The Inner Flame

"He is very interesting," returned Kathleen quietly.

Then she rose and went to the door. Edgar followed her uneasily to the foot of the stairs.

"I'm not going to peach, Kath, don't worry," he said. "I'll keep the compact. I just wanted to prove to you that I knew the mater."

His sister turned on him. "I told you that you should have been the girl and I the man," she said; and he winced under the contempt of her look. "If mother gets those things to-morrow, the result for you will be just what I promised. I shall never be at your call again."

"You said – " began Edgar, perturbed.

But Kathleen ran swiftly upstairs. Her brother returned to the drawing-room.

"What's the matter with Kathleen?" inquired Mrs. Fabian. "She behaved so strangely."

"Oh," returned Edgar, shaking his head as if exasperated beyond patience, "Kath's a stiff. She can't see a joke if she runs into it. Now, I think that barrel business was funny, don't you?"

"It's something more than funny," returned Mrs. Fabian impressively. "It's Providence, as I said."

"Well, now, I'll wager," declared her son argumentatively, "that if you take the law into your own hands and bring that old truck over here, Kathleen will cut us both."

"What in the world is the reason? Was she so impressed with Philip? I think he's irresistible myself, but Kathleen is so unimpressionable – and beside, he won't disapprove."

"I'm not so sure. He treats Eliza as if she was the one best bet. I don't pretend to know all Kath thinks. She's a high-brow and a crank. Do you suppose she'd look at a man unless he was a college professor? I guess not."

"Don't speak of your sister so, Edgar. You have reason to be grateful that she is not an ordinary silly flirt."

"Flirt!" ejaculated Edgar, with rolling eyes. "Do you suppose she'd sit on the stairs with anything but a Latin book, or flirt with anything but a microscope?"

"Well, then, you don't have to worry about her?"

"Don't I!" retorted Edgar laconically.

"I must say," pursued Mrs. Fabian virtuously, "it is too much for Kathleen always to expect me to hold her judgment superior to mine. I shall do in this matter what I see fit."

"Then it's all up with me," observed Edgar.

"What do you mean?"

"She'll visit it on me. She always does." Edgar was beginning to wish that he had not played with fire. "Beside, in this case, Eliza says that old stuff belongs to her; is hers to do as she pleases with."

"Yes," returned Mrs. Fabian, with righteous indignation. "Possession is nine tenths of the law; and if I get that possession we'll see what the law can do for her!"

"Oh," protested Edgar petulantly, "why do you want to bother with it?"

His mother's eyes were glistening. In fancy she saw the convenient barrel in which was compactly stowed Aunt Mary's little store of heirlooms.

"Because," she answered with dignity, "genuine old things like that are not to be despised. They would be just the thing at the island."

"That's what Eliza thought," said Edgar drily.

"The idea," exclaimed Mrs. Fabian, "of her using such things in the sort of home she'll have!"

"Perhaps she'll console Mrs. Wright with them," said Edgar. "You were pitying her last night for her winter exile."

"If she did, Mrs. Wright would give them back to me at once," declared Mrs. Fabian; "but never mind, there will be no need now. Providence has thrown them right into my hands. Occasionally you can see justice work out in this world."

Edgar looked toward the portières. Kathleen might return. There was no sign of any one approaching, however.

"Well, I'm in wrong with Kath for having spoken of it, then," he said. "Let me have twenty, will you, mother? You can afford to on the strength of the heirlooms."

"I can't, Edgar."

"Ten, then; you owe me that much, I'm sure."

Mrs. Fabian's lips took a tight line.

"You know, Edgar," she said impressively, "your father has forbidden me to give you money. He says you must learn the worth of it."

The youth shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and throwing himself into an easy-chair, stretched his legs toward the blazing logs and stared at the fire with the gloom of one who feels that he has killed the goose that laid the golden eggs. He had not, however, told of Eliza's insult and his own wrathful departure from the stable. He could defend himself to Kathleen so far, when next they met, and it might possibly soften her heart.

When Philip Sidney bounded up the stable stairs, he came in upon Eliza, who was standing as he had left her, and with such a woe-begone expression that, meeting her tragical gaze, he burst into a peal of laughter.

"Oh, Mr. Philip, Mr. Philip!" she mourned. "I've spoiled everything."

"What! Let the kettle boil over?"

"No, no; you'll make light of it for my sake; but I've turned the Fabians against you! That pert little bantam will go home and tell his mother everything, and it'll make a lot o' difference. They might have been lots o' use to you."

"Don't borrow trouble, Eliza. I'm not going to have our last visit spoiled. I don't make use of my friends anyway; and beside, I'm going to be too busy to have any. Come, now, make the tea. I want to see you drink so much that you 'swell wisibly before my wery eyes.' Shall we use this fine old silver jug?"

"Mr. Sidney." Eliza wrung her hands. "You're awful smart and strong; can we get this barrel headed up again and off to the depot to-night?"

"Why," Phil hesitated, "I suppose so, but wouldn't you rather have your tea in comfort now, before we go out to dinner, and let me do the barrel to-morrow and send it off?"

"There wouldn't be any barrel," returned Eliza darkly. "Not unless you packed and sent it before you went to your school."

"Why not?"

"You heard me tell 'em right to their face," said Eliza.

"Oh, surely," protested Phil, "you don't think Mrs. Fabian would do anything highhanded?"

"Wouldn't she, though?" returned Eliza. "She hasn't got over it yet that Mrs. Ballard sent your mother a diamond pin and didn't leave her anything."

Phil looked puzzled. "Why didn't Aunt Mary remember Aunt Isabel?" he asked.

"To tell the truth, I don't think Mrs. Ballard meant to slight her. She just didn't think anything about it. She knew Mrs. Fabian was rich, and didn't suppose she'd care for any of her little things. Your mother always acted human toward her, and was her namesake, and 'twas natural she should send her something."

"Well, well; have a cup of tea anyway." Eliza's pallor went to her host's heart. He went to the window and brought in the lemon and sugar.

Eliza followed him with her eyes.

"Do you think you can, Mr. Sidney?" she asked, her hands interlocked.

"Can what?"

"Do the barrel. I'll never forget it of you," she said fervently.

"I can't believe there's any necessity for such haste. Pat's a good watch-dog so far as thieves are concerned."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Sidney. Trust me, it's my only chance to save the dishes; and I tell you she might have the whole kit and boodle of 'em and welcome, if she'd been kind, or even decent to that little angel. 'T ain't the silver and things I want. It's to keep 'em away from her."

Phil could see that Eliza was trembling in her intensity. She had shaken her head until she had again loosened the grey locks about her gaunt face.

"I don't care anything about anything to eat, Mr. Sidney," she went on. "I can head up the barrel myself in some kind of a way, but it's got to go to the depot or else I don't, and my berth's all paid for."

"How did you ever happen to be born in New England?" returned Phil meditatively, noting her clenched hands. "You and Bernhardt would have been rivals. Settle down comfortably now. Make the tea and I'll head up the barrel after you have used one of these cups. If necessary, we'll ride on the wagon."

"Oh, Mr. Sidney, can we ride on the wagon?" exclaimed Eliza in a frenzy of gratitude.

Phil laughed. "Anyway, the barrel shall leave here to-night. I'll take one of my brushes and do such high-art addressing that it will follow you meekly to the island. Don't you worry another moment. I guarantee it."

"Then it'll have to leave here before we do," persisted Eliza.

"It shall leave here before we do. Now, are you satisfied?"

Eliza heaved a deep sigh of relief and proceeded to make the tea.

Phil was inclined to be impatient with her fears; but the next day, when he returned from the Academy, Pat met him with a grin.

"Sure ye're the divil of a bye," he said with an expansive gesture. "I'll have to put on a biled shirt every day to resave yer company. 'T was no less than the Queen o' Sheby came to see ye this mornin' an' you not gone tin minutes."

"A lady – the one who was here yesterday?"

"Sure 't was no slip of a girl in a big hat to-day, 'T was a queen, I'm tellin' ye. She rolled up in her motor car an' come here an' knocked on me door, an' me without a collar on. She was dressed in furs an' looked like she owned the earth.

"'I wish to see Mr. Sidney,' says she.

"'Thin ye'll have to go farther, mum,' says I. 'Ye'll find him at the paintin' school,' says I.

"She didn't need any paint herself, I'm tellin' ye. She got rid in the face while she was talkin'.

"'I'm his aunt,' says she, haughty-like, 'an' as long as I'm here I'll see his room,' says she; an' wid that she wint up them stairs like they belonged to her. I heerd her movin' around, an' I hurried to button me collar an' slick up. Presently I dropped the comb, for I heerd her comin' back. Before she'd got away downstairs, 'What have ye done wid the barrel?' says she. 'What bar'l? ' says I. 'The wan Mr. Sidney had here last night,' says she. Thin I remembered there was wan. 'It moved out,' says I, 'wid his company,' says I. 'What company?' says she, and her eyes snapped the way I expected to hear her say, 'Off with his head!'

"'A lady,' says I, 'wid a cat in a basket. 'T was a reg'lar movin',' says I.

"She bit her lip, and muttered: 'Just like her!' I heerd her plain, though she wasn't lookin' at me no more. Take an auld man's advice, me bye. Kape away from the Queen o' Sheby for a while; an' if ye don't tell me what was in that bar'l rollin' up an' down stairs like a restless soul, I'll be havin' the nightmare, sure."

Phil laughed, and shook his head. "The ways of women, Pat," he said, "are so far beyond me that I can't even guess."

"Can't guess what was in the bar'l? Tell me, now, or ye'll not git the key to the park nor meet yer sweetheart."

"There were dishes and silver in that barrel, Pat. Each of the women thinks she owns them."

"I'd bet on the Queen o' Sheby," said Pat.

"You'd lose, then," returned Phil, running upstairs.

CHAPTER X

THE ARRIVAL

Eliza Brewster reached Portland in time for breakfast; and the hours she must spend before the one afternoon boat started for the island were embarrassing ones on account of Pluto. She had a cup of coffee and an egg in the station, and then lifted her heavy basket on the car and rode across the city to the wharf.

Setting the cat at liberty she followed him about, and held him on her lap, alternately, until passengers were allowed to board the steamer. The captain and purser were new to her. She glanced about the cabin as she sat, her arms clasped about the basket, out of whose window Pluto's eyes were again glowering. Eliza dreaded recognizing some one she knew; but no recognition occurred, and she had ample time in the two hours' ride to meditate on past and future. Many years had fled since she last saw Casco Bay. She and Mrs. Ballard had spent a couple of weeks at Brewster's Island one summer, but it had been their farewell to outings further from home than Coney Island. She had not enjoyed the experience because of wrathful resentment at the neglect of Mrs. Fabian, then a bride; but Mrs. Ballard had revelled in the natural beauty which feasted her soul. Eliza evoked the memory now and smiled grimly with satisfaction at the consideration that the precious barrel was safely starting on its journey after her.

She met her cat's green gaze through his wire window. "If I set more value on my life than I do, Pluto," she muttered, "I'd risk it on Mrs. Fabian visitin' a certain stable this mornin'. Then Mr. Philip'll know, and he'll forgive me."

Her heart warmed as she thought of the jolly kindness of her late host; of his assiduity and care for her comfort; of the milk he had fed to Pluto, and the hot beefsteak to herself.

"That supper last night cost him a lot o' money. I know it did!" she thought remorsefully, "but," with a revulsion of affectionate concern, "I hope he'll eat good and not slight himself when he's alone. There's such a lot of him to nourish."

It was the sort of dismal weather which inspired the description, "No sun, no moon, no stars, November!" and Eliza dreaded the return to her old changed home. Her heart beat a little faster as the steamer ploughed along, each minute bringing her nearer to that especial hill rising from the waters of Casco Bay where she first opened her eyes to life. Memories of those dead and gone assailed her until her eyes stung.

"I'd like to know," she thought sternly, "if there's as ungrateful a critter in the universe. S'posin' I was goin' to the island to nobody? S'posin' I'd been seen off in New York by nobody? That's what I'd expected to happen two weeks ago."

Eliza gazed rebukingly at the steam radiator in the middle of the cabin until her tears ceased.

She had not slept much in her unaccustomed bed on the sleeping-car, impeded by the heavy basket and her own hand-bag, and the fear of how Pluto might behave at the stops; so the boat ride seemed long, and it was with relief that she at last heard the summons: —

"Brewster's Island. Land from the lower deck."

"Praise be!" she thought. "I haven't got to lug my things upstairs."

There were but few passengers to get off at this island, and but few persons standing in the raw air on the wharf.

There was a lump in Eliza's throat as she carried her burdens up the gangplank, but through the mist in her eyes she saw a face she recognized. It was lean, and smooth-shaven, and had scarcely grown more lined in twenty years. The man met her gaze with alert scrutiny and then looked beyond her for some one. The gangplank was drawn in.

"James," said Eliza, when she had swallowed.

The alert, searching eyes returned to her, and looked, at first, without recognition.

"Don't tell me you don't know me, James," added the traveller, trying to laugh.

"Why, Eliza Brewster, I was runnin' over ye," said the captain in hasty amazement. "You – you've grown some spare, Eliza. Just at first I didn't see who't wuz." The kindly speaker endeavored to conceal his dismay. "Amazin' how a little flesh off or on'll change a body," he added. "Here, let me take your bundles. Carriage right up here waitin' for us. Mrs. Wright sent me down to meet ye. Kinder homely day, ain't it?"

"That's a cat, James," said Eliza as he seized the basket. "You see, I'm a real old maid, travellin' with a cat."

"Well, it's all right, I s'pose," returned the captain gallantly, as they walked up the wharf toward the waiting carry-all; "but 't would 'a' been more to the point if ye'd brought somethin' that was kind of a rarity on the island. We could 'a' supplied ye with a cat fer every day in the week, black, white, malty, whatever ye wanted. Well! how ye been, Eliza?"

"I guess you can see," returned Eliza laconically.

"Well, well," said Cap'n James. He helped her into the carriage and followed. "Git ap, Tom. Mrs. Wright'll fat ye up in no time. She says you're goin' to stay with her."

"Yes, for a while I am." Eliza's eyes were travelling over the familiar rolling landscape. "How does she make out here?"

"Don't seem to complain none. Mr. Wright has settled down like a round peg in a round hole. Brewster's Island's good enough for him."

"My, my! How it's changed!" murmured Eliza as one unexpected roof after another rose into view.

"I s'pose that's so," agreed Captain James. "You can't stay away even from one o' these islands a dozen years or so without seein' the foot o' man encroachin'. It's good fer trade, Eliza, good fer trade. Lots o' the roofs ye see cover empty cottages now, but come summer time the place swarms all right. The Fabians got enough room to swing a cat in. Nobody can come very near them; but the rest o' the island's pretty well dotted here and there."

"It don't look like the place I was brought up," said Eliza.

They had reached the height of the road now, and her wistful eyes fell on a cove which pierced the island's side. Its softly rising banks were studded with evergreen trees, standing black above the black water. A threatening sky hung sullenly over all.

"'Tain't the place you was brought up," returned Captain James cheerfully. "It's a darned sight more prosperous place. While the summer folks are restin' up, we're makin' hay and cuttin' ice, as ye might say; and come fall we get shet of 'em and go back to a quiet life. No one can't say this ain't a quiet life, can they, Eliza?"

Captain James reined in the horse before taking the Foster Hill, and compassion showed in his kindly eyes as he turned and watched the grey face of his passenger.

"Eliza Brewster used to be a pretty girl," was his pitiful thought.

She kept silence, her pale eyes resting on the dark waters of the cove, austerely quiet in the windless twilight.

"Feels like snow," said Captain James. "S'pose you could snowball now, Eliza? I know when we were youngsters you could hold yer own with any boy on the island."

"That's my one talent, James," responded Eliza drily. "I can hold my own yet."

The captain smiled with relief at this sign that some of the old spirit lingered behind that haggard face.

"By cracky," he said, "I'll bring up a bob-sled after the first snow, and we'll toboggan downhill again, Eliza. Never say die. Git ap, Tom."

The carriage started up toward a long low white house on the summit of the ridge. Four bare Balm of Gilead trees stood sentinel before it in a waste of withered grass. Beyond rose the gnarled boughs of a struggling apple orchard, beside which a tiny house with blank uncurtained windows stood beneath the forlorn guard of two more gaunt bare trees standing ready for the conflict with winter winds, and bearing the scars of many a battle past. Back of the little building was a shallow field inclining downward to the open ocean which held the island now in its black, mighty embrace, creeping with a subdued roar upon the cold rocky sands.

"Say, Eliza," said Captain James, as the tiny deserted cottage came into view, "was we afraid o' Granny Foster, was we? Say!"

The speaker turned and interrogated his passenger with a twinkle.

A wan smile rewarded him.

"Afterward Jenny used it for chickens, Mrs. Wright says," she returned.

"Yes; but there never was an old hen there that come up to Granny Foster, you bet."

"How long ago does that seem to you, James?" asked Eliza, after a pause.

"As if 'twas yesterday," he responded valiantly.

His memory was picturing the little girl in plaid gingham and sunbonnet who could outrun any boy on the island. That sunbonnet was never in place, but always hung down Eliza's back, the strings tied at her throat. Captain James remembered to have thought there was something very pleasing about that throat.

"It seems a hundred years ago to me," said Eliza quietly.

"Whew! You must 'a' lived fast in New York," returned Captain James. "That's an awful record."

"Do you suppose I'll ever get used to the stillness again, James? I believe if a pin was to drop in this grass you could hear it."

"Guess Nature'll make rumpus enough for ye before long," returned the captain. "You've never tried it up on this hill, Eliza. I guess when the pebbles and rocks begin draggin' around below there at high tide, you won't miss the elevated trains none."

The horse was climbing slowly and patiently as they talked, and a woman within the old farmhouse was watching the ascent from a window. Now the watcher disappeared, and presently the house door opened and a figure came out on the stone step.

"There's Mrs. Wright now. Git ap, Tom."

A gleam came into Eliza's pale eyes. It was an attractive figure that stood there in dark blue gown and white apron. The silver aureole of hair framed a smiling face. Eliza grasped the handles of Pluto's basket.

"To think that after all the years I should have a homecoming on this island!" was her grateful thought.

"Here we are," called Captain James cheerfully as they approached; "little box, big box, bandbox, and bundle, and the cat."

Mrs. Wright approached as the carry-all stopped.

"Did you really bring a cat, Eliza?" she asked, laughing.

"Why, – why," stammered Eliza, "it never once came to me till this minute that perhaps you don't like cats!"

"I like everything alive," was the response; and the speaker looked it, as she received the cat-basket, and Eliza stepped out on the grass.

"But does Mr. Wright?" inquired Eliza in perturbation. Was it Pluto's destiny to become a wild-cat after travelling by land and sea!

That gentleman now appeared, stout and with tousled hair, which suggested that he had just risen from slumber.

"This is Eliza Brewster, Morris, and she has brought us a pet," said Mrs. Wright pleasantly.

The host shook hands with the newcomer with sufficient grace and eyed the basket curiously. Captain James looked benignly on the group.

"Eliza and me have been lookin' backward as we came along," he said. "We used to race and tear around this hill – she says 'twas a hundred years ago, but don't you believe it. I'm goin' to bring a bob-sled, first snow, and sail her down the hill and make her think 'twa'n't more'n yesterday that we did it last."

The smile on Eliza's haggard face but made her fatigue more evident.

"Where's the trunk, Cap'n James?" asked Mrs. Wright.

"I'm goin' to fetch it right up. Git ap, Tom."

"Hurry in, Mrs. Wright," said Eliza, her care-taking instinct asserting itself. "You'll take cold."

"Not a bit of it," was the reply as the hostess led the way in; "I never take anything that doesn't belong to me."

There was a cheerful fire blazing in the living-room and Eliza was at once seated before it and made to feel for a second time like an honored guest.

"I'll let Pluto out, first thing, if you don't mind," she said, and unfastened the basket.

Mr. Wright, his eyes indolently curious under the rumpled grey hair, watched the proceeding.

"A Manx cat," he remarked as the prisoner leaped out. Pluto's green eyes blazed in the moment that he stood and looked about him.

"Here, poor thing," said Eliza, "your troubles are over. There's a fire such as you've never seen in all your days."

But the outraged cat scorned the fire, scorned even Eliza's caressing hand. Leaping from her touch he descried the lounge; and thanking the gods of his Egyptian ancestors that at last he had reached a place where furniture accorded hiding-places, he dashed into the darkest corner its valance concealed.

"He's kind o' put out by all he's been through," said Eliza apologetically.

Mr. Wright went to the couch and stooping lifted the valance.

"Shall I get him for you?" he asked.

Two green eyes blazed at him from the darkness and a vigorous spitting warned him away.

"Please just let him sulk a little while," said Eliza hastily. Supposing Pluto should inaugurate their visit by scratching the host! Awful thought! "He's a real good cat in his way," she added.

"Well, I'm certainly not invited under the lounge," said Mr. Wright, straightening up.

"I didn't know anybody to give him to," went on Eliza, still apologetic. "Mr. Sidney said he would have taken him if he'd known."

"Mr. Sidney. That's Mrs. Ballard's young artist, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Wright, who was boiling a kettle over an alcohol lamp at a tea-table in the corner of the room.

"Yes – we spent our last day with him in his stable."

"His what, Eliza?"

"His stable. He's found one for a studio in a real stylish place up in Gramercy Park where the folks have gone to Europe. He's as tickled as if he owned the whole big house."