"He became rich as suddenly as the Blakes became poor.Where his money came from no one asked, and no one cared except the Blakes, who were helpless.They made some small attempts at law suits, Ibelieve, but Christopher was only a child then, and there was nobody with the spirit to push the case.Then money was needed, and they were quite impoverished."Maria threw out her hands with a gesture of revolt.
"Oh, it is a terrible story," she said, "a terrible story.""It is an old one, and belongs to terrible times.You have drawn it from me for your own purpose, and be that as it may, I have always believed in giving a straight answer to a straight question.Now such things would be impossible," he added cheerfully; "then, I fear, they were but too probable.""In your heart you believe that it is true?" He did not flinch from his response."In my heart I believe that there is more in it than a lie."Rising from her chair, she turned from him and walked rapidly up and down the room, through the firelight which shimmered over the polished floor.Once she stopped by the window, and, drawing the curtains aside, looked out upon the April sunshine and upon the young green leaves which tinted the distant woods.Then coming back to the hearthrug, she stood gazing down upon him with a serene and resolute expression.
"I am glad now that the Hall will be mine," she said, "glad even that it wasn't left to Will, for who knows how he would have looked at it.There is but one thing to be done: you must see that yourself.At grandfather's death the place must go back to its rightful owners.""To its rightful owners!" he repeated in amazement, and rose to his feet.
"To the Blakes.Oh, don't you see it--can't you see that there is nothing else to do in common honesty?"He shook his head, smiling.
"It is very beautiful, my child, but is it reasonable, after all?" he asked.
"Reasonable?" The fine scorn he had heard before in her voice thrilled her from head to foot."Shall I stop to ask what is reasonable before doing what is right?"Without looking at her, he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and shook it slowly out from its folds.
"Well, I'm not sure that you shouldn't," he rejoined.
"Then I shan't be reasonable.I'll be wise," she said; "for surely, if there is any wisdom upon earth, it is simply to do right.It may be many years off, and I may be an old woman, but when the Hall comes to me at grandfather's death I shall return it to the Blakes."In the silence which followed he found himself looking into her ardent face with a wonder not unmixed with awe.To his rather cynical view of the Fletchers such an outburst came as little less than a veritable thunderclap, and for the first time in his life he felt a need to modify his conservative theories as to the necessity of blue blood to nourish high ideals.Maria, indeed, seemed to him as she stood there, drawn fine and strong against the curtains of faded green, to hold about her something better than that aroma of the past which he had felt to be the intimate charm of all exquisite things, and it was at the moment the very light and promise of the future which he saw in the broad intelligence of her brow.Was it possible, after all, he questioned, that out of the tragic wreck of old claims and old customs which he had witnessed there should spring creatures of even finer fiber than those who had gone before?
"So this is your last word?" he inquired helplessly.
"My last word to you--yes.In a moment I am going out to see the Blakes--to make them understand."He put out his hand as if to detain her by a feeble pull at her skirt."At least, you will sleep a night upon your resolution?""How can my sleeping alter things? My waking may.""And you will sweep the claims of twenty years aside in an hour?""They are swept aside by the claims of two hundred."With a courteous gesture he bent over her hand and raised it gravely to his lips.
"My dear young friend, you are very lovely and very unreasonable," he said.
CHAPTER VIII.Between Maria and Christopher A little later, Maria, with a white scarf thrown over her head, came out of the Hall and passed swiftly along the road under the young green leaves which were putting out on the trees.When she reached the whitewashed gate before the Blake cottage she saw Christopher ploughing in the field on the left of the house, and turning into the little path which trailed through the tall weeds beside the "worm" fence, she crossed the yard and stood hesitating at the beginning of the open furrow he had left behind him.His gaze was bent upon the horses, and for a moment she watched him in attentive silence, her eyes dwelling on his massive figure, which cast a gigantic blue-black shadow across the April sunbeams.She saw him at the instant with a distinctness, a clearness of perception, that she had never been conscious of until to-day, as if each trivial detail in his appearance was magnified by the pale yellow sunshine through which she looked upon it.The abundant wheaten-brown hair, waving from the moist circle drawn by the hat he had thrown aside, the strong masculine profile burned to a faint terracotta shade from wind and sun, and the powerful hands knotted and roughened by heavy labour, all stood out vividly in the mental image which remained with her when she lowered her eyes.
Aroused by a sound from the house, he looked up and saw her standing on the edge of the ploughed field, her lace scarf blown softly in the April wind.After a single minute of breathless surprise he tossed the long ropes on the ground, and, leaving the plough, came rapidly across the loose clods of upturned earth.
"Did you come because I was thinking of you?" he asked simply, with the natural directness which had appealed so strongly to her fearless nature.
"Were you thinking of me?" her faint smile shone on him for an instant; "and were your thoughts as grave, I wonder, as my reason for coming?""So you have a reason, then?"
