CHAPTER III.

MARION PROVES HER INTUITIONS.

The weeks passed swiftly at the Marlowe farmhouse, for Mr. Lawson’s presence there had broken the monotony. Not once during his stay had Marion been able to shake off her first impressions.

She dreaded him instinctively, and was ill at ease in his presence.

There was a mystery about him which she could not fathom—but her intuitions were keen, and she decided to trust them.

Marion was too amiable to ordinarily allow her feelings to be seen. Not even to Dollie had she made full confession of them.

Mr. Lawson’s attentions to her sister worried her exceedingly—but with Silas Johnson as the alternative, she was forced to be silent.

One morning Marion took her churn out under a big locust tree near the kitchen door and was churning vigorously when she overheard an astonishing conversation.

Silas Johnson and her father were just around the corner of the house, but neither knew of her presence or they would have spoken more guardedly.

“I’ve sed it an’ I calkerlate I’ll stick ter it,” her father said, sullenly. “Dollie shell marry yew, Sile, so yew needn’t git up yewr dander!”

“Oh, I ain’t got up no dander, Farmer Marlowe,” was the reply; “but it’s high time ther thing wuz done an’ settled, fer I’m gittin’ a leetle tired of seein’ thet thar city chap with Dollie. Yew know gals will be gals, an’ ther ain’t much dependin’ on ’em.”

“Oh, ther city chap’s a-goin’ ter-morrer ef thet’s what’s worryin’ yew,” replied the farmer, quickly. “An’ as quick’s he’s gone, I’ll hev it out with Dolly. It’s ther best thing fer her an’ she’s got ter dew it.”

“Yew kin hev them papers back on our weddin’ day,” said Silas, with a rasping chuckle.

Marion held her breath. Here was a new phase of the situation.

“Thankee, Sile, I’ll be plum’ glad tew git ’em, I kin tell yew!” said her father, sighing. “Them air dog-goned papers hez worried me like thunder, but ez yew say, it’ll be all in the fambly when yew marry Dollie.”

Marion drew a long breath and grasped the churn handle tighter. In another moment the two men rose from their seats and sauntered out to the garden, still talking seriously.

“So it is a business transaction of some sort!” whispered Marion to herself.

“Pa owes Silas some money or something, and he is going to settle it by giving him Dollie!”

She rose from her stool, her face fairly crimson with anger. As she turned to enter the house she confronted Mr. Lawson.

For just a second Marion hesitated to tell her trouble to this man, then an uncontrollable impulse made her turn to him appealingly. She had forgotten all else but her sister’s danger.

“Oh, Mr. Lawson, I must tell you an awful secret,” she cried, brokenly, “and oh, I do hope you will be able to advise me—you are wise and—and kind—I am sure that you will help me. Father is in debt to Silas Johnson, and Sile has made him promise that Dollie shall marry him!”

The tears trembled on Marion’s lashes as she said the words, and in her intense excitement her dark eyes shone like diamonds.

Carlos Lawson looked at her with unusual interest. His first thought was of her beauty but he controlled himself enough to answer:

“The thing would be outrageous!” he said after a second; “what has that freckle-faced clod to offer Dollie, I should like to know!”

“He has a farm of his own, that is all,” said Marion, hotly; “or he may have a mortgage on father’s, for all I know, but if he had the wealth of the world he should not have my little sister!”

“But how can you prevent it?” asked Mr. Lawson, a little coldly.

Marion looked up at his face and trembled as she read his glance.

“I—I hoped you would be able to advise me,” she said, slowly. “I know so little of the world, Mr. Lawson. Oh, can’t you think of some way to save my poor sister?”

Once more Marion’s eyes shone through her tears as she gazed up into his face. Her full lips trembled with emotion. Her face was transfused with unusual beauty.

Again the sense of her beauty flitted through Carlos Lawson’s brain, and this time he made no attempt to control it. How had he ever become enamored of pretty Dollie’s childish face when this spirited creature was constantly before him!

A dark flush mounted to his cheek and brow as he bent forward quickly and laid his hand upon Marion’s shoulder.

“I will save her, yes—on one condition,” he whispered, sharply. “I will save your sister if you will kiss me, Marion! My God, but you are beautiful. Quick, Marion—your answer!”

With a stifled scream Marion Marlowe flung his hand from her shoulder and sprang away from him. Her face paled in an instant at the insult he had offered her.

“So that is the kind of a gentleman you are,” she said, scornfully. “To try to take advantage of a girl in her misery!”

The man took a step forward, but Marion stopped him with a gesture.

“Don’t you dare to come nearer!” she said sternly. “I’m only a poor farmer’s daughter, but I respect myself, sir! I regret that I spoke to you about Dollie at all! I might have known better. I have never trusted you!”

She stood with her right arm upraised as she said these words, her fair face turned unflinchingly toward the handsome insulter.

A careless sneer crossed the man’s dark face.

“You have never trusted me, eh,” he said, half smilingly. “Well, that will not make much difference with me, I guess. You’ll trust me more some day, my haughty Marion!”

“Never!” cried Marion, with a hot flush of shame. “Not as long as I remember your insulting words. But enough, Mr. Lawson, I will not detain you longer.”

She swept by him like a queen and went into the house.

Her mother was sitting in the kitchen patiently darning stockings.

“Mother! mother!” cried Marion sharply, as she threw herself on her knees by her side. “Is it possible that you are willing for Dollie to be sacrificed? Are you going to sit calmly by and see her sold in bondage to Silas Johnson?”

“What kin I dew?” asked her mother, irritably; “ef your father sez so, what kin I dew? ’Tain’t a wife’s place to meddle with her husband’s runnin’ of his fam’ly.”

“But think of it, mother, what her life will be when she is tied to a man whom she does not love! Have you no sympathy for your daughter? Think what you have suffered! And there is poor Sister Samantha! She is a perfect slave to her stupid husband, when with her looks and talents she might have done so much better!”

“Your father is the head of his fam’ly,” said her mother again. “It ain’t my place to go ag’in him. He knows what’s best fer yew an’ Dollie!”

Marion groaned aloud and rocked back and forth on the floor.

Dollie opened the door of the little parlor where she had been busy dusting and stared at her sister.

She had a big bandanna tied over her saucy curls, and with her dainty face flushed with exercise she looked like some quaint, old-fashioned picture.

“Silas will make her a good husband, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Marlowe, meekly.

“O’ course he will, Marthy,” said the old farmer, who came in just as she spoke. “An’ what’s more, I’m a-gittin’ mighty sick of this tarnal nonsense! Dollie hez got tew marry Sile, an’ thet’s all ther’ is abaout it! Why, there’s dozens of gals as would jump at ther’ chance! ’Pears tew me thet Dollie is determined ter fly in ther face o’ Providence in ther foolishest manner. She’d orter be a-thankin’ her stars fer gittin’ sech a husband!”

Dollie stood, duster in hand, staring at her father as he spoke. There was a dull look in her eye, as if she had not fully understood him.

“Dollie! Dollie! Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you tell father what you think! Oh, Dollie, what is the matter?” cried Marion sharply.

“I—I don’t want to marry Silas,” she finally whispered. “You tell him, Marion,” she turned to her sister appealingly, and gazed from one to another of the little group with a frightened face. She seemed like one in a trance who was trying to grasp the situation.

Marion sprang forward swiftly and threw her arms around her sister. There was something wrong with Dollie, but she had not time to puzzle out what it was—this question of her marrying Silas must be settled at once and forever.

Turning so that she faced both her father and mother, Marion rested her right hand lightly on her sister’s shoulder.

“I will answer him, sister, and it shall be once for all, for this anxiety is killing me. I can brave it no longer. When a girl’s own father and mother refuse to protect her it is high time for some one else to interfere. Dollie does not love Silas Johnson and she shall never marry him, for in spite of you both I will find some way to prevent it.”