CHAPTER XXVI.
THE ENEMY AT WORK.
Norman Wylde seemed almost petrified with amazement at the scene before him. He gazed in wonder at Pansy and the child, and from them to Mrs. Meade.
The old housekeeper, on her part, was surprised, too. She scarcely knew what to make of finding Norman Wylde here with Mrs. Falconer, but she knew not what to say. She could only stand and stare with a look of wonder on her fat face, which was flushed crimson from walking in the hot sun.
Perhaps Pansy understood something of the surprise she was exciting in Norman Wylde’s mind, for the color rose warmly into her face as she returned the child’s caress and arose in a hasty way, gently putting him down upon the seat, and turning toward Mrs. Meade.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Meade. I am glad you have brought your sweet little boy out for a holiday,” she exclaimed, adding sweetly: “I wish I could stay for another romp with him, such as I had the other day. But I have an engagement in a few minutes. Good afternoon, Mr. Wylde. I have quite enjoyed my little chat with you while I rested under these beautiful trees.”
He rose and bowed courteously, giving her a glance of grave friendliness that made her heart beat faster as she walked away, leaving all her heart behind her with her child and the father of her child, for—guilty wretch though she believed him—she could not strangle her yearning love.
“I believe that he is sorry for his sin,” she kept telling herself, as some palliative of her tenderness for him, when suddenly she heard quick footsteps behind her and a hand stealthily touched her elbow.
“He has followed me,” she thought, with some alarm, and turned her head quickly.
Then a low cry of dismay and anger came from her lips.
Mr. Finley, the grocer, her feared and hated stepfather, was walking along by her side, leering wickedly down into her face with an air of recognition that almost made her heart stop its beating.
“Good afternoon, Pansy. I am glad to see that you are making it up with your old lover. I was behind a tree, watching you two while you sat on that bench talking. You find the old love as sweet as ever, eh? Well, no one can blame you for not loving that old man you married for his money,” were the impertinent words that greeted her astonished ears.
She drew herself up haughtily, and tried to freeze him with her indignant glance.
“Get out of my path, you wretch! How dare you persist in pretending to recognize me as some one you have known?” she exclaimed angrily; but he only laughed, and, staying close by her side, retorted:
“Somebody else recognized you as some one he had known before, too, Mrs. Falconer. Didn’t I hear Norman Wylde calling you Pansy an hour or so ago, when you first came up to him?”
She trembled with horror at the accusation, but, remembering that she had not admitted the truth to Norman Wylde, took courage.
“Pshaw! Resemblances are common,” she said carelessly. “I do not deny that Mr. Wylde took me for some one else, but he immediately apologized for his mistake, and if you had the instincts of a gentleman you would do the same.”
“But I have not made a mistake,” leered Finley. He kept along by her side, although she was walking fast, and continued: “Pansy, you had as well own up to me, for I have recognized you, and I mean to make money out of my knowledge. I am poor, and I have your mother and sisters to support. You are rich, and you must give me some money for them, or I will betray you to your husband.”
Although Pansy trembled inwardly at his bold threat, she determined that she would not yield to his demands.
“Once own that I am Pansy Laurens, and all is lost. I could never satisfy the man’s rapacity, and he would only betray me at last. Besides, he cannot prove my identity; he only suspects it,” she thought wisely; and, to his angry astonishment, she laughed scornfully.
“Why are you laughing?” he demanded; and, lifting her bright face defiantly, she answered:
“I am pleased because I see a policeman up there near the governor’s mansion, and I am going to give you into custody for annoying me.”
He followed her glance and grew pale as he saw the blue-coated custodian of the law pacing along the walk she indicated. Stopping short, he growled fiercely:
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“You will see, my clever friend,” she replied airily, also stopping and looking up at him again so coolly that he wondered at her unconcern.
“You had better leave me,” she said calmly, though white to the lips with anger. “I do not desire to have you arrested, for I know my husband would have you punished to the full extent of the law. He knows all about my past, and your talk of betrayal is the senseless chatter of a madman. Will you go now, or shall I call the policeman, or any of these gentlemen sitting around?”
He was baffled by her cool assumption of fearlessness, for he did not dare to drive her to bay. No one knew so well as himself what cause he had to dread exposure.
Glowering fiercely on her from his small, beady black eyes, he hissed, low and threateningly:
“I am going now, but not that I’m afraid of you, nor that policeman, either, only for your mother’s sake, because it would break her heart to know that her shameless child was still alive. But you will hear from me again—remember that, my saucy madam, and live in fear of my vengeance.”
“I am not in the least afraid of you, and I am going to call that policeman this minute,” Pansy answered, walking briskly away; and, to her joy, Mr. Finley turned and walked quickly off, going out of the square at a gate directly opposite.
“He is a coward, despite his threats, and he will not trouble me again, I hope,” she murmured, leaving the square and going quickly toward home with no other drawback, except meeting several factory girls going home from work whose faces were perfectly familiar to her, and who had not forgotten hers, either, for one nudged the other and exclaimed audibly:
“Good gracious, the very image of poor Pansy Laurens!”
Pansy’s heart gave a wild throb, and she hurried past the girls, thinking:
“I ought never to have come back here. I am not changed as I thought I was. Every one knows my face, and I fear trouble will come of it yet. Suppose I were to meet my mother, or sisters, for instance, and they were to claim me, I do not believe I could be brave enough to deny my identity.”
That night she begged her husband to hurry up his business, that he might take her away from the city.
“It is so warm and sultry here that I am almost afraid I shall fall ill if I stay,” she said; and he, remembering her headache of a few days before, took alarm at once.
“It is very vexatious, this law business. My sister’s affairs were in a terribly tangled condition, and I’m afraid it will be several days yet before I can get away,” he said; then, smiling and encircling the graceful figure with his arm, he added; “But that is no reason, my darling, that you and Juliette should remain here. Both of you are quite ready to go, you say. Then why not start to White Sulphur to-morrow, and let me follow when I get through my task here?”
Her heart leaped with joy, then she inwardly chided herself for her eagerness to leave him.
“It would not be kind to leave you—and—I should miss you so,” she murmured, speaking quite truthfully, for she had a gentle affection for him still, in spite of the truant heart that fluttered so at the very thought of Norman Wylde.
“But if I can get away from Richmond I shall not think so often of him, and I can be truer in heart to my husband,” she thought, for she had heard the Wyldes say that Norman would not consent to accompany them.
Colonel Falconer was pleased at the knowledge that she would miss him, but he declared that he was afraid she would be sick if she remained any longer in the city.
“And as I cannot get away yet, you must not wait for me any longer. You can write to me every day, and that will be some consolation for your absence,” he said.
Juliette was delighted when she heard that they were not to wait for her uncle. She hurried around to the Wyldes the next morning to persuade them to go, too, and was successful in her mission.
“Only Norman says he can’t get away from his business this summer,” said Rosalind.
“And he won’t go?” Juliette asked, bitterly disappointed.
“No.”
“Oh, very well. There will be plenty of other beaus!” Juliette said, tossing her head and pretending to be indifferent. “Well, it is settled that we meet at the depot this evening, Mrs. Wylde?”
“Yes,” replied the lady; and Juliette hurried home to make her arrangements, and to vent her spleen on Norman Wylde by saying to Pansy:
“Norman Wylde won’t go because I have treated him so coldly, Rosalind says; but he may sulk all he chooses. I shall not make up with him in a hurry.”