove! don't I know that smile? We were in college together, you know, and I've made him put on the gloves with me more than once on account of that devilish smile. But I'll do him the justice to believe that he didn't really suppose you'd take that dare." He interrupted himself to laugh a little. "How seriously we're talking! After all, it's no great matter if a--a rather foolish girl did a rather foolish thing."

She refused to be enlivened. "I had it out with him," she said. "And since then we haven't seen anything of each other. You heard what Pinckney Cresap said just now?"

"About Danton and the possibility of a duel?"

"Yes. I'm afraid that's partly my fault. I sent him away, and----"

"I see. If he's weak enough to seek consolation in that way, he deserves to lose you."

She smiled frankly. "You're very, very comforting. I'm glad I confessed to you--it's done me good."

The clatter of the group at the tea-table behind them had effectually muffled the sound of their voices. Their eyes and thoughts, too, had been so preoccupied that it was only now they became aware of a small boy standing on the gravelled walk in front of them. He wore a checked shirt and patched trousers on his diminutive person, and freckles and a disgusted expression on his face.

"Gee Whilliken!" exclaimed this apparition, with startling vehemence. "I been standin' here 'most an hour, I bet, without you lookin' at me oncet. I'm Jimmy Jones."

"Welcome, scion of an illustrious family!" said Fessenden. "What is your pleasure?"

"Ah, g'wan," returned Master Jones. "I got a letter, that's what. I got a letter here for----" He broke off to scan his questioner closely. "You're the man, ain't you? Tall, good-looker, wet pants. Say, Mister, ain't your name Puddin' Tame?"

"'Puddin' Tame'?" asked Miss Yarnell, smiling. "Is it a game you want to play, kiddy?"

"No, ma'am, 'tain't a game. I want to see _him_. Say, ain't you Puddin' Tame?"

"I've been called so," admitted Fessenden, surprised but greatly diverted. "But I'll let you into a secret, Jimmy: it's not my real name."

"Aw, who said it was? Don't I know it's a nickname? Guess I heard of Puddin' Tame before you was born."

"I believe your guess is incorrect, James."

"No, 'tain't neither. Say, here's the letter for you. There ain't no answer." He thrust an envelope into Fessenden's fingers, and disappeared around the corner of the house with a derisive whoop.

The sound served to divert the tea-drinkers from their chatter.

"What! A _billet doux_ already?" said Mrs. Dick Randall. "This _is_ rushing matters, Mr. Fessenden. I think it's only fair you should let us know who she is." A chorus of exclamations followed, in which, however, Miss Yarnell did not join.

"Polly," said Cresap at last, "don't tease Fessenden. Rather, if your inferior half may venture the humble suggestion, I would urge a casual glance at his trousers. What do you see, Little Brighteyes?"

"Goodness, Tom! They're _wet_. Positively dripping!"

"I lost my way coming over, and had to wade through a brook."

"And I never noticed it until now. And I declare I haven't given you a chance to get to your room yet. Pinck, why _didn't_ you remind me? Ring the bell, please. Tom, you must change your things right away."

Alone in his room, Fessenden read the note delivered by the cadet of the house of Jones.

DEAR MR. PUDDIN' TAME:

Shall we have it for a secret that you're coming to supper at our house to-morrow? We aren't quality folk, and maybe Mrs. Cresap wouldn't like it. So please don't breathe it to a soul, but just steal away, and come.

BETTY.

III

Before luncheon the next day, Fessenden had begun to acquire some acquaintance with the members of the Sandywood house-party--a particular acquaintance with the celebrated Miss Yarnell. It did not take him long to perceive that Miss Yarnell and he had been provided for each other's amusement. Harry Cleborne's fatuous devotion to May Belle Cresap--Fessenden rather disliked the two-part Christian name--and the good-natured cliquishness of the four married people, threw upon him the duty of entertaining the unattached bachelor girl. He took up the burden with extraordinary cheerfulness.

Pinckney Cresap watched his progress, frankly interested. Once, indeed, he took occasion to compliment him.

"You Northerners _have_ some temperament, I see. If only Roland Cary were here, my boy!"

"He would have even more, I suppose," laughed Fessenden. "Polly told me about him yesterday."

"Eh? Oh, yes, so she was telling me. Oh, I'm not sure about the temperament--unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to judge." He chuckled. "But there's a charm there, that's certain." He chuckled again, as if vastly amused at the recollection of some humor of Roland Cary's. "An eligible _parti_," he went on. "The head of _the_ first family of Maryland. Father and mother both dead--brought up by a doting great-uncle."

"Confound him! I'm quite jealous. Where is he? Doesn't he dare show himself?"

"Off on some philanthropic scheme, I believe. Roland Cary has notions. But you needn't be jealous--you're doing very well with Madge Yarnell."

Toward noon, as they were all debating whether or not a game of tennis was worth while, a trim-looking sloop rounded a wooded point of the bay shore, and ran down toward the boat-landing.

"I think that's your yacht, Fessenden," said Cresap. "If Danton has been keeping her up at the Polocoke River Club, she'd be just about due here now."

"Let's all go down and have a look at her."

A hat or two had to be gotten, and by the time they reached the landing-stage the boat was already tied up. A sunburned man touched his cap to the party.

"Mr. Charles Danton's _Will-o'-the-Wisp_," he said. "I was to deliver her at the Cary place, to Mr. Fessenden."

"I'm Mr. Fessenden. She looks like a good boat."

"There ain't any better of her class from Cape May to Hatteras," said the boatman. "It's a pity Mr. Danton's got the power-boat idea in his head."

"Yes, he told me that was one of the reasons he's giving up the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_. He's bought a hundred-ton steam-yacht, I believe."

"That's right, sir. Well, she's all right, and I'm to be master of her, so I guess I hadn't ought to complain, but, after all, a real sailer is better, _I_ think, sir."

The boat was sloop-rigged, seaworthy rather than fast, and, for her length, very broad of beam and astonishingly roomy. Spars and deck were spick and span in new ash, and her sides glistened with white paint.

"Would you like to go over her?" suggested the boatman. "Here's the keys to everything, Mr. Fessenden--the rooms, and these are for the lockers and the water-tanks."

The party clambered aboard and proceeded to explore the little craft. The women exclaimed with surprise and delight.

"Two cabins!" said Mrs. Dick Randall. "One at each end--do you see, Polly? And what's this cunning cubby-hole between the rooms?"

"That's the galley, ma'am," answered the boatman. "The kitchen, you'd call it. Do you see that little oil-stove, there? Big enough to do what's wanted plenty. Yes'm, she's as well found as any old-time Baltimore clipper, she is. A cabin aft for the owner, and a fok's'l room for me. Mr. Danton used to say he had a right to make me comfortable, if he wanted to. You know his queer ways, maybe. We kept the stores in those lockers. She's got some of 'em aboard yet."

"I should say so," declared Polly, who had been rummaging about. "Potted tongue and jams, and a whole ham, and, I declare, here's the sweetest little coffee-tin full of coffee!"

"Mr. Danton was thinkin' of takin' a cruise," explained the boatman. "And when you bought the _Wisp_, sir, he telegraphed to turn her over right away, in case you wanted to use her while you was here. Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'll be walkin' over to the station to catch my train back to Polocoke." He touched his cap and tramped away up the knoll toward the road.

"Let's all go for a sail in her," said May Belle.

At the suggestion, an idea sprang full-grown into Fessenden's mind.

"Some other time," he returned. "I'd rather try her out by myself first. I want to see if she has any mean tricks before I risk any life besides my own. If the wind's right, I may tack about a bit this afternoon."

He realized that he had explained too elaborately--Miss Yarnell bent an intent look upon him. As he was returning up the pathway at her side--the others a safe distance ahead--she touched his arm.

"Please take me with you when you go sailing this afternoon?"

"Oh, I may not go. If I do, I think you'd better not. You see, the _Wisp_ may be a crank."

"Nonsense! Besides, I'm a good sailor--swimmer too. I shouldn't care if we were capsized."

"I'd care for you."

"Please take me. I want particularly to go."

"Really, I can't."

"You mean you won't!"

"I'd rather not, at any rate."

Again her intent look surprised him. "Not if I bent 'on bended knee' to you?"

"Not if you begged me with bitter tears," he laughed.

"I thought you wouldn't, before I asked you," she said broodingly. "I knew it would be of no use."

"You did? Why do you want so much to go?"

"If I tell you that, will you tell me why you won't take me?"

"I can't promise. But what reason can there be except that I don't care to risk your life in a boat I know nothing about?"

"What solicitude!" she said with sarcasm. "'Men were deceivers ever.'"

She gave him an enigmatic smile as they took up their tennis rackets.

Beyond an amused wonder at the vagaries of the modern American--or, at any rate, Maryland--girl, this incident made little impression on Fessenden's mind, occupied as it was with schemes of its own. By the time luncheon had been over an hour or two, however, and it drew on to the time when he might be expected to take out the _Will-o'-the-Wisp_, he confidently anticipated a renewal of Miss Yarnell's request.

He was downright disappointed, therefore, when the young woman in question announced that she had a slight headache and thought a nap would do her good. Polly and Mrs. Dick chorused hearty approval, and Pinckney advised a julep.

Thus supported, Miss Yarnell mounted the staircase from the wide hallway, not vouchsafing a single glance at Fessenden, who lingered rather ostentatiously about in his yachting flannels. Although his determination--as whimsical as the girl who had inspired it--to keep his projected visit to White Cottage a secret forbade the presence of Madge Yarnell upon the _Wisp_, he would willingly have had another trial of wits with her. However, this was denied him.

Mrs. Dick and Polly made perfunctory petitions to accompany him, easily waved aside. Dick Randall himself and Cresap were too lazy even to offer their companionship. May Belle and her follower had taken themselves off an hour before. Thus Fessenden found nothing to hinder his announced plan of trying out the _Wisp_ alone.

"I'm off," he declared. "By the way, if I'm not back for dinner, don't worry, and don't wait dinner for me. The wind may fall and make it a drifting match against time, you know, so don't think of delaying dinner, if I don't turn up."

Once on board the sloop, he cast off, hoisted mainsail and jib, and stood away to the northward.

Although unfamiliar with the dry land of Maryland, Fessenden was not entirely so with its waters. Once or twice he had taken a cruise on the fickle Chesapeake, and he was fairly well acquainted with the character of the sailing and the configuration of the bay.

Moreover, he had given a half-hour's close study to some of Cresap's charts that morning. He knew, therefore, that his first long reach on the starboard tack would take him well clear of the land. Thence he planned to come about and sail with the wind to a little cove he had noticed on the map. This cove lay a mile or so above Sandywood, and was concealed therefrom by a heavily-wooded point. He counted upon making a landing there about six o'clock.

It was a delightful day for sailing. The breeze was firm, but not too strong--just brisk enough to ruffle the water with a steady purr under the bow as the sloop slid up into the wind.

In pure enjoyment Fessenden whistled shrilly and sang snatches of song. His trip had enough of mystery about it to arouse all the boy in him. The thought of his evasion of Miss Yarnell's importunity, too, made him laugh aloud. To be sure, his merriment was a little diminished by his recollection that she had shown no desire to accompany him at the last. Was she merely whimsical, he wondered, or had she acted with a motive?

He hauled the mainsail a trifle tauter, and watched with critical eye the flattening of the canvas. The _Wisp_ fairly sailed herself, and needed little attention. He burst into song:

"And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle fre-e-e, Away the good ship flies and leaves Old England on her lee."

He stopped. The wind pushed persistently at the flattening sail; the water purred under the bow; the shore was already hazy behind him. These things were as they ought to be, yet he had become conscious that something extraordinary had interrupted his flow of song.

His eyes, sweeping the whole horizon, came back to the sloop, surveyed her slowly from bowsprit to rudder-post, and rested finally on the closed double-doors of the little cabin that faced him across the cockpit.

At that moment a loud knocking shook the latticed doors. Then a mellow voice spoke distinctly:

"'Behind no prison grate,' she said, 'That slurs the sunshine half a mile, Live captives so uncomforted As souls behind a smile-- God's pity let us pray,' she said."

The doors were flung open, and framed in the hatchway appeared the upper part of the body, the dark hair, the defiant eyes, and the faintly-smiling mouth of the celebrated Miss Madge Yarnell.

IV

For a moment Fessenden could only stare. Then he gave a long whistle.

"This Maryland climate is--extraordinary!" he remarked to the horizon.

Miss Yarnell mounted the pair of steps from the cabin to the level of the cockpit, and seated herself on the lockers.

"I simply had to come," she explained.

"Marvellous impulsion!"

"I'm not welcome, then?"

"I'm afraid you've guessed it."

"Obstinate--man!"

"Artful--woman!"

"You are a very chilly person. I think I'll begin to hate you pretty soon."

"Really!"

"Now that I'm here, you might as well make the best of it. Please, sir, I'll try to be very agreeable and entertaining, if you'll only be kind to me."

"You'd move a heart of stone, but mine's a diamond. You're always charming--I admit that freely--but I can't consider that in this particular situation. No, no. 'Off with your head; so much for Bolingbroke.'" He braced the wheel against his knee and began to haul in the sheet.

"You're going back?"

"Yes."

"To put me ashore?"

"Right, my lady."

"Then you intend to sail off again to--to do what you like?"

"Humanly speaking, yes."

In spite of the heeling deck she rose abruptly, her eyes wide and resolute.

"Mr. Fessenden, I'm going with you this afternoon, wherever you go. If you take me back to the landing, I won't go on shore. You'll have to use force, and I warn you I'll resist, and I'm strong for a woman. I solemnly vow I'll make a dreadful scene. And I'll scream, and I can scream _hideously_!"

Her words were utterly convincing. He let go the sheet and stared. "By Jove! you _are_ a terror. What in the world is all this about?"

"Never mind."

"But you make me mind. Surely all this can't be a mere freak on your part. Or is it a joke?"

"No. I've a reason for my--my very unlady-like conduct."

"Strike out the adjective. But what's the reason?"

"I'd rather not tell." She resumed her seat, as if she thought the victory won. Her eyes dwelt on the lines of his powerful figure, well set off by his gray flannels. "You are a distinctly good-looking man, but obstinate."

"And you're a remarkably lovely girl, but eccentric; very--eccentric."

"You don't know my reasons."

"I've asked for them."

She laughed evasively. "Isn't it about time to come about?" she said.

"It is. But how do you know that? Are you a witch?"

"In with the weather braces," she commanded. "Stand by to tack ship! Ready about! Helm's a-lee! Round we go, now. Make fast! All snug, sir."

Accompanying her rather uncertain display of nautical language with a pull at the sheets that proved her strength, she gave Fessenden her assistance in bringing the _Wisp_ before the wind.

Afterward there was silence between them for a long time. The knots slipped away under the keel of the little yacht, and she drew rapidly in toward land. Fessenden consulted his watch. It was half past five. He decided that it was time to land--time to send his unwelcome visitor away, and to keep his appointment with Betty for supper at White Cottage.

Miss Yarnell examined the little binnacle beside the wheel.

"Due east," she said sombrely, "almost. If you go back to Sandywood, Mr. Fessenden, remember, I've given you fair warning."

"Fear not, mademoiselle. Far be it from me to force you to try your screaming powers on me! I shudder at the thought. No, no. Do you see that cape two or three points south of east? Piney Point, it's called. That's the place I'm aiming for. Are you content?"

"Perfectly content."

She met his puzzled frown with a faint smile. "You beat the Dutch," he declared in an injured tone.

It was just six o'clock when the _Wisp_ grounded gently on the sandy beach of Piney Cove. The westering sun flung red bands across the pine woods, here growing almost to the water's edge.

Fessenden led a line ashore and made it fast to a convenient tree. "Now, Miss Yarnell," he smiled, "the voyage is over. I'll really have to ask you to leave me--with my thanks for a delightful afternoon, after all. If you follow the bay shore, you'll be at Sandywood in half an hour, I fancy."

She had joined him as he stood on the beach. "Thank you," she said gravely, "but I'm going with you."

"Really, this is rather--rather----"

"Impossible," she supplied. "Yes, I'll agree to anything you like to say of me, but, Mr. Fessenden, it's very important for me to go with you--to your appointment."

He stared, bewildered not only by her audacity, but by her apparent knowledge of his plans.

"Do you deny that you have an appointment with some one near here?" she demanded.

"I don't deny it. But what if I have? This is too ridiculous! I don't know how you know where I'm bound, but--I don't want to be rude, Miss Yarnell--but even if you do know, I don't see how it matters to you."

"It does matter to me," she said, sudden passion in her voice. "It matters terribly."

Her suppressed excitement, her entire seriousness, could no longer be doubted.

"I don't understand," he said. "I think you must be making some mistake."

"No, no. I don't know exactly where you're going, I admit, but I know who it is you're going to see."

He felt a baffling sense of amazement over an impossible situation. "Who is it, then?" he demanded.

"Please, _please_ don't let us mention names. But I know. Mr. Fessenden, I recognized the envelope that boy brought up yesterday."

"The envelope? O-oh! You did?"

"Yes. I've seen that style of envelope too often not to know it. Now do you understand why I want to go with you?--why I _must_ go?"

"I'm as much at sea as ever. Why?"

She flushed vividly. "If you really can't guess, I--I can't tell you."

He stared at her helplessly, then tossed both hands in a gesture of despair. "I give it up. I give _you_ up, in fact. You fairly make my head spin! It's getting late, Miss Yarnell. I think you'll find a path behind the grove."

"I'm not going to Sandywood."

"Then I'll leave you in possession of the yacht. Good-night."

He took off his cap smilingly, and, turning, walked rapidly inland. He had not gone half a dozen yards when he heard a light footstep behind him, and wheeled to find her at his very heels.

"I'm going with you."

"You'll dog me across country?" he asked incredulously.

She flushed painfully, but stood her ground. "I'm going with you," she repeated.

"Oh, Lord!" he groaned. For a moment he eyed her rather malevolently. "Come back to the sloop, then. We'll talk it over."

She followed obediently as he clambered over the low rail of the _Wisp_.

"I don't know what to make of you," he complained.

"I hardly know what to make of myself."

"If I had more time, I might be able to get at things."

"You'd better simply take me with you."

"Hum-m," he said contemplatively.

They were standing side by side on the floor of the cockpit. He waved his hand toward the bay. "All this beautiful scenery ought to be good for your malady--whatever that may be. Look at that sunset, Miss Yarnell. Why, hello! What's that? Dead into the sun! Can't you see it?"

She peered beneath the arch of her hand to mark the point. At that moment her elbows were gripped as if by a giant. She felt herself lifted, then thrust firmly, although gently, downward into the little cabin.

It was all done in an instant. Fessenden slammed the double-doors deftly upon his prisoner and dropped the catch into the slot.

"Good-night," he called reassuringly. He leaped ashore and hurried inland.

V

Fessenden was well aware that the frail catch that held the doors of the _Wisp's_ cabin would not long hold prisoner so vigorous a young woman as Madge Yarnell. He guessed that in ten minutes she would be wending her disconsolate way toward Sandywood. But ten minutes would be enough--he gave himself no further concern about her.

He followed a cow-path beyond the pine grove, crossed a meadow or two, and struck the road not far above White Cottage.

A quail called in a field of early wheat, and was answered from a thicket of elderberry near at hand--a charmingly intimate colloquy. Fessenden was serenely conscious that it was good to be only twenty-eight, and on his way to dine, or sup, with an artless girl.

In ten minutes he was halting at the gate of White Cottage. Although it was only the dusk of the day, the window shades were down, and the lighted lamps within sent a glow across the wide porch. The door stood invitingly open.

As he clicked the gate behind him, he felt as if he were about to enter another world than the one he had left at Sandywood--the enchanted world of boyhood.

At the thought, he pursed his lips and sent the rounded notes of the quail through the evening haze.

He had not time to repeat them before a slender figure, appearing as if by magic, extended him a warm little hand.

"Bob White!" she said gaily. "I'm very glad to see you. I was in the hammock under the hickory there. That gives me a new name for you--I was tired of Puddin' Tame." Her lips echoed the whistle.

"I'm glad you've come, Mr. Bob White."

"Did you dream for a moment I wouldn't?"