It was the walk of a mile from the store to his house, and as he went on he fell to examining the tobacco, which appeared to ripen hour by hour in the warm, moist season.There was no danger of frost as yet, and though a little of Fletcher's crop had already been cut, the others had left theirs to mature in the favourable weather.From a clear emerald the landscape had changed to a yellowish green, and the huge leaves had crinkled at the edges like shirred silk.Here and there pale-brown splotches on a plant showed that it had too quickly ripened, or small perforations revealed the destructive presence of a hidden tobacco worm.
As Christopher neared the house the hounds greeted him with a single bay, and the cry brought Cynthia hastily out upon the porch and along the little path.At the gate she met him, and slipping her hand under his arm, drew him across the road to the rail fence that bordered the old field.At sight of her tearless pallor his ever-present fear shot up, and without waiting for her words he cried out quickly: "Is mother ill?""No, no," she answered, "oh, no; but, Christopher, it is the next worse thing."He thought for a breath."Then she has found out?""It's not that either," she shook her head."Oh, Christopher, it's Fletcher!""It's Fletcher! What in thunder have we to do with Fletcher?""You remember the deed of trust on the place--the three hundred dollars we borrowed when mother was sick.Fletcher has bought it from Tom Spade and he means to foreclose it in a week.He has advertised the farm at the cross-roads."He paled with anger."Why, I saw Tom about it three days ago," he said, striking the rotten fence rail until it broke and fell apart; "he told me it could run on at the same interest.""It's since then that Fletcher has bought it.He meant it as a surprise, of course, to drive us out whether or no, but Sam Murray came straight up to tell you."He stood thinking hard, his eyes on the waving goldenrod in the old field.
"I'll sell the horses," he said at last.
"And starve? Besides, they wouldn't bring the money.""Then we'll sell the furniture--every last stick! We'll sell the clothes from our backs--I'll sell myself into slavery before Fletcher shall beat me now!""We've sold all we've got," said Cynthia; "the old furniture is too heavy--all that's left; nobody about here wants it.""I tell you I'll find those three hundred dollars if I have to steal them.I'd rather go to prison than have Fletcher get the place.""Then he'd leave it in the end," remarked Cynthia hopelessly;adding after a pause, "I've thought it all out, dear, and we must steal the money--we must steal it from mother.""From mother!" he echoed, touched to the quick.
"You know her big diamond," sobbed the woman, "the one in her engagement ring, that she never used to take off, even at night, till her fingers got so thin.""Oh, I couldn't!" he protested.
"There's no other way," pursued Cynthia, without noticing him.
"Surely, it is better than having her turned out in her old age--surely, anything is better than that.We can take the ring to-night after she goes to bed, and pry the diamond from the setting; it is held only by gold claws, you know.Then we will put in it the piece of purple glass from Docia's wedding ring--the shape is the same; and she will never find it out.Oh, mother! mother!""I can't, "returned Christopher stubbornly; "it is like robbing her, and she so blind and helpless.I cannot do it.""Then I will," said Cynthia quietly, and, turning from him, she walked rapidly to the house.
Later that night, when he had gone up to his little garret loft, she came to him with the two rings in her outstretched hand--the superb white diamond and the common purple setting in Docia's brass hoop.
"Lend me your knife," she said, kneeling beside the smoky oil lamp; and without a word he drew his claspknife from his pocket, opened the blade, and held the handle toward her.She took it from him, and then knelt motionless for an instant looking at the diamond, which shone like a star in her hollowed palm.Presently she stooped and kissed it, and then taking the fine point of the blade, carefully pried the gold claws back from the imprisoned stone.
"She has worn it for fifty years," she said softly, seeing the jewel contract and give out a deeper flame to her misty eyes.
"It is robbery," he protested.
"It is robbery for her sake!" she flashed out angrily.
"All the same, it seems bitterly cruel."
With deft fingers she removed the bit of purple glass from Docia's ring and inserted it between the gold claws, which she pressed securely down."To the touch there is no difference," she said, closing her eyes."She will never know."Rising from her knees, she gazed steadily at the loosened diamond lying in her hand; then, wrapping it in cotton, she placed it in a little wooden box from a jeweller of fifty years ago."You must get up to-morrow and take it to town," she went on."Carry it to Mr.Withers--he knows us.There is no other way," she added hastily.
"There is no other way, I know," he repeated, as he held out his hand.
"And you'll be back after sundown."
"Not until night.I shall walk over from the cross-roads."For a time they were both silent, and he, walking to the narrow window, looked out into the moist darkness.The smell of the oil lamp oppressed the atmosphere inside, and the damp wind in his face revived in a measure his lowered spirits.He seemed suddenly able to cope with life--and with Fletcher.
