CHAPTER XXV

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

After Ann Rutledge confided her heart-troubling secret to her mother, Mrs. Rutledge lost no time in laying the matter before her husband. She feared it would be hard to make him see that John McNeil's conduct toward Ann had been honorable, and John Rutledge believed in the kind of honor that makes a man's word as good as his bond, and would take advantage of no situation to perpetrate an injustice.

He listened in silence as Mrs. Rutledge told him Ann's secret, the secret that was changing the glad-hearted girl into a quiet, nervous woman. Several times he seemed about to speak. He listened, however, until the end, but Mrs. Rutledge knew he was angry.

"Now, John," she counseled, "don't be too hard on John McNeil. What he said may all be true. He may go back and get his people and bring them right here as he said."

"Maybe he will--but does that change the fact that he played double? Does that change the fact that during his years of plenty he has never helped those of his own flesh and blood who may have suffered? John McNeil is as cold a trade-driver as ever hit the trail to the West, and if he comes back here----"

"Now, John, be careful. Aside from the awful effect the whole thing has had on poor Ann, there may be no real sin committed."

"Aside from the effect on our Ann? My God! how much more sin could a man commit unless he had ruined her reputation--and if he had done that----" and John Rutledge arose and paced the floor.

"But he didn't. How can you let such a thought come into your head about Ann? Don't get yourself all worked up over a straw man."

"Straw man?" he exclaimed angrily. "Is it a straw man that our Ann laughs no more? Is it a straw man that we never hear her singing home across the bluffs? Is it a straw man that her sweet face has been taking on lines of worry, ill fitting the face of Ann Rutledge? Is it a straw man that she was forced into a promise to keep a secret--a dishonorable secret--from her own father and mother? There's no straw man about any such thing as this."

John Rutledge sat down and lit his pipe. After it was smoking well, Mrs. Rutledge said, "What shall I say to Ann?"

"Tell Ann to come to me," he said shortly.

Mrs. Rutledge went out, and a moment later Ann came. When she entered the room her father was standing with his back to the fireplace, his hands behind him.

"Yes, father," she said quietly.

John Rutledge surveyed her a moment. What he was thinking of she had not time to consider, but the expression on his face seemed to be a combination of wrath and pity, of love and outraged justice.

"A man called John McNeil asked my consent to marry you, Ann."

"Yes, Father"; her voice was a trifle unsteady.

"I supposed him to be the honorable and straight-faced young gentleman he seemed to be."

She made no reply. John Rutledge blew out a couple of puffs of smoke.

"From your mother I have just learned that there is no such person as John McNeil."

"No, Father."

"This McNamra, or whoever he may be, may turn up in these parts again some time."

"I don't know"; and the tremor had not left her voice.

"He might have the unmitigated hardihood to expect to marry the daughter of John Rutledge, the girl he courted under the name of McNeil. If he should--if he should come back and should even look like he thought of such a thing--I would--would----"

"Father," Ann said softly, stepping nearer him, for she saw that he was angry, "you wouldn't do anything wrong."

"Wrong?" he said. "Wrong--no--nothing wrong--what I'd do would be right"; and he turned and knocked his pipe against the chimney with such force as to threaten its existence.

"Perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps he will return some day just as he said he would."

"Perhaps--perhaps. But is he telling the truth about his name? No, he is lying. One way or another he has lied to a woman, and a man who will desert his own father and mother would desert his wife. I'm not condemning him too hard, but he will never marry John Rutledge's daughter. Do you understand, Ann."

"Yes, Father"; her voice was unsteady.

"He has put you in a most embarrassing position--more than you know. You will be talked about when his double life is known, and, since it is bound to come out, the sooner the better, and I shall see to that. Gossips will discuss matters that's none of their business, but they will not go too far, my girl, for John Rutledge is your father."

"Perhaps I will hear from him--even yet," she said with an effort.

"If you do, hand the letter to me. I'll give the young man some advice about swearing dutiful daughters to keep secrets from their parents."

The tears which Ann had struggled to keep back now stood in her eyes, and she feared to speak lest the slightest movement of her face would start them running down her cheeks.

John Rutledge looked at her. The expression on his stern face changed instantly, and the voice was wonderfully softened as he said, "Ann, my little girl, don't cry. Don't waste good tears. It's not too late to mend the harm. To-night when you say your prayers add a couple of lines telling your Creator that the best thing He has done for you up to this good time is to save you from being the wife of a man whose word would have no other meaning to you than so much noise. Run on now, my girl, and tell your mother I'd like to see her."