Part 34

"No," she said, huskily, but with decision, "I'm only tired--I'll be all right soon. Send the people away; tell 'em to go to bed."

For half an hour Cavanagh remained in the room waiting to see if the doctor's services would be required, but at the end of that time, as she had apparently fallen asleep, he rose and tiptoed out into the hall.

Lee followed, and they faced each other in such intimacy as the shipwrecked feel after the rescue. The house was still astir with the feet of those to whom the noises of the night had been a terror or a lure, and their presence, so far from being a comfort, a protection, filled the girl's heart with fear and disgust. The ranger explained the outcome of the turmoil, and sent the excited folk to their beds with the assurance that all was quiet and that their landlady was asleep.

When they were quite alone Lee said: "You must not go out into the streets to-night."

"There's no danger. These hoodlums would not dare to attack me."

"Nevertheless, you shall not go!" she declared. "Wait a moment," she commanded, and reentered her mother's room.

As he stood there at Lize Wetherford's door, and his mind went back over her brave deed, which had gone far to atone for her vulgarity, his respect for her deepened. Her resolute insistence upon law showed a complete change of front. "There is more good in her than I thought," he admitted, and it gave him pleasure, for it made Lee Virginia's character just that much more dependable. He thrilled with a new and wistful tenderness as the girl opened the door and stepped out, close beside him.

"Her breathing is quieter," she whispered. "I think she's going to sleep. It's been a terrible night! You must be horribly tired. I will find you some place to sleep."

"It has been a strenuous campaign," he admitted. "I've been practically without sleep for three nights, but that's all in my job. I won't mind if Higley will 'soak' those fellows properly."

She looked troubled. "I don't know what to do about a bed for you; everything is taken--except the couch in the front room."

"Don't trouble, I beg of you. I can pitch down anywhere. I'm used to hard beds. I must be up early to-morrow, anyway."

"Please don't go till after breakfast," she smiled, wanly, "I may need you."

He understood. "What did the doctor say?"

"He said mother was in a very low state of vitality and that she must be very careful, which was easy enough to say. But how can I get her to rest and to diet? You have seen how little she cares for the doctor's orders. He told her not to touch alcohol."

"She is more like a man than a woman," he answered.

She led the way into the small sitting-room which lay at the front of the house, and directly opposite the door of her own room. It was filled with shabby parlor furniture, and in one corner stood a worn couch. "I'm sorry, but I can offer nothing better," she said. "Every bed is taken, but I have plenty of blankets."

There was something delightfully suggestive in being thus waited upon by a young and handsome woman, and the ranger submitted to it with the awkward grace of one unaccustomed to feminine care. The knowledge that the girl was beneath him in birth, and that she was considered to be (in a sense) the lovely flower of a corrupt stock, made the manifest innocency of her voice and eyes the more appealing. He watched her moving about the room with eyes in which a furtive flame glowed.

"This seems a long way from that dinner at Redfield's, doesn't it?" he remarked, as she turned from spreading the blankets on the couch.

"It is another world," she responded, and her face took on a musing gravity.

Then they faced each other in silence, each filled with the same delicious sense of weakness, of danger, reluctant to say good-night, longing for the closer touch which dawning love demanded, and yet--something in the girl defended her, defeated him.

"You must call me if I can be of any help," he repeated, and his voice was tremulous with feeling.

"I will do so," she answered.

Still they did not part. His voice was very tender as he said, "I don't like to see you exposed to such experiences."

"I was not afraid--only for you a little," she answered.

"The Redfields like you. Eleanor told me she would gladly help you. Why do you stay here?"

"I cannot leave my mother."

"I'm not so sure of your duty in that regard. She got on without you for ten years. You have a right to consider yourself. You don't belong here."

"Neither do you," she retorted.